This is sound poetry at its best. I could almost feel these people sitting next to me and tell me stories...just me. As the TV performer - when he'd asked why he couldn't feel the intimacy with his audience- was told that he shouldn't try reaching all the buckaroos; he simply needed to address one little buckaroo.

Francis Coppola is our guide to these lives, even stopping for a moment in his own nearly thirty years ago. We see a different side of Coppola, as a father- as one of five-year old Sofia. The recording of her talking to herself in the future is revealing, but not in realizing she had a reflection of who she has become today. It's how the Coppola's interacted with each other, age notwithstanding. At the time she wore an Oscar necklace her father had made for her-the Oscar for best screenplay: The Godfather- and we all know where that circle ended.

But first, Sam Phillips, the man responsible for capturing the sounds that would shape the future of music; forget just Rock n' Roll....music. Phillips has the first lenghty, but intimate, conversation about his love for music and sound. The man's love of sound infected his recordings while shining on unknown talent. 'Sun,' eh?

The pieces are woven into a comfortable piece of sound cloak, if I may, and I finally understood - and maybe I'm way off in the name's history- why the producers call themselves Kitchen Sisters. The conversations, all of them, felt like people sitting at your kitchen table and baring their souls. From the Mohawk iron workers group that has a long history in the buildings of New York City, to the steel drummers of Trinidad, all seem so close to us - to me, the little buckaroo in me- and open and trusting.

You give an hour of your time to this piece and I won't be able to stop you from listening to hour two. I promise you.