When I was a little kid, we’d sometimes go to church with my grandparents on the weekend. Their church was a little tiny place in the middle of the woods where mostly farmers and poor people went. There was a Hammond instead of a pipe organ, the carpets were faded crimson red polyester, and the walls were lined with cheap wood paneling. My grandmother sang tenor (!) in the church choir, and my grandfather would play fiddle or musical saw along with the organ and piano. Anyway, the brash, earnest crooning of the Television’s Soul’s Harbor Singers reminds me of this church.