Imagine that: You travel by hitchhiking and on a sunny autumn day an open car stops. At the wheel is a young woman and in the back a man who is no longer young. You sit in the passenger seat. The woman begins to sing and the man hangs a coat of warm guitar sounds around her shoulders, as if to protect her from the unpleasantness of this world. And while you're wondering whether you got into the car with Amy Winehouse and Ry Cooder, the ride takes you past abandoned wedding bands somewhere on the edge of the desert in Arizona, through fairs in New England, you cross backyards in Nashville, only to drink a relaxed beer with Jack Johnson on the beach shortly afterwards. Whichever intersection you get off at: What remains is the blues and the longing for Mrs. Tariq's voice.
