St. Paul & the Broken Bones
Paul is a young man who began wailing straight out of the womb, and most folks would agree that he hasn't stopped since. "Oh what a set of lungs that child has," they'd say, "he must be destined for something special." Not wishing to disappoint, and being a good young southern boy, Paul began singing in church, stretching those vocal cords with an eye toward becoming a man of the cloth. As it turns out, however, the cloth didn't appreciate young Paul's affinity for dirty jokes, Prince, and Tom Waits, and he was inclined to search elsewhere for co-conspirators. He began plying his trade with whomever would have him, and happily, folks were mostly impressed by his efforts. With a wholly re-imagined take on the sounds he'd grown up singing and seeking, Paul recruited a rag-tag band of loveable weirdoes, visionaries, and hacks to help him harness the power he now knew he possessed. Under the nom du guerre St. Paul and the Broken Bones, the motley crew roams the countryside looking to get cabooses shakin', faces meltin', and brothers and sisters everywhere testifyin'.
Originally from Birmingham, AL, Banditos is a group - more like a gang, actually - of six 20-somethings, nowadays operating out of Nashville, close to, and simultaneously very far away from, the gleaming towers and industry hustle of Lower Broad and Music Row. With the rugged power of a flashy Super Chief locomotive, the Banditos' self-titled debut album bodaciously appropriates elements of '60s blues-fused acid rock, ZZ Top's jangly boogie, garage punk scuzz a la Burger Records, the Drive-By Truckers' yawp, the populist choogle of CCR, Slim Harpo's hip shake baby groove, gut bucket Fat Possum hill country mojo and the Georgia Motherf**king Satellites. From backwoods bluegrass, to slinky nods to Muscle Shoals soul and unexpected bits of doo-wop sweetness, the Banditos recall many, but sound like no one but themselves.