Years ago at the graduation celebration of a friend’s daughter, I stood over a fire grilling salmon and chatting with the recent graduate’s father. He was from Greece and curious about how to cook salmon over a grill. I thought about the number of salmon within a mile of me likely to be grilled on that sunny, late spring afternoon and the many ways that they might be prepared. I laughed, looked around the yard, and suggested that everyone present probably had their own best way to cook salmon. He smiled and said that this was the same for him at home. I asked him what he would be grilling. He said, “Lamb.” I was intrigued. “I have always wanted to roast a lamb. How do you prepare it?” I asked. “Smear it in olive oil and rub it with salt and rosemary,” he told me, “then you place it over a fire on a spit and turn it from time to time. The thing is, everyone there thinks they know the best way to roast a lamb. Some say the fire is too hot, others say it’s too cold. Some say the lamb is too high, others say too low. Some tell you to turn it more, while others tell you that you are turning it too much.” I laughed again thinking about this and imagining Greek families meeting at backyard feasts from then through antiquity having the timeless argument about the one true way to cook lamb over a fire.
The Luna Moth’s offering of “Lamb” on Ball of Wax 68 reminded me of this conversation. Its notes and beat float and develop in and out of time. Closing my eyes and listening to its hypnotic pulse I could just as easily imagine myself a few years ago in a Greenwood backyard or in ancient times along the blue Aegean coast. The Luna Moth’s “Lamb” is a feast for the ears and one that should be shared with others now and for a long time to come. It should be shared and stories should be told about where it took you and about where you are from.