Elk Records never really was a company per se, just a backlog of garage grade recordings done with a mic we dubbed the tesla coil. Those that were in on it gathered that a name is worth a lot more than the music, or at least an untitled song on a blank cassette, it gives it its place in time. Well, most of them got disillusioned with pseudonyms, Adel Schure, Sil Pans, Kleod, Filke, Yafferty, all gibberish names that sound like they belong to a place in time, when really they don't get you anywhere except a hole of local obscurity and scrutiny for howling at the rafters as the neighbours chinese whisper along to the rest of the town that we're all squealing like cats at midnight around a dimly lit blue ford cadillac. Only part true really, that jazzmaster did meow when you plucked it just right, but that cadillac bounced blue strings of light onto our recording sessions which, coincidentally, tricked tommy into thinking he had synesthesia. Theres an old session where (and it was trimmed, Im afraid, damp reels don't survive well) he turned to, I think Solomon and just said "Everythings Blue". I wonder if you can hear it in the playing, I guess you've got to listen out for that particularly blue one. Anyway, minus the rambling, for those that are interested, this crap stack of audio has managed to burrow its way back into my life, and through various mis-promises that have tied me to its keeping, i have become the gatekeeper to Lousiana's worst best kept secret. And its out of sheer confidence I can say it'll happily but most importantly, thanks to the wonder of electric clouds and the like, securely remain this way till the end of time.

Park is following