Sometimes when Bart sings, I forget what we’re talking about. I’m sure he knows though. I trust him. He sounds like John Prine, plays like Hoyt Axton, and looks like well...Bart Budwig. He’s a cosmic country lawn gnome. He’s cherubic, cheery, and an old soul. Songs spring from the dreams of his noonday naps, and punch the keys of his typewriter above the OK Theater in Enterprise, Oregon. When words won’t take, he calls 'em in with a bugle of his trumpet, or a strum of soothing guitar.