from Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains, United States

About "Proof"

Here’s proof. Proof that things are a bit mysterious in my studio.

Late last night my Bass Cajon all of a sudden decided to start accompanying me on its own - without me touching it. At first I thought that some apparitional bass player had joined me and turned around half expecting to see Vaisvil or Launched. But there was nobody to be seen. So I stuck a powered bass mic next to the Cajon and returned to my congas to see how he would do. He kept up pretty well and anticipated the improvised pattern perfectly.

Oh sure, you can try to explain to me that the sine wave of my bass conga was just right to cause the snare springs inside of the Bass Cajon to vibrate. Right. Easy for you to say. But you weren’t there, were you? It felt bigger than that. And while it didn’t show up on the tape for some reason, I thought I heard a voice say “Ohh yeah. That’s right. Beat me Daddy Eight to the bar!" When I turned around my beer was half gone!

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