Once upon a time Music was more than a “product.“
more than soul-less, formulaic, corporate pap.
more than the lowest common denominator of consumerism.
Music was the expression of a human heart
beautiful       and angry       and joyful      
and wrenching
and soaring with ecstasy - and beaten to the depths of despair.
Music was raw and unpredictable and deliciously REAL.
Once upon a time being a “Musician†was not reserved for airbrushed, Hollywood mannequins. The title was given out freely to all who desired it.
Once upon a time a musical instrument was the tool of a craft - built, in turn by a craftsman . . . . .
. . . . individually, imperfectly      
with hands of flesh and bone
  coaxed by a loving creator to find its’ singular voice.
The true value of an instrument was in its’ service - not in its’ status as a coveted brand name fashion accessory.
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Today, there is a revolution brewing . . . . an undercurrent of yearning that takes us back to what music should be.
Sometimes the revolution is slow.
Sometimes its' movement is glacially imperceptible.
. . . . but it is sure       and true       and as unfailing as new growth in the Spring.
The Transamerican Hobo cigar box guitar project was begun by a soldier in that revolution.
An ordinary man from Long Island, named Nick P. who built a simple 4-string guitar out of a cigar box, a hunk of wood and a few dollars worth of hardware.
and after he had built it, he did something remarkable
- he set it free.
Now the little guitar moves (almost ethereally) through space and time from hand to hand, musician to musician.
Across the great expanse of this continent - gathering and distributing a little bit of the spirit of each musician that shares a moment in time with her.
free and unfettered       like a song upon the wind.
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