When I was 15 James Taylor’s Mudslide Slim was in heavy rotation on my cd player. God knows what brought me to folk/blue grass music. My parents had his Best of album and I guess I picked it up. But they weren’t exactly hippies. I thought Mudslide Slim was the coolest thing and epitomised in every way, the life I imagined for myself then and in a way, was, for a brief moment in time. It was country. Now I listen to Machine Gun Kelly or Riding on a Railroad and almost melt from the memories and of course, James Taylor’s smooth twang. The sound of the guitar, to me, the way it resonates, is like thick black fresh brewed coffee and hot biscuits, just like his voice. I grew up for some time in the Deep South so I can understand, to a certain extent, the sentiment of the album. I can just see the steamboats rolling down the Mississippi River and an old creole rocking in his chair on his makeshift cabin floating there on the bayou. It’s almost a perfect record and I have heard the original vinyl (it was at Ewan Vorenkamp’s house, 4th year at school maybe and his parents WERE hippies), it’s absolutely gorgeous, music to the ears, melting.