
Songs of labor, songs of rest, of redemption and the human soul. Throughout time, people have taken to shaping air in song in order to color in the enormity of life. We know music as a pure language because it is too rich an experience for the ruling class to ever afford us. Regionalized efforts only further speak to the diffusion of the people's sounds. The craggled forests of the northeast US is where we find Bob Driftwood stewing his own blend of bristling banjo plucks
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Ivory Tower
Automatic Masochist
Concrete Dreams
Rat Race
Crow's Pine
Another Blue
Spring Lullaby
Bunker's Blues
Fly Around
Little Sadie
Gold Dollar
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