I Like The Sun
Mexican Flower Records
I‘ve spent a lot of my life hanging out in record shops. I’ve worked in a fair number as well. Record shops, in some unlanguaged way, have told me who I was. Told me who I wanted to be. I never made much money doing it but I amassed a lot of records. Which I sold. Or lost. Or gave away. Then amassed again. Then bought again. And on it goes. I can’t walk past a record shop without thinking: if I have a family, this is it. No matter where, no matter the time of day. I have to go in and have a peek. They’re my natural habitat, my college, my neighbourhood. They’re familiar, threatened, peripheral, nearly extinct, full of arcane and necessary stuff. Just like me.
I don’t know where I bought this Cesspool Baker record, but it was probably in a record store in Missouri. I go there to visit my sister and see old friends and I always end up flipping through boxes of records. This record is exactly the kind of thing I’m looking for. It ticks all the right boxes. It looks great. The guy’s name is massive. It was recorded in Missouri. The band is a hippie/afro hybrid. It’s on a tiny label. What’s not to like? On the back of the record it says: Cesspool Baker is a legend in the mid-west and soon to be a legend nation-wide. You got to love the optimism of that sentence. There’s nothing that isn’t great about this record.
So here’s to you Cesspool. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing. You’re a legend here in this remote corner of Wales. I put some more wood on the fire and watch the squirrels collecting seeds beneath the bird feeders. On a day like this, a little bit rainy, a little bit grey, a little bit wet, it’s great to hear you say, “I like the sun…”. You’re just what I need, and I’m right there with you, singing, “I like the sun…”. (And Missouri, and record shops, and hippie/afro bands, and small labels, and squirrels and my sister and on and on and on.)
Jeb’s new record, Country Hustle, is out now. Buy a copy here.