A Special GOTV Post (With Free Coffee, Album Reviews, And Video!)

I don't care who you're voting for or what your politics are but get out and vote. And the word on the street is that Starbucks is giving away a free cup of coffee if you go in and tell them you voted. So I'm on my way to my polling place and then I'm getting my free coffee before heading to work. God bless America.

And to celebrate Election Day (and I'll use any excuse to get off topic), here's a fantastic version of Foggy Mountain Breakdown by Earl Scruggs and friends (hat tip to dkpresents):



And as a bonus, because I'm in a generous mood today, here's the Watson Twins doing a live version of Bar Woman Blues (it's a bit rough but I love this song; best song on their new cd, Fire Songs, which you should really check out):



And you think I'm kidding about Fire Songs? Heres the New York Times review:

THE WATSON TWINS
“Fire Songs”
(Vanguard)

Love is elusive in the songs of Chandra and Leigh Watson, the Watson Twins. On their debut album, “Fire Songs,” love comes and goes, fades mysteriously yet lingers where it shouldn’t, providing ample opportunity for the comforts of the sisters’ close harmony.

The Watson Twins, who are from Louisville, Ky., arrived nationally when they collaborated with Rilo Kiley’s lead singer, Jenny Lewis, to make the album “Rabbit Fur Coat” (Team Love) in 2006. But where Ms. Lewis grows contentious when love goes bad, the Watson Twins turn melancholy instead. Their songs are full of yearning and forgiveness, not revenge. “You say that I’m wrong and I need to move on/But it just ain’t that easy,” they sing in Leigh Watson’s “Bar Woman Blues.”

Like Rilo Kiley, the Watson Twins are steeped in 1960’s and 1970’s folk-rock and folk-pop; musically they are closer to Canada and California (they now live in Los Angeles) than to their own Kentucky. “Fire Songs” sometimes echoes the Byrds and Neil Young, while the sisters’ alto voices also hint at the Celtic inflections of Natalie Merchant and Beth Orton. Their preferred tempos are unhurried, even languid, with their voices moving in close tandem while guitars ripple and peal around them. The songs hold sorrow and longing, keeping self-pity in check with serene grace.