ABOUT Dead Indian
For some time the wind was silent. Airwaves filled with electronic beats, digitally composed music, and autotuned voices rang empty upon the breeze. Made evident by the clean bathrooms in rock halls, ...
For some time the wind was silent. Airwaves filled with electronic beats, digitally composed music, and autotuned voices rang empty upon the breeze. Made evident by the clean bathrooms in rock halls, an abundance of shiny new gear on the stages, the once great raucous halls of rock and roll now echoing the pang of banjos and easily digestible indie-folk music. "Rock is dead" they told us, and woe was upon the land. But soft! At the peak of the great Sequoyah Mountain amongst the hills of Fayetteville, Arkansas the great spirit of rock's fire was reignited by destiny, the smoke signal reaching far to the eyes of three who's fate lead them to assemble their array of old, beat up tube amps and black t-shirts and gather atop the mountain. They did not weep for the state of things, instead they meditated for many moons and aroused the spirits of the great rock legends of lore. Brought into the studio by fortune, they recorded an album live on all analog equipment and released it into the world to right the wrongs of time. Now they travel the lands, bringing rock and roll music back into the wind and bringing life back into rock bars, filling those great bastions of joy with ear busting guitar solos and ensuring a steady flow of whiskey into the guts of the poor townspeople. "Rock is dead" they said- but we've brought it back to life.