Dana Falconberry

I woke first after dreaming of parachuting from the clouds and wandered out the screen door. tall tall grass, a small red barn. i gathered dried leaves and returned to the house, the others had woken. we set up our instruments and stood in a circle in the living room, surrounded by old couches and microphones. on the east wall a painting of a horse. golden hair, soft green grass. we sang to her and to the cicadas, and to each other.

it is a constant struggle, perhaps, to keep the confusing and complicated at bay and the simple and pure close at heart. but a good and noble fight it must be to try, i think. i love playing music with my band. it is always joyful, always pure, and i wanted to capture this simply and truthfully. so past the roadside bars where men in plaid shirts scuff and haw, and through the tall oaks that line the straight texas roads the four of us gathered: gina dvorak, andrew bergmann, lauren mcmurray and myself. we invited our good friend stephen orsak to join us and record the event. we chose a sunday in june while the sun was high and the grass was just beginning to bend with dust.

halletts is a collection of these songs. they are live, simple and untouched, the way they were born. they are stories of rain and snow and fields and the birds that dip through them.

-dana falconberry, january 2010