SPOILER ALERT! the steel guitar literally dies at the end of the album, but then again, so do your worries.
After listening to this brand new Ryan Shields album (My Son: The Ballad Singer) I have re-executed a living will. Inside it exists a clause where if I am ever to go into a coma, I beseech my doctor to replace my eyes with two more ears in order to listen more greedily to Ryan's new glorious ballads.
In between each son on this record is an inaudible deep sigh that lightens the listener a pound.
I can't tell you the last time that you cried, but I can tell you the next time you will cry. It's when you put this cd in your boombox and the batteries die. But don't worry, somehow the songs will keep playing.
Ryan Shields has wanted gold that he has enveloped into this cd and he would like to sell it to you. It is life assurance, for the price of a bucket of shrimp.
Close your eyes and imagine a Puerto Rican water spout swirling the sounds of angels whistling.
Now Open them.
Hi, its Ryan Shields.
If you're lovesick, homesick, or sick and tired, then take two tracks and google him in the morning.
World peace. Brother Theresa is trying to tell you something...please listen.
—Jay Hornbeck, ESQ