Every so often, I’ll gather up some of my favorite tracks from the last sixty minutes of my three-hour radio show and create an entire episode of The Final Hour, this one being the third such installment. This is the music that is played between 11pm and midnight, and it’s generally darker, more instrumental, sometimes even experimental, and this is an opportunity for the chronologically challenged to experience some of that closer to their regular waking hours.
Maybe it’s the lackadaisical groove she can effortlessly establish, or her warm confident voice, but listening to Madison Cunningham is like sinking into the sofa for a new episode of your favorite show, a general feeling of ease, comfort, and complete enjoyment. Also, maybe you thought you heard a dirty word during “Tounge-Clucking Grammarian”, but you didn’t — let’s face, there’s a lot of rhymes for “clucking” that could register a false positive.
The Cadillac engine roared with naked abandon behind the driver. It was the familiar rumble of the seven-liter-plus workhorse, but its power was unleashed on a propellor instead of a bulky automatic transmission. At the airboat’s prow, the tracker kept an eye on the reeds that protruded in clumps from the murky water. Barely audible on the comm link were the strains of some forgotten psychedelic blues. A promising glint along the mangroves gave hope they had found the downed satellite. It turned out to be the stare of a brooding twelve-foot alligator, unwilling to leave the scene. The search continued.
lacking.org