Unknown to me mere months ago, a Michigan garage record with strong inept kid vibes and zero background information...this is the kind of gift I worry will run dry as I age. So as each one arrives, years apart, I welcome them into the fold like prodigal sons unaware they were ever missing from the dining room table.

The Hendrix and Cream covers are beyond charming, beautifully primitive and serving as snapshots of the briefest of times where kids, this young, were covering legit psychedelic music, seeming to be wholly unaware of any of the larger psychoactive or countercultural underpinnings. Maybe this landscape lasts for...I dunno, twelve months? Those brief moments slowly melt away like the sugarcube on your tongue.

And the original tune ain't half bad either.

I celebrate solemn, knowing there's half a chance this could be the last one I ever uncover. Low profile, eyes peeled, looking for the next bullseye.