shower_the_people raze this is the one. no congested west coast production values. no glockenspiel to tell you what to feel. no softly struck snare. no hard kiss of open palm on conga's crust. just a man standing alone on a stage five years after you were made, armed with six strings slung across a hunk of mahogany, a microphone, and a reel of tape. capo on the third fret. timing his strike so the prerecorded voices he's leaning on for support will warble when he needs them most. change the to thee and me_to_we, watch the sky break as a smile works its way across his face, and sing_this_with_me_now: make it rain. love, love, love is sunshine. 251231 what's it to you? who go blather from