A first wholly self-composed album by the white-country-bluesman and his furred-over smear of a voice. How big was that bushel?
How bright the light! Cat can write. The music is sepia-meets-blue in hue, tight, gently rolling and delicately arranged to balance string scrapes and drums with finger-picked guitar. You'll be put in mind of peak-period John Martyn from time to time. The wisdom expressed is crusty but benign, poetic and sometimes witty.