Event

Jeffrey Foucault

New York Times Quote
I first saw Foucault play in a little Missoula theatre years ago, when many of us who grew up spinning our elders' albumsTownes and Dylan, John Prine and Greg Brownwandered around dolorously wondering when the next real songwriter would come along. Stetson sweaty, that little vagabond spark in his eye, he spun out a long Beam-fueled set and when it was over I walked out into the warm rain and thought, Damn. So thats where hes been. Since then Foucault has given American poetry some of its most vital lines and his musical searchings have become touchstones of density and durability. On this new recordhis most poignant, honest, even scathinghis cry is a belt of pure blue Wisconsin lake ice with a back of December sunlight angling through bare limbed birches. Not so much penned as lived, these songsabout a show played perfectly to an empty bar, the real ones who die with nothing half the timeoffer listeners that rare artistic combination of a voice and a world. And while theres nothing not lonely about these songs, you cant hear them and feel remotely alone. Here is our hurricane lamp, the heart whose flame won't go out, whatever the wind. Hold it close.

-Chris Dombrowski (from the liner notes to SALT AS WOLVES)