Hot. Like real hot. I’m talking about sittin’ in only your undershirt and putting your head to the sky and hootin’ but nothing comes out just dry wispy profanities type hot. Victoria. Australia. They got small pots of old, cold gold. And they got Jarrod Quarrell but they call him Lost Animal.
Quarrell started workin the game at the age of sixteen. You can hear it in his songs. They carry with them the weightless baggage of a path struggled long – heavy not with possessions, instead with experience and thick skin – his long, black-grey hair sits up on his shoulders like Merino wool.
Follow him. Feel that heat from the footpath rise up through the bottom of your sneakers. See the sting of the sun bending vapors into mirages, turning white Ford Falcons into Jaguars, their drive-by wafting warm air like waves of hot sand. Watch him walk slow but move fast.
Released October, 2016
6 in stock
6 in stock
New in store
