The Sunset Tree

Oh me oh my, The Sunset Tree has thrown me into a mini-crisis. That might seem like a big statement for such a small record, but rewind a decade: That's me, there, in a "Welcome to the Inland Empire" silk-screened Shrimper tee, unwashed hair, and horn-rimmed glasses, obsessing over the Mountain Goats' The Hound Chronicles cassette while stacking loaves of bread at a Southern New Jersey convenience store. Every night I'd steal a Snapple and drive home through the pines and deer alleys in my broken Chevy Impala with the windows down, blasting the Mountain Goats, Paste, Nothing Painted Blue (or whatever), on my tiny portable boom box.