Do you have fantasies of Santa Claus finger-picking a steel guitar? Are you excited by foot-long, knotted beards? How about scarves? Appalachian folk songs? Jazz music? Songs about eating worms, palindromes, and making a cool milli?

Welcome to Baby Gramps, the purveyor and salesman of the aforementioned musical wares. Gramps, with a voice that sounds like a Swiss cheese muffler, lovingly guides audiences through a free-associating tour of American music. His origins are purposefully mysterious — he lives in the Pacific Northwest, he’s been playing music since the ’60s, and he, uh, tours sometimes. A mixture of ecstatic singer-songwriter, unfrozen vaudevillian, raconteur great-grandfather, and hobo chic paragon, the act goes down like a glass of warm milk.

The best part is that if electricity were never invented we’d still have Baby Gramps.