Samuel Fickie opened with a set of introspective tunes full of romantic import. His tone was lovelorn with sparkling bits of darkened humor complete with elements of local St. Louis insight twisted atop.
Braced against essay writer
the chilly night, standing under the glow of neon lights, we waited for the doors at the Gramophone to open. In front of me stood a devoted fan with a "Ghost" -- as in the newest album from headliner Yellow Ostrich -- held nonchalantly in his hands.