bandspotting

Jacob Bullard

The Loveland

Visiting Kings

Imagery and memories of summers spent in Northern Michigan seep into my songs subliminally. I am graced to be from a place that speaks in riddles, but isn’t too stubborn to reveal its secrets. A piece of country where the Holy Spirit hums quiet tunes with melodies as instinctual as a Saturday morning, deep as a night swim, dark as a dusty closet, faithful like a heavy dew, more clear than a resting tide—songs easy to pick up and turn back, share with the night, carry with you.