Howdy, neighbors. On my last recording I served up some flavors of the coastal South. This time around, we’re heading up to the hill country where the light of the Son meets the shadow of the steeple. Where a renegade Baptist preacher marches with Doctor King yet insists on befriending Klansmen because he believes that’s what Jesus would do. It’s where a little old lady tends a sumptuous garden a dozen times the size of her cottage. It is a land of barbecues and funerals, choirs and juke joints, artists and La-Z-Boy pundits. Where Confederate prostitutes blow kisses through time. It’s the creaky, pine floor stage stomped by fiddlers and banjo thumpers and, as the house lights dim, a spotlight shines on The Dogwood Cats.
DEDICATED TO THE LIFE AND SPIRIT OF BROTHER WILL D. CAMPBELL
Dogwood Cats Lyrics