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This series of interrelated songs sketches an evocative portrait of small town loneliness. “Whay does your sweet heart stutter?/Why are your hands so cold?/Why do you sound just like your mother?/I turned around and we got old.” This is bare-bones stripped down song writing at its best. Hawkins accompanies his gravely voice with acoustic guitar, spare drums, and the occasional harmonica riff. The whole project was recorded in his basement, the album is self-released, and, guess what? It was one of the best of 2009. (Hal Niedzviecki)

ronhawkins.com

 

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