John Grant shares “Just So You Know” visuals

Having just completed a sold-out UK tour John Grant today shares a beautiful interpretation of his song, “Just So You Know”, from his acclaimed fifth album Boy From Michigan. The video features some extraordinary krump dancing from its director and star, Brian Henry aka Hallow Dreamz.

Commenting on the video John Grant says: “Very excited to share this new video with you. I’ve been looking for an opportunity to work with the incredible Krump dancer and teacher Brian Henry (aka Hallow Dreamz) since I worked with him on the video for Voodoo Doll many years ago and I’m so happy to finally have the chance to do that. Brian directed the video together with Kash Gaines of Yak Films. I wanted them to interpret the song as they saw fit and love what they’ve created. Enjoy!”

Dancer/Director Brian Henry aka Hallow Dreamz adds: “I believe that this song and video inspires people to embrace the love their mother has for them as well as the love we have for our mother’s, without it being lessened by their imperfections. No one is perfect and I know that imperfection includes me as well. Please watch this work of art with your mother in mind, in heart and/or right beside you.”

Boy From Michigan affirms John Grant as one of the great singer-songwriters of our time. If there’s a centre ground between the songcraft of Elton John and the sonic experimentalism of Kraftwerk then Grant claims itfor his own. His fifth solo album is a work of great power and beauty.” Daily Telegraph – 4 stars **** (Album Of The Week)

Boy From Michigan is Grant’s futuristic vision of his past, filtered through his bleak, witty, lacerating worldview. And it is a delight.” The Times – 4 stars **** (Album Of The Week)

Boy From Michigan has the American fusing the piano-led chamber pop of his early releases with the jagged electronica of his more recent work. Produced by Cate Le Bon, it is dependably doleful and caustic as the singer shines unforgiving light on his troubled upbringing and the cruel joke that is the American dream. On ‘Mike and Julie’, clarinet and synth decorate a lyric about Grant’s first lover, with tenderness and regret coming together in one of his most beautiful melodies.” Sunday Times – Album Of The Week

Boy From Michigan is Grant in panoramic mode, looking back and looking forward to create his biggest picture yet.” MOJO – 4 stars ****

“Vangelis meets Harry Nilsson” Uncut – 8/10

“An expansive and frequently exquisite summation of Grant’s storytelling powers… Boy From Michigan develops as a multi-layered and resonant coming-of-age story-in-songs… These songs cut to the quick with character and feeling, wit and precision.” Record Collector – 4 stars ****

“He takes the idea of pop-as-autobiography to new heights on his remarkable new record” The i News – 4 stars ****

“Formative memories weigh heavy on the dreamy, clarinet-haunted textures of Mike and Julie; the lush, impressionistic amble through the stalls on County Fair, couched in Cocteau Twins guitar glimmer and Beach Boys harmonies, and the Scott Walker-esque piano melancholy of The Cruise Room.” The Observer

“Wildly ambitious and emphatically realised, the new songs represent an ideal marriage of Grant’s strengths – soaring piano-led balladry and angular, rhythmic synth workouts.” The Sun – 4 stars ****

“A brooding reflection on childhood, the auteur expertly taps into Eno and Moroder for sonic inspiration.” Sunday Express – 4 stars ****

“John Grant excels at looking backwards in his songs. His voice is warm and resonant, rising and falling in time to the music like the tidal pull of memories. Luxuriant melodies cast a golden glow over these songs while analogue synthesisers pulse and swoosh like vintage time-travelling contraptions.” Financial Times

“A gorgeously observed working through of personal and national demons.” Loud & Quiet

“A record filled with retro synths and Grant’s lush vocals… Engrossing and bewitching.” Classic Pop

“A beauty… this meditation on an American life holds nothing back” HiFi Choice – 4 stars ****

John Grant shares mesmerising “County Fair” visuals

Currently in the Top 10 with his new album Boy From Michigan, released last month via Bella Union, John Grant today shares a mesmerising montage video for new single “County Fair” created by visionary filmmaker Jonathan Caouette. Commenting on the track and video Caouette says: “When I was 12, growing up in Texas, I briefly worked at a kid’s theme park that had been around since the 1940s. I would also go to rodeo carnivals and various county fairs, along with Astroworld, an amusement park that you could almost see from my house. There was great joy in those places, but also a darkness. ‘County Fair’ is enigmatic and shimmering. It’s all of these places for me. It’s a song that knows where I live. Thank you to filmmaker Teddy Smith for allowing me to use moments from his film, ‘Abandoned Six Flags Tour’, for this mashup.”

Boy From Michigan affirms John Grant as one of the great singer-songwriters of our time. If there’s a centre ground between the songcraft of Elton John and the sonic experimentalism of Kraftwerk then Grant claims it for his own. His fifth solo album is a work of great power and beauty.” Daily Telegraph – 4 stars **** (Album Of The Week)

Boy From Michigan is Grant’s futuristic vision of his past, filtered through his bleak, witty, lacerating worldview. And it is a delight.” The Times – 4 stars **** (Album Of The Week)

Boy From Michigan has the American fusing the piano-led chamber pop of his early releases with the jagged electronica of his more recent work. Produced by Cate Le Bon, it is dependably doleful and caustic as the singer shines unforgiving light on his troubled upbringing and the cruel joke that is the American dream. On ‘Mike and Julie’, clarinet and synth decorate a lyric about Grant’s first lover, with tenderness and regret coming together in one of his most beautiful melodies.” Sunday Times – Album Of The Week

Boy From Michigan is Grant in panoramic mode, looking back and looking forward to create his biggest picture yet.” MOJO – 4 stars ****

“Vangelis meets Harry Nilsson” Uncut – 8/10

“An expansive and frequently exquisite summation of Grant’s storytelling powers… Boy From Michigan develops as a multi-layered and resonant coming-of-age story-in-songs… These songs cut to the quick with character and feeling, wit and precision.” Record Collector – 4 stars ****

“He takes the idea of pop-as-autobiography to new heights on his remarkable new record” The i News – 4 stars ****

“Formative memories weigh heavy on the dreamy, clarinet-haunted textures of Mike and Julie; the lush, impressionistic amble through the stalls on County Fair, couched in Cocteau Twins guitar glimmer and Beach Boys harmonies, and the Scott Walker-esque piano melancholy of The Cruise Room.” The Observer

“Wildly ambitious and emphatically realised, the new songs represent an ideal marriage of Grant’s strengths – soaring piano-led balladry and angular, rhythmic synth workouts.” The Sun – 4 stars ****

“A brooding reflection on childhood, the auteur expertly taps into Eno and Moroder for sonic inspiration.” Sunday Express – 4 stars ****

“John Grant excels at looking backwards in his songs. His voice is warm and resonant, rising and falling in time to the music like the tidal pull of memories. Luxuriant melodies cast a golden glow over these songs while analogue synthesisers pulse and swoosh like vintage time-travelling contraptions.” Financial Times

“A gorgeously observed working through of personal and national demons.” Loud & Quiet

“A record filled with retro synths and Grant’s lush vocals… Engrossing and bewitching.” Classic Pop

“A beauty… this meditation on an American life holds nothing back” HiFi Choice – 4 stars ****

Happy Release Day John Grant

John Grant releases his fifth solo album, Boy From Michigan, today Bella Union in the UK/Europe and Partisan in the US. Produced by Cate Le Bon, the album is a triumph and is being hailed by critics and fans alike. Boy From Michigan is available to listen to / order here.

Somewhere in the last decade, John Grant established himself as one of the great musical chroniclers of the American Dream, angled mostly from its flipside. What if everything you were promised, if you worked hard, loved hard, played and prayed hard, it all turned to ash? Grant lays it all out for careful cross-examination in his most autobiographical work to date. In a decade of making records by himself, he has playfully experimented with mood, texture and sound. At one end of his musical rainbow, he is the battle-scarred piano-man, at the other, a robust electronic auteur. Boy from Michigan seamlessly marries both.

Boy from Michigan sets out its stall early in order to fan his lyrical deck wider. Grant knows America well enough to document it in microscopic, painterly detail. The brittle intensity of the early life experiences of a middle-aged man twist stealthily into a broad metaphor for the state of the nation. “I guess I’m just thinking about where I came from,” he notes, “and what I went into.”

With longtime friend Cate Le Bon in the production chair, Grant has maximized the emotional impact of the melodies, stripping the noise of vaudeville and mood-enhancing a fruitful, spare, strangely orchestrated new world for him to live in. A clarinet forms the bedrock of a song. There is a saxophone solo. The record swings between ambient and progressive, calm and livid.

“Cate and I are both very strong-willed people”, says Grant.  “Making a record is hard on a good day. The mounting stress of the US election and the pandemic really started to get to us by late July and August last year. It was at times a very stressful process under the circumstances, but one which was also full of many incredible and joyful moments.”

With the frenetic backdrop to its incubation playing out in the distance, the narrative journey of Boy from Michigan opens with Grant returning to his artistic prettiest. It begins with three songs drawn from his pre-Denver life: the title song, The Rusty Bull and County Fair. “It’s my Michigan Trilogy,” he says. Each draws the listener in to a specific sense of place, before untangling its significance with a rich cast-list of local characters, often symbolizing the uncultivated faith of childhood.

Tracks four and five, Mike and Julie and The Cruise Room, are perhaps the most affecting of the record, plunging deep into Grant’s late teenage years in Denver. In the former, Grant is confronted by a friend who wants to be with him, a man he brick-walls by purposefully positioning a mutual female friend in between as he cannot yet face his own sexuality. In the latter, he revisits the untouched, faded grandeur of the Art Deco bar at Denver’s Oxford Hotel for one last night as a young man before trying his luck in Germany, to see if Europe is a better fit.

Cementing the mid-point of the record are a pair of skittish, scholarly dance tunes, Best in Me and Rhetorical Figure. The latter is built in the lineage of his nascent electropop darlings, Devo, suggesting a formative world in which brains are regarded as horny as bodies. Dropping the pace, Just So You Know is the most familiar, John Grant-ian of his songs on the record. It is meant as a song to comfort his nearest and dearest after he’s gone.

Childhood as a horror narrative returns on Dandy Star, observing the tiny Grant watching the Mia Farrow horror movie See No Evil on the old family TV set in which a blind girl arrives back at her Aunt and Uncle’s home after a date and, after sleeping through the night, awakens in the morning only to discover gradually that everyone has been murdered.

These nine songs are the tumescent prologue to his grand climax. The pure smut of Your Portfolio imagines the US economy rewritten as a throbbing libidinous cock. “It’s where we are now in The States,” he says. “We worship money and any pretence that there’s any worship of anything else going on – like a loving God, for example – is just pathetic. Character doesn’t matter. Intimacy doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters. Wealth is sexualised. It’s a poem in honor of money. The song sounds funny, but I think it’s probably one of the darkest and most serious on the record.”

In ‘The Only Baby’ he finally removes his razor blade from a pocket to cleanly slit the throat of Trump’s America, authoring a scathing epitaph to an era of acute national exposition. He positions the former president as the bastard child of the nation’s virgin mother: “Don’t look so glum/There’s no reason to be sad/Because that’s the only baby that bitch could ever have.” As a final coda, on Billy, he gets to the causation of all this, a prevalent culture of hyper-machismo, one which fashioned us all for failure.

In his own accidental, skewed manner, John Grant may just have nailed, if not the, then at least an American Dream. Bruised and scarred he may be, but the boy from Michigan is no weak-hearted fool.

John Grant announces 2022 dates

With his much-anticipated new album Boy From Michigan due for release 25th June via Bella Union, John Grant today announces news of two new UK live dates in June 2022 to follow his Autumn tour this year, performing at both the O2 Shepherds Bush Empire in London and the Albert Hall in Manchester.

Somewhere in the last decade, John Grant established himself as one of the great musical chroniclers of the American Dream, angled mostly from its flipside. What if everything you were promised, if you worked hard, loved hard, played and prayed hard, it all turned to ash? Grant lays it all out for careful cross-examination in his most autobiographical work to date. In a decade of making records by himself, he has playfully experimented with mood, texture and sound. At one end of his musical rainbow, he is the battle-scarred piano-man, at the other, a robust electronic auteur. Boy from Michigan seamlessly marries both.

Boy from Michigan sets out its stall early in order to fan his lyrical deck wider. Grant knows America well enough to document it in microscopic, painterly detail. The brittle intensity of the early life experiences of a middle-aged man twist stealthily into a broad metaphor for the state of the nation. “I guess I’m just thinking about where I came from,” he notes, “and what I went into.”

With longtime friend Cate Le Bon in the production chair, Grant has maximized the emotional impact of the melodies, stripping the noise of vaudeville and mood-enhancing a fruitful, spare, strangely orchestrated new world for him to live in. A clarinet forms the bedrock of a song. There is a saxophone solo. The record swings between ambient and progressive, calm and livid.

“Cate and I are both very strong-willed people”, says Grant.  “Making a record is hard on a good day. The mounting stress of the US election and the pandemic really started to get to us by late July and August last year. It was at times a very stressful process under the circumstances, but one which was also full of many incredible and joyful moments.” 

With the frenetic backdrop to its incubation playing out in the distance, the narrative journey of Boy from Michigan opens with Grant returning to his artistic prettiest. It begins with three songs drawn from his pre-Denver life: the title song, The Rusty Bull and County Fair. “It’s my Michigan Trilogy,” he says. Each draws the listener in to a specific sense of place, before untangling its significance with a rich cast-list of local characters, often symbolizing the uncultivated faith of childhood. 

Tracks four and five, Mike and Julie and The Cruise Room, are perhaps the most affecting of the record, plunging deep into Grant’s late teenage years in Denver. In the former, Grant is confronted by a friend who wants to be with him, a man he brick-walls by purposefully positioning a mutual female friend in between as he cannot yet face his own sexuality. In the latter, he revisits the untouched, faded grandeur of the Art Deco bar at Denver’s Oxford Hotel for one last night as a young man before trying his luck in Germany, to see if Europe is a better fit.

Cementing the mid-point of the record are a pair of skittish, scholarly dance tunes, Best in Me and Rhetorical Figure. The latter is built in the lineage of his nascent electropop darlings, Devo, suggesting a formative world in which brains are regarded as horny as bodies. Dropping the pace, Just So You Know is the most familiar, John Grant-ian of his songs on the record. It is meant as a song to comfort his nearest and dearest after he’s gone. 

Childhood as a horror narrative returns on Dandy Star, observing the tiny Grant watching the Mia Farrow horror movie See No Evil on the old family TV set in which a blind girl arrives back at her Aunt and Uncle’s home after a date and, after sleeping through the night, awakens in the morning only to discover gradually that everyone has been murdered. 

These nine songs are the tumescent prologue to his grand climax. The pure smut of Your Portfolio imagines the US economy rewritten as a throbbing libidinous cock. “It’s where we are now in The States,” he says. “We worship money and any pretence that there’s any worship of anything else going on – like a loving God, for example – is just pathetic. Character doesn’t matter. Intimacy doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters. Wealth is sexualised. It’s a poem in honor of money. The song sounds funny, but I think it’s probably one of the darkest and most serious on the record.” 

In The Only Baby he finally removes his razor blade from a pocket to cleanly slit the throat of Trump’s America, authoring a scathing epitaph to an era of acute national exposition. He positions the former president as the bastard child of the nation’s virgin mother: “Don’t look so glum/There’s no reason to be sad/Because that’s the only baby that bitch could ever have.” As a final coda, on Billy, he gets to the causation of all this, a prevalent culture of hyper-machismo, one which fashioned us all for failure.

In his own accidental, skewed manner, John Grant may just have nailed, if not the, then at least an American Dream. Bruised and scarred he may be, but the boy from Michigan is no weak-hearted fool.

John Grant debuts “Billy”

With his new album Boy From Michigan due for release 25th June via Bella Union,and having previously shared the tracks ‘The Only Baby’‘Boy From Michigan’ and ‘Rhetorical Figure’, John Grant today shares a video for “Billy”, the closing track on the LP. On the song, Grant decries the all too prevalent culture of hyper-machismo, one which fashions us all for failure. He explains: “Billy is a song about how many men destroy themselves trying to live up to stereotypes of masculinity and how this manifests in countless ways.” The part-animated video, directed by regular collaborators Casey and Ewan, features the eponymous Billy of the title and was shot in both Reykjavik (John) and Denver (Billy). 

Somewhere in the last decade, John Grant established himself as one of the great musical chroniclers of the American Dream, angled mostly from its flipside. What if everything you were promised, if you worked hard, loved hard, played and prayed hard, it all turned to ash? Grant lays it all out for careful cross-examination in his most autobiographical work to date. In a decade of making records by himself, he has playfully experimented with mood, texture and sound. At one end of his musical rainbow, he is the battle-scarred piano-man, at the other, a robust electronic auteur. Boy from Michigan seamlessly marries both.

Boy from Michigan sets out its stall early in order to fan his lyrical deck wider. Grant knows America well enough to document it in microscopic, painterly detail. The brittle intensity of the early life experiences of a middle-aged man twist stealthily into a broad metaphor for the state of the nation. “I guess I’m just thinking about where I came from,” he notes, “and what I went into.”

With longtime friend Cate Le Bon in the production chair, Grant has maximized the emotional impact of the melodies, stripping the noise of vaudeville and mood-enhancing a fruitful, spare, strangely orchestrated new world for him to live in. A clarinet forms the bedrock of a song. There is a saxophone solo. The record swings between ambient and progressive, calm and livid.

“Cate and I are both very strong-willed people”, says Grant.  “Making a record is hard on a good day. The mounting stress of the US election and the pandemic really started to get to us by late July and August last year. It was at times a very stressful process under the circumstances, but one which was also full of many incredible and joyful moments.” 

With the frenetic backdrop to its incubation playing out in the distance, the narrative journey of Boy from Michigan opens with Grant returning to his artistic prettiest. It begins with three songs drawn from his pre-Denver life: the title song, The Rusty Bull and County Fair. “It’s my Michigan Trilogy,” he says. Each draws the listener in to a specific sense of place, before untangling its significance with a rich cast-list of local characters, often symbolizing the uncultivated faith of childhood. 

Tracks four and five, Mike and Julie and The Cruise Room, are perhaps the most affecting of the record, plunging deep into Grant’s late teenage years in Denver. In the former, Grant is confronted by a friend who wants to be with him, a man he brick-walls by purposefully positioning a mutual female friend in between as he cannot yet face his own sexuality. In the latter, he revisits the untouched, faded grandeur of the Art Deco bar at Denver’s Oxford Hotel for one last night as a young man before trying his luck in Germany, to see if Europe is a better fit.

Cementing the mid-point of the record are a pair of skittish, scholarly dance tunes, Best in Me and Rhetorical Figure. The latter is built in the lineage of his nascent electropop darlings, Devo, suggesting a formative world in which brains are regarded as horny as bodies. Dropping the pace, Just So You Know is the most familiar, John Grant-ian of his songs on the record. It is meant as a song to comfort his nearest and dearest after he’s gone. 

Childhood as a horror narrative returns on Dandy Star, observing the tiny Grant watching the Mia Farrow horror movie See No Evil on the old family TV set in which a blind girl arrives back at her Aunt and Uncle’s home after a date and, after sleeping through the night, awakens in the morning only to discover gradually that everyone has been murdered. 

These nine songs are the tumescent prologue to his grand climax. The pure smut of Your Portfolio imagines the US economy rewritten as a throbbing libidinous cock. “It’s where we are now in The States,” he says. “We worship money and any pretence that there’s any worship of anything else going on – like a loving God, for example – is just pathetic. Character doesn’t matter. Intimacy doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters. Wealth is sexualised. It’s a poem in honor of money. The song sounds funny, but I think it’s probably one of the darkest and most serious on the record.” 

In The Only Baby he finally removes his razor blade from a pocket to cleanly slit the throat of Trump’s America, authoring a scathing epitaph to an era of acute national exposition. He positions the former president as the bastard child of the nation’s virgin mother: “Don’t look so glum/There’s no reason to be sad/Because that’s the only baby that bitch could ever have.” As a final coda, on Billy, he gets to the causation of all this, a prevalent culture of hyper-machismo, one which fashioned us all for failure.

In his own accidental, skewed manner, John Grant may just have nailed, if not the, then at least an American Dream. Bruised and scarred he may be, but the boy from Michigan is no weak-hearted fool.

John Grant shares “Rhetorical Figure”

With his new album Boy From Michigan due for release 25th June via Bella Union, John Granthas today shared a new track, “Rhetorical Figure”, from the LP. Built in the lineage of Grant’s nascent electropop darlings, Devo, the song suggests a formative world in which brains are regarded as horny as bodies. According to Grant, “This is a song about my love of language and rhetorical figures and what a turn-on it is when someone wields language in a very capable manner.”

Grant has previously shared videos for ‘Boy From Michigan’ and ‘The Only Baby’ from the Cate Le Bon-produced LP and recently announced a UK tour, the dates of which can be found below.

Somewhere in the last decade, John Grant established himself as one of the great musical chroniclers of the American Dream, angled mostly from its flipside. What if everything you were promised, if you worked hard, loved hard, played and prayed hard, all turned to ash? Grant lays it all out for careful cross-examination in his most autobiographical work to date. In a decade of making records by himself, he has playfully experimented with mood, texture and sound. At one end of his musical rainbow, he is the battle-scarred piano-man, at the other, a robust electronic auteur. Boy from Michigan seamlessly marries both.

Boy from Michigan sets out its stall early in order to fan his lyrical deck wider. Grant knows America well enough to document it in microscopic, painterly detail. The brittle intensity of the early life experiences of a middle-aged man twist stealthily into a broad metaphor for the state of the nation. “I guess I’m just thinking about where I came from,” he notes, “and what I went into.”

With longtime friend Cate Le Bon in the production chair, Grant has maximized the emotional impact of the melodies, stripping the noise of vaudeville and mood-enhancing a fruitful, spare, strangely orchestrated new world for him to live in. A clarinet forms the bedrock of a song. There is a saxophone solo. The record swings between ambient and progressive, calm and livid. “Cate and I are both very strong-willed people”, says Grant.  “Making a record is hard on a good day. The mounting stress of the US election and the pandemic really started to get to us by late July and August last year. It was at times a very stressful process under the circumstances, but one which was also full of many incredible and joyful moments.” 

With the frenetic backdrop to its incubation playing out in the distance, the narrative journey of Boy from Michigan opens with Grant returning to his artistic prettiest. It begins with three songs drawn from his pre-Denver life: the title song, The Rusty Bull and County Fair. “It’s my Michigan Trilogy,” he says. Each draws the listener in to a specific sense of place, before untangling its significance with a rich cast-list of local characters, often symbolizing the uncultivated faith of childhood. 

Tracks four and five, Mike and Julie and The Cruise Room, are perhaps the most affecting of the record, plunging deep into Grant’s late teenage years in Denver. In the former, Grant is confronted by a friend who wants to be with him, a man he brick-walls by purposefully positioning a mutual female friend in between as he cannot yet face his own sexuality. In the latter, he revisits the untouched, faded grandeur of the Art Deco bar at Denver’s Oxford Hotel for one last night as a young man before trying his luck in Germany, to see if Europe is a better fit.

Cementing the mid-point of the record are a pair of skittish, scholarly dance tunes, Best in Me and Rhetorical Figure. The latter is built in the lineage of his nascent electropop darlings, Devo, suggesting a formative world in which brains are regarded as horny as bodies. Dropping the pace, Just So You Know is the most familiar, John Grant-ian of his songs on the record. It is meant as a song to comfort his nearest and dearest after he’s gone. 

Childhood as a horror narrative returns on Dandy Star, observing the tiny Grant watching the Mia Farrow horror movie See No Evil on the old family TV set in which a blind girl arrives back at her Aunt and Uncle’s home after a date and, after sleeping through the night, awakens in the morning only to discover gradually that everyone has been murdered. 

These nine songs are the tumescent prologue to his grand climax. The pure smut of Your Portfolio imagines the US economy rewritten as a throbbing libidinous cock. “It’s where we are now in The States,” he says. “We worship money and any pretence that there’s any worship of anything else going on – like a loving God, for example – is just pathetic. Character doesn’t matter. Intimacy doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters. Wealth is sexualised. It’s a poem in honor of money. The song sounds funny, but I think it’s probably one of the darkest and most serious on the record.” 

In ‘The Only Baby’ he finally removes his razor blade from a pocket to cleanly slit the throat of Trump’s America, authoring a scathing epitaph to an era of acute national exposition. He positions the former president as the bastard child of the nation’s virgin mother: “Don’t look so glum/There’s no reason to be sad/Because that’s the only baby that bitch could ever have.” As a final coda, on Billy, he gets to the causation of all this, a prevalent culture of hyper-machismo, one which fashioned us all for failure.

In his own accidental, skewed manner, John Grant may just have nailed, if not the, then at least an American Dream. Bruised and scarred he may be, but the boy from Michigan is no weak-hearted fool.