‘Don’t you worry ’bout me…’

The first time I heard Ken Layne sing, I was driving through the mountains of Slovakia on a weird corporate road trip with my wife, toddler daughter and Matt Welch. Somewhere (lost?) near the Polish border, Welch popped a cassette into the dashboard of the old black Volvo 240 I’d bought from Adam Lebor, the Times of London’s eccentric correspondent.

The cassette revealed Ken Layne humming and chanting about some “monkey cup.” Whatever that was, I couldn’t tell, but the song was at once hummable, evil and captivating. Then we heard “springtime in Budapest,” a lovely ode to the city’s prostitutes.

Now, Ken’s starting to digitalize and propogate his old tapes. Here’s the first, “don’t you worry ’bout me.” Toss Ken ten and maybe he’ll keep playing.

A final note before I go coach soccer (where six months of winter and kindergarten have transformed unruly thrashers into disciplined kickers): welcome to new Blogad peddler and Republican-scourger Atrios, who opened his adstrip for business yesterday afternoon and already has three ads running.