A few good notes from near and far, of sound stories from Blind John’s players bringing it on home.

John and I had a chat, I told her she needed a bit more dirt under her fingernails, a bit more rust on the soul. Something road-worn. Something that looked like it'd seen a few late nights and lived to tell the tale. I love old pickguards but John had another vision.

The next time I saw her, she'd been transformed. New hardware, a different attitude. The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew he'd nailed it. That was the vibe, that was 'Dirty Blonde'.

She's got a ghost of late winter nights soaked in whisky about her, like memories etched into old wood, faded by time. The Bare Knuckle pickups growl and sing, while the sheer density of the wood gives every note weight and character.

Her story didn't begin when she became a guitar. Long before that, she was a tree connected to the earth, she was planted, grew for decades, stood through storms and seasons, felt sun, rain. She was felled, reborn, served a life in churches, homes before finally being salvaged and given another chance.

Imagine the stories locked inside those fibres, the lives she's witnessed. The songs she's carried without ever making a sound.

That's why Dirty Blonde is the perfect vessel. We don't just make music. She tells the stories that I can't, every mark, scar, note is another chapter in her life, that's still being lived.