Yesterday afternoon I chanced upon Daniel Knox's Mercado 48 and listened through at a single sitting as is always the best way with albums or indeed stories of any kind. It's gnarly wizened textures and narratives cast a powerful spell for the course of its fifty minute span ensnared me.. It suited my mood. It suited the grim, overcast mood of the late December skies. There was something rather magnificent about its almost deathly world worn pallor
Named after the shop and gallery Knox has lived above since he moved to Portugal, The record has a splendid lived in quality, Recorded over little more than a couple of days. Knox has a splendid beard and long flowing locks. He's out of the stable of Tom Waits and Adrian Crowley. This is a record that seeks out its audience rather than parading on the cat walk for the paparazzi . I'm glad it found me.
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