Babajack played their notoriously and biologically essential rhythms desperately — and earnestly — on cigar-box guitar and well-slapped cajon…. With Becky’s flame-hair swishing through the thin-air and the carefree indifference of Trevor — well, hell … It kinda made us feel as if the whole world was actually OK… And — If only for a moment — we could still all have a good time…