Tony Presley- guitar, vocals
Karrie Hopper- guitar, vocals
Marcus Rubio- violin
Influences
accountability, friends, Fugazi, Robert Johnson, Nina Simone, Paul Simon, The Weakerthans, Beyond Gods and Empires, Good Luck, Velvet Underground.
Sounds Like
walking on a dirt road at night, a whole field whispering, mountains shifting, ships cutting through water, a dream dissipating in the morning, demon possession, conjuring up spirits, the crunch of gravel in a roadhouse parking lot, blowing on too-hot coffee, opening a letter you've waited so long to read and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.
Hey Tony! how are you? how have you been? I just wanted to let you know that I am on tour now. And have new songs from an upcoming album on my myspace page worth listening to, and have a bunch of new videos worth checking out on my youtube page http://www. youtube. com/drewdanburry and am on TOUR RIGHT NOW. So if you care, please stop by my page, and if you don't, I still like you and I sincerely hope you are having a great day. But I especially hope you are PUMPED for the new album, and I hope I get to see you out there on the road. Thanks for the time. I'm including a video I think will make your day. Please spread the word and feel free to post bulletins about what I'm up to! Peace! Drew
hey tony. hope yr doing well. we're playing a live set on the radio here. listen to it if you can. it'll be from 6pm-7 your time (pdx? yes?). here's a link- http://www. neiu. edu/~wzrd/main. htm.
In my darkest moments your songs have been my compassion and empathy. I wish I could write something worthwhile to help you now. I'm here to take care of my family, and you are my brother. I am here for you.
I now have a mouth full of fillings, but you should be glad to hear that I am holding down two jobs. Full-time funny and part-time brusher..picked up a flossing shift once a day.
In her sweetness where she folds my wounds there is a flower that bees cannot afford. It is too rich for them and would change their wings into operas and all their honey into the lonesome maps of a nonexistent California county. When she has finished folding all my wounds she puts them away in a dresser where the drawers smell like the ghost of a bicycle. Afterwards I rage at her: demanding that her affections always be constant to my questions.
