Picture yourself in a tail-finned car hurtling down a swampy southern highway on a night when the moon glows so bright that the headlights seem redundant. The sultry night air is thick with steam and the Spanish moss drips from the trees making them smudge and smear and the whole world is shades of blues. Spin the dial, and then you hear it--a flutter of bongos, thumping bass, and a big, twanging guitar...and her voice...the kind of voice that makes you remember the first time you felt things you were always told you shouldn't...A voice that takes you away to a world infinitely cool, a world where you really are the way you always pictured yourself. This is the world of Heather and the Monkey King.

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