It just started snowing again, disbelief still prolongs to these natural announcements. But this disbelief is something I carry around with me late into the evenings, before I place it inside a book and try get some sleep. Today I wake with it in a lively state. And it’s not just that it’s snowing, it gets a more weird and huge and fundamental kind of disbelief; disbelief that everything always turns around, everything always drops, everything always stops, it’s like my small head versus the shadow of everything. Sometimes I’m looking for music for reassuring, for stabilising, for something that can lullaby my disbelief into a small noise-box, a cold harmonica with warm bits where it’s played. The harmonica, voice, double bass and guitar of Leif Vollebekk‘s music offer shelter in this way. One big fire-lit straw-walled dwelling of comfort in a big whirring town. Singing songs about people and things in a way so encompassing to the stragglers standing at the back of the gig near the door, not really inside, half in the town. Songs that would get them; stragglers becoming in love. In love with what to me sounds like one of the most soul-striking singer-songwriters I’ve heard in so many days.