Not the Bill Monroe one. Not the Tommy Cash one, or the Gillian Welch one. The Mississippi Fred McDowell one.
I don’t know what was up with McDowell when he recorded this in 1963. Maybe he was still working on the lyrics. Maybe he forgot ‘em. Maybe.
His picking is so urgent that it sounds like he’s driven to spit his grief out one way or another – even if he can’t bear to give voice to it.
This is Mississippi Fred McDowell with “Six White Horses”.
I don’t know what was up with McDowell when he recorded this in 1963. Maybe he was still working on the lyrics. Maybe he forgot ‘em. Maybe.
His picking is so urgent that it sounds like he’s driven to spit his grief out one way or another – even if he can’t bear to give voice to it.
This is Mississippi Fred McDowell with “Six White Horses”.
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