Having said all there is to say about songs from the one remaining soul from the lost days of last centuries quelled rebellion and poetic wonder recorded these songs in a fit of junkyard passion feeling white complete, while Gasoline and Fixable slept, in a disused railway carriage at the rear of the house, in one day, or days to that effect and with one guitar, various harmonicas and the redemption train. The sort of music that starts out as a comic assault on the cerebral and feels like having dangled feet over train stations edge hoping the train don’t come. The train don’t come all right but the music plays like the farmers wife, the misplaced television announcer, the shouting cow. The take on the blues is the redemption train’s utilisation of the instruments of the current and the past like cyclones slap and redemptions promise to trade gauntlet for pen, pick it up to write and put it down again and to make various and obvious demands that make you feel, for the moment, that you’re in the right place. The right place is just what it is and don’t think otherwise. Don’t think otherwise either that or take your place amongst the greats and ponder. Not necessarily comfortable, anyone can be comfortable. Like having a picnic on a runway. To quote a man who once rode a train… The gilded virtue that makes the sparrow sing that wades through waters to mightiest brough and spring The lifting wind it craves its owners right and flies away to leave the wasted night.