Mark Lemhouse came to Memphis and Lord knows what he had in mind, but before he left, music got a-holt of him. This is a fine place for a soul to be stirred (or shaken). Memphis music rings across generations and across cultural oceans and racial divides because written on this music is the soul of man, a soul of eternal truths and infinite injustices, a soul that sings to all people of all kinds, everywhere. Not to mention that it’s super fun stuff.

So Lemhouse poked around a bit, found himself hanging with Robert “Wolfman” Belfour, a Mississippi hill country trance man of the deepest, and gentlest, nature (Belfour showed him that droning thumb bass technique on “Angel Child”); with Calvin Newborn, a jazz cat who played guitar on B. B. King’s early recordings; hanging with recordings by Charlie Feathers, the Memphis rockabilly prophet, and by Hammie Nixon - my personal all time favorite kazooist. There’s even some Chicago feel here (the Mississippi River has flowed backwards in Memphis): the citified thump of Willie Dixon’s Big Three Trio (“Can't Get That Stuff”), and the strain of Hubert Sumlin’s Memphis score (listen between the lines for that one). Most of these encounters - both the personal and the ones with dead artists and hot living records - were in the company of Scott Bomar, a Memphis bass player so sympathetic to Lemhouse’s wang-a-bang twang that the idea of forming a band wasn’t discussed, it just happened. Talk ain’t required in a chemical reaction.

Mark’s gone on - well, he’s left Memphis anyway - but he’s left this record, a document of his passion, a love letter to Memphis. He and Scott play as one, whether it’s the tango blues of “Jealous Moon”, the jug band flair of “Tappin’ That Thing”, or their unified up and down rhythm on Charlie Feathers’ “One Hand Loose”. There’s a contemporary Memphis feel here too- those traditional delta blues National guitar riffs on “Baby Sister Blues” are filtered through Alvin Hart’s Bukka White singing throat. And Monsieur Jeffrey Evans passes like a shadow over “Edwin's Lament”. Lemhouse dug Memphis, and dug it deep.

But more than anything else, this record is the sound of a tube amp turned up high, of musicians looking each other in the eye and making music, good music. What is written on a soul is written forever, and if years have to pass before the page is turned, the message is not diminished. Mark Lemhouse came to Memphis and baby, he had his pages turned.

     —Robert Gordon
         Memphis