The workman’s day is over. Taste the sweat from Quixote’s tobacco-licked ‘ralls, feel his hands: balloons of coarse hide. The sun is hot, the labor unforgiving. Thick boots, the percussion that pounds the earth away.
In “Hubris” the construction site buzzes as a rhythmic guitar jackhammers a pulse into the asphalt vocals, grey and shrieking. A horn blares, boring through the soft earth of the muddy but green-tufted violin. A hammer, saw, and excavator whisper and shake, the bass is its medium.
“Owls” is a retreat to the wood shop – balsa and dark mahogany. Joe Stulpin thumbs six-string sandpaper while a greased-up violin slips beneath his vocals. The chorus erupts lustrous, an oiled hand carving and a virtuosic show of Joe Wyatt’s folk violin.
How many nails in your pocket? Quixote plays at the House of Blues Front Room on Monday, July 26.