Reissue of John Southworth's 2011 record, Human Cry.
The first song was written in a cramped, slanted apartment off rue Duluth in Montreal. All the songs were born there. They contain some of the birch dew elixir from the city's Royal Mountain. No other city comes as close to matching nature's rhythm. Statues bleed. Alley cats drone. Nothing is rigid. A friend recently told me that all singing is a form of crying. When the song is crying the beam grows bright again. And that makes life. Praise be the weeping song says the soul.