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The Mysterious Beings are a pretty cheery bunch for the most part but every so often we can get down, just like everyone. Take the other day. We were sitting around an impressive collection of empty beer glasses in the Ship Inn in Broughty Ferry when our laconic Peruvian bassist, Juan Tusrifor let out a huge sigh. “What’s wrong, Juan?” I asked.

He pointed out the window to the cloudy sky. “On days like this, Gavin, I get to thinking of the blue Andean skies of my homeland.”

From the far corner of the table, there came another sigh. Fiddle ace Beau Strokes laid down his glass of Bourbon. “I sure do miss my home in the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

Through the open window came another loud sigh. Aldo Sachs, our diminutive alto sax player does his drinking outside to facilitate his chain smoking of unfiltered Gitanes. “Paris?” I shouted through the window.


The biggest sigh of all came from guitarist Dee Sharpe, whose romantic travails have been well documented elsewhere. “Sometimes, I wonder what the point of anything is. I just feel like giving up.”

“You know,” I said, “I’ve been feeling down myself, but giving up isn’t the Mysterious Beings way.” I picked up my guitar. Dee started to join in, followed by Beau and by closing time we had channeled the Mysterious Beings’ defiant spirit into this song.

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