Dead Beat Records
The world used to be filled with guys like Cory Case, shaggy-haired troubadours willing to sing for their supper, skinny young dudes with acoustic guitars hoping to charm some pretty girls and get a song on the radio. The 70's was the singer-songwriter's heyday, and you couldn't flip on a static-y transistor without hearing one of Case's forebears: Cat Stevens, James Taylor, Lobo. I miss those days. Comic books were a quarter then. True story.
Now, here we are in the jet-age, flashing through the decades with digital hiccupping as our soundtrack, and here's Cory Case, bumming around Paris with his beat-up guitar, singing sad songs about girls that almost-were. Is he a man out of time? Sure, but that's what's great, and noble, and true about it all. One kid, one guitar, a whole batch of catchy, maudlin tunes. I am sure this would sound even better on an old radio that only gets two stations, but even on a space-age gizmo like an I-Pod, it still sounds sorta 1974. And 1974 will always be cool, no matter what year it is.