The No Neck Blues Band, adrift in the ozone-tinged air of lower & upper Manhattan for nearly a ghost decade, stood at a fork. To one side lay the path to continued avoidance of human contact, and lifetimes of hemeretic improvisational events. To the other side was the trail into a kind of new free-pub-fat-rock dynamism, attaching the head of Lou Gare to the body of Martin Stone. Which way they would go was never predictable. The myriad recordings & performances that No Neck produced during their first half-life existed more in the realm of spirit than of flesh. Even those who witnessed the performances or beheld the recordings had difficulty in ultimately grasping them. The faces of No Neck were transitory, in all senses of the word. Rock gesture, drone gesture, folk gesture, improv gesture, all of them traced smoky features across the band's collective visage, shifting like a big cloud of burned & exhaled cheeb. By the time No Neck hooked up w/ John Fahey, their image was fractal. Unable to hold -- or even define -- their center, fragmentation itself had become their milieu. Through records, they had discovered someone they believed to be a fellow traveler in Jerry Yester. When they found out that he had a studio in the Ozarks, they were on the first bus south. And when they came to the fork, they took it. Fahey smiled on this in his own weird way & here are the results. They have been in the process of becoming for longer than you can probably appreciate. Dig them now." --Byron Coley