and when the morning thanks the breeze for growing through the windows of the trees, I feel at ease, I feel at ease
Embark on a sonic sojourn. Ride the waves of joyous, freaky indie rock. Make a left turn into a couple of offbeat townships in the deep American south of an alternate dimension, and then find yourself stoned and a little drunk, peeking your head into the side offices of Hell’s halls, just for the giddy thrill of it. By the end, you’ll be possessed with an intimate knowledge of why Shiny Red Nothing requires their own genre. Their music can only be defined as Blackgrass.