This is a video of some of us from MC and Timmy from his band Bobby London.  We recorded it for  We're playing an old song called, "Hesitation Blues".

It's not too often you encounter a man like Timmy Hill.  He's the mellow fellow behind the piano, the lanky that takey his whiskey neat, it's as if he swallowed old New Orleans whole and it's seeping it's seeping, everything from his top shelf proficiency on mainly all instruments, to his true Blues demeanor.  He's got a midnight heart and his poetry reads right with no cream or sugar.  He's a driver by day, transporting purple hearts, veterans, the lonely and the joy filled, the pissed and the blessed, the ones who share their stories and the ones who let the air talk. Timmy handles em all, this gamut is a basket he carries, some days it's light and some days it just seems too heavy.  He's a Good timer, a charmer when he wants to be, a good friend, a man who's not afraid to cast his line solo, he pockets a soul compass, Hidden, not afraid to say no, never afraid to say yes, he dodges obligatory anythings and he'll boom your socks off when he plays.  Some men are kissed on the brain by God and given a mind full of music, those men really have no choice do they? -  -RW

This past weekend about 15 of us went up to Big Pine, Ca for Seth's(Tenney) bachelor party.  Here's one of the many stories:  "Here's the game boys! Ya gotta shoot the target, down the beer, then ride three laps on the dirt bike, got it?!" Core took a practice lap with a stiff but dedicated style, his hat backwards, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Approaching the  stopping zone the bike accelerated instead of braking and sped off the designated track, the only thing between them and the brush and the river was a big white propane tank, used earlier to light the BBQ, but soon after was distanced from the group for safety reasons. We all saw the future, our bodies like one synchronized machine took those two, inherent and protective steps forward as that shaky, mini bike carrying a happy grown man, rushed, as if being pulled by a magnet, towards the inanimate danger. With the distance closing quick, a collective gasp went out as Corey was sent to the sky and  the metal on metal produced a sustained Ding! The bike fell dead, the tank budged barely and Corey hit the ground and rolled with style.  He stood to his feet and threw his arms in the air as the group of us were laughing so hard we were crying.  --RW

Moonsville Postcard #2

The night was an angry drunk, unpredictable and lightning, it was moving strange, the train windows were frozen. With a shaking hand, pouring cream into her steaming coffee, she took a deep breathe as he began humming the song, the song he always hummed to rest his heart.  She knew it well, it was a lighthouse.



Seth & Dobro Dan Richardson, the father and son duo in our band, share in a family heirloom, a cabin that perches over the Merced river.  The run-down, vacant building in the picture below is a rock's throw away from that perch.  Although empty, it's history is pregnant.  Like a miner sifts for gold, a storyteller also lets the dull slide away and pockets the shiny.  The tale of this old Hotel differs depending on the teller, sometimes varying versions get combined, turned hybrid, exaggerated and shuffled but one piece of the story never changes: Her worried song.