Willie Lane's always been the one guitar picker what's marched to the beat of his own drum from the get-go. Sure he's done time in MV 'n EE's various revue's, but I reckon that's only helped to make his vision (not to mention playin) more singular. The frenzied enthusiasm for Fahey & Jansch what lit up the latter part of the 90's sowed many a folksy acorn into a forest of strummin oaks, but please, don't make me name them! While they's all drawed from similar wells, at the same time nuances 'n subtleties emerged & since the untimely death of Mr. Jack Rose, a few have jockeyed for to take his place as the Ambassador of Pluck. But not Lane, to which said distinction has made his progress that much more allurin to my ear. On this lp it ain't about modals 'n repetition. It's about exploration. A sense of direction helps, but sometimes gettin lost is the best part of all. Perhaps it's the GOAL. And in that haze is carried ghosts; the piercin, desert howl of Jesus Acedo, the mystical, Wiccan paramounts of Wilburn Burchette, the eroding croak of Gate, the psychedelic whimsy of Daevid Allen, all are present in the ether here. All channeled & diffused by a single player, Willie Lane. The album's called 'Guitar Army Of One' for a reason,Goddammit! So let's be clear, he ain't blowin smoke up your ass, okay? It's FIRE. And now that thing is burnt to a crisp. But no matter, it weren't much more that a place to stick your head anyway. Try & think of this as a collection you need. And of Willie Lane as a friend. A friend, INDEED.
Give it a go here; http://cord-art.blogspot.com/2012/06/blog-post_2003.html
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