Album Review: Well It’s Friday The 13th / Little Towns And Hobos by Mick
Alright, buckle up, folks. We’re diving into Mick’s Well It’s Friday The 13th / Little Towns And Hobos, a little slice of Americana served straight from the heart of the US. With its roots firmly planted in Folk, World, & Country (emphasis on that last one), this album feels like an old friend who shows up unannounced but somehow makes your day better anyway. Released under Music Towne and penned by Larry McMillan—a name I now want tattooed on my brain because dang, dude can write—this record is short, sweet, and packs more punch than a stray cat in a barn dance.
Let’s zoom in on two tracks here because ain’t nobody got time to ramble about every single note. First up, we’ve got “Little Towns And Hobos.” This tune hits you right in the nostalgia bone. It’s got this lazy, front-porch-on-a-summer-evening vibe that just whispers, “Hey, slow down. Life don’t need to be so complicated.” The lyrics paint pictures of dusty roads, forgotten towns, and wandering souls—you know, all the good stuff that makes country music feel like a warm hug from someone with tobacco-stained teeth. What sticks with me? That melody line. It sneaks into your head and camps out there like it owns the place. You’ll hum it while brushing your teeth. Don’t fight it.
Then there’s the titular track, “Well It’s Friday The 13th.” Man, this one’s fun. Right off the bat, it sets the mood with a twangy guitar riff that says, “Yeah, bad luck is comin’, but who cares?” The song has this cheeky, devil-may-care attitude that makes you wanna grab a beer—or maybe even shake a leg if you’re feeling dangerous. Lyrically, it leans heavy into superstition and small-town quirks, which honestly feels like peeking through the keyhole of rural America circa 1975. Why does it stick? Because it’s catchy as heck without trying too hard. Plus, let’s face it: Friday the 13th is the ultimate excuse for chaos, and Mick knows how to ride that wave.
Now, here’s the kicker. Listening to this album feels less like hearing a collection of songs and more like flipping through someone’s photo album. Sure, some pages are blurry, and others might not make sense unless you were there—but that’s kinda the charm. By the end, you realize Mick didn’t set out to reinvent the wheel; he just wanted to remind us what makes the old one spin so well.
So yeah, would I recommend this album? Absolutely. But only if you’re cool with imperfect gems that sound like they were recorded in somebody’s shed. Final thought: If these tunes don’t make you wanna hitchhike to nowhere special or at least call your grandma, then buddy, you might be dead inside.
