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When I was younger, I believed in a mystical highway that stretched through the deserts and mountains and byways of America. It beckoned the wandering hearts of lost prodigals. Its asphalt would hum beneath your feet as you pressed down on a gas pedal. But as I got older, and I had been down a road or two, that highway began to lose its magic. I stopped believing in mystery and the power of the open road. I see visions of that lost highway again when I listen to Wesley Randolph Eader’s new record, Highway Winds. I see Woody Guthrie riding a boxcar.  I hear Townes Van Zandt singing stories in an old saloon. I see mountain ranges in the far distance, and desert stretched out all around. I find saints and sinners, and I see redemption somewhere on the distant rise. I hear and see and feel it all again. I am swept up in the mystery of the road. This is the wonder of Highway Winds.

You can listen to and purchase the album here.

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