Josh Rose wishes he knew exactly where his music comes from. Growing up in the sparsely populated upper reaches of the Borderland, it would be hard for him to draw any specific conclusion. When you spend your formative years with little access to any musical events, with modest surroundings, and with the only radio station in town hawking hair bands to the end of time, it might have been tough to grow as a writer and musician. But since he decided to put his mind and energy to all this singer songwriter stuff, Josh has realized that his songs speak to the person who feels that there still are things left to say in music, that a new song is an awesome use of space, and that the singer songwriter did not die with Nick Drake.
So where do his songs come from?
• From the ordinary things in life which make extraordinary statements.
• From the three largest Great Lakes, which were all within a forty minute drive from where he grew up.
• From the immigrant bred into the genes of all of us.
• From the moments that we wish we could take a second to enjoy.
• From science, literature, sports, and history.
• From the pastoral landscape of the Midwest that dominates the horizon.
• From the billboard that blocks the view of that landscape.
• From government, religion, and all those other taboo subjects.
• From a west meets east philosophy.
And the list goes on. But whether his songs are plucked from the air like lightning bugs held in an old Mason jar or whether his songs are polished like the ancient stones in the Flat River, the point is the songs are what they are, moments of passing beauty in the air between us.
Thus, in 2008, the Flat River has allowed twelve polished stones to surface in a collection called Slow Boom.
Most humans never tune into the evolutionary trait called the Slow Bloom. We slip half awake through our days, respond to external stimuli, mindlessly shove sustenance into our mouths, and assume we have it all figured out. Awards, financial and personal, come at various intervals because of a mastery of routine and organization. But you and I are wiser. While the robots plod on around us, we have deciphered that the rewards of the world can come from more than two anal traits. We know that the human is a work in progress, a never-ending blossom that grows, learns, and knows no time constraints. Thus, we all bloom slowly, steadily stretching forth from the earth, toward the light.