Poor Howard's 12-string guitar has the solid, propulsive groove of a steady-moving freight train; and he has the uncanny way of singing classic blues tunes as if their hard-luck stories were happening today.  In his care, old songs never seem old, but timeless, personal, pulsing with knowable human emotions.  His own songs nestle beside them as if they grew up together.

...His Droll patter, outrageous jokes, tall tales, and bald-faced lies felt as if they grew from the same rich folk soil that the songs did. Somehow, he delivers it all - ancient blues, modern ballad, and wild-eyed pun - in a way that makes you think you’re just sitting around his kitchen table, passing a jug and whiling away an easy Saturday night.