This is my fourth album, depending on where you start counting. When I took the oath to be a songwriter, I was informed of the first three rules. First, all of your songs don't have to be autobiographical. That was a relief, or I'd never have gotten past the first album. Second, you have to have a train song, which I'd already done. And then to move to brown belt, you have to write a Christmas song. So, that's on this album. Not that this is a Christmas album. I wish. It bounces around a bit, stylistically. There's some political ranting, although I've toned that down lately. Some of the crisis might be past. One of my favorite tunes is on here, about escape from my hometown, Warren, Ohio, and eventual return. Its the same epic circle you've seen a million times, like in "Where the WIld Things Are" and "Beowolf" . Now here. My son helped write one. Hope he's not too embarrassed. Michael Stacey helped a lot on this album. Any guitar work you hear that sounds really good, that's him. And that's him doing the whole orchestral wackification of "Potamia". Tim plays wonderful harp, as always, on the Allman song. One of my big turning points, for better or worse, was hearing "Another Side of Bob Dylan" and discovering the free verse covering the back of the jacket. Man, I carried that around with me, showed it to my English teacher, and started carrying a notebook myself. (I wonder what became of that. I seriously hope it found its way into a fire.) What an inspiration. And what do you get? Vague rambling. One more link in the chain that pulls us steadily down. But as I've pointed out elsewhere, I stand on the toes of giants. Download this album, and experience the heights I've reached from this lofty perch. Bring your humor. Plug in, you can play along. "Scratch a cynic, and you'll find a frustrated idealist." George Carlin