Don Maclean blows in

Doc Maclean on the road

Dust in my blood' Artist statement
Letting go. How fast the year. Dreamlines smeared on the map. Songlines in the margins. Dealers. And healers. Bruises. This thing we call Blues. I've rolled the bones again.

Way over a hundred mostly solo shows: this time they're ripping out across South Africa, some of its border states, and then north to Ireland, the UK and Europe. No place too large, too small, too grand or too humble. Yeah, North America is in the rear view mirror. When you roll the bones you can lose your heart, or find it somewhere

Dust in my blood, I'm pushing back out into the desert. The Great Karoo is calling: and the Kalahari: and then the rest of it. This year, these songs are witching for water in some dry places.

It's healing music, these Blues. But the Blues is also this journey: close to the wire. The hot wire. A journey through life. This place where all things are possible. Or should be. Places where stories hang like dust in the air: drawn to the heart by the rattle of the Bones: places where witches still sit by candlelight and chant: where the night is still dark, and still hides mysterious things.