Winfred E. Eye hadn't recorded music in Monte Rio before. But when they saw it, it became their sense. Somehow its blues whistled through the branches just right...the guitars sound like comfortable slippers across a wood floor, the piano notes like a rocks smoothed under 100 years of water. Maybe it was the happy/sad laughter buried in the walls of the town's theater. Or the river plowing through town into the forest. Or the dog kicking up dust, limping down a dirt road. It's hard to say exactly.    next >