Steve Poulton Contrast CD

As a young Christian, growing up in the world was tough for Vicky, although this did not faze her as she finally planted her feet in one of London's biggest charismatic Pentecostal churches (PGDM), leaning on the one person she holds very dear and close - Jesus Christ.

'Without Jesus I am nothing' One thing we all as believers have in common is this statement! However Vicky emphasizes o the Truth in that statement when writing songs and 'love letters to God' as she calls it.

Love and Peace!With such songs as 'Praise You' and ' Beautiful' Vicky allows the Holy Spirit to guide her when writing her music and makes sure the messages are heard one way or another, while will acknowledging the difference between song ministration and word ministration of which she famously quotes;'One of the key fundamentals is that song ministration ushers the presence of God into an atmosphere and prepares a place (anywhere) for the word ministration or preaching to be carried out under the unction of the Holy Spirit' - Vicky M.

Old Gid Tanner and Riley Puckett come into town lookin' for to knock the dust and travelin' coal tar outta their throats, and sure enough, they stepped up to Vic Dante's Inferno Bar on Beale Street, you know, there 'neath the sign that read 'Abandon All Despair, All Ye Who Enter Here,' and when the dime store Indian workin' the door says, 'Two bits,' old Gid reached into Riley's nation sack for the coins, and they moseyed inside.

In the back, by coal-oil lantern light, Will Shade was leadin' a ragtag Memphis jug band in a chaotic stomp through a haze of opium and the blowback of grinning vipers. The Jamaica Ginger Happy Hour was in full swing, you know, with the dwarfs and fat ladies throwin' back two-for-one Jake specials before a-shufflin' off to work the freak tents down by the river.

Now, you understand I was sittin' at the far end of the bar with a bottle of Hooch, and there beside me, old Gus Cannon was passing out wolf tickets to a pimp about a sweet mama he wanted to make some time with. 'Viola? Now she ain't no cheap trick, banjo man!' says that lavender-ring rascal, pushin' his fedora further down over his eyes and leanin' deep into his elbows on the bar. The band kicked into another whiskey-stooped stomp, this time lead by a one-legged guitar player, name of Fuzzy or Flurry, or somethin', while handsome Jab Jones' jug sucked talk-back bass from the low-timbered ceiling. Suddenly the floor was spittin' up sawdust, as it filled with hip-shakin' hoochie-mamas dancin' the 'cock-it-on-the-wall,' the 'black bottom,' and 'ballin' the jack' with their hot feet.

I seen Gid throw back a shot and then he takes his gut-string fiddle and peels a reel while Riley starts walkin' the fat strings of his flat-top, punchin' points against Jab's hollow jug. A right hypnotic chaos ensued-you might even say, erupted-with hustlers and hookers, vamps and vipers, coons and crackers all taking to the dance floor, a-shaking their sugar heels. Nobody ever heard nothin' like it before! No Suh! It sure was somethin' new.