They play guitar and nothing else. They sing alone. I heard about John Mayer through Bob at His voice peers out of the black curtains of quiet in the space between it and the guitar. It slips into song like a man slips into a room, dark like the dark of night tables and silent like a killer or a lover.

Matt's voice sounds like it's fighting for freedom from his jaw, from the sleek of his neck, caught in the back of your throat like a slip of wine. He's got those eyes and smile of your boy next door and he may very well be, but his voice would lead you otherwise to believe that there is always more than you can see.

Shmuel can be raspy or light, high and shivering. His voice is soothing, one that I missed before I even lost it, a voice of loss but not hopeless. If he ever wrote a song about me, it would likely break my heart, so I am glad that is unlikely to happen.

They clear out the capsule of what we know as music, as songs or singing. They each stand or sit with nothing to guard them but the instrument they hold, each a guitar each, and some penned words and fluctuation. If only for their voice could you dream of kissing them, or to watch them in an average light just to see if they would still glow as they do when they play.

They can be found on as follows:
John Mayer
Samuel Michael
Matt Ammerman

The other day a friend of mine stormed into my room, grabbed my guitar, and ran out the door in a matter of seconds. I thought it was rather rude. It was rather rude. That guitar is my baby and he knows it.

To calm myself down and avoid throwing things, I turned on the radio. And I heard his voice. I turned up the volume. Definitely him. He was talking about his band. Band? I didn't know he was in a band. He plays guitar like a mad scientist plays with chemicals, but I never thought he actually performed in the sense of being on stage.

Then he started singing. With my guitar. His voice, as Templeton so nicely worded it, was like clear glass. Glass that I had helped along by providing the background. Such a nice feeling - I knew my guitar was in heaven at this very moment, being blasted throughout the city. And when my guitar is happy, I'm happy. When he returned it I went a little crazy and I think maybe I scared him. I have a tendency to do that when I'm excited. Humph.

I hope he will sing for me again.

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