Electronic Press Kit
Casting their net wide and with reckless abandon, The Old Smugglers done smuggled themselves a stupendous stash of serenaders, rapscallions, and ne’erdowells. Aboard a sinking dinghy on the rising tide and untethered from the anchors of regret, this transient circus of shipwrecked fools will invade the north ports bringing their own uncontrolled precision to an inebriation of songs, shamblings of sonnets, casket of canticles, and a musical chairs of exquisite corpses. Baptized by the unyielding waters of fury and forged by the raging fire of vitriol, The Old Smugglers ascend toward the water’s surface and proclaim victory over mediocrity and malfeasance.
Like bulls in a china shop, The Old Smugglers take the stages, rattle the cages, and are allies to those that create inclusive spaces in which to equitably melt faces. This multi-gender-ational menagerie of misfit musicians acknowledge our privilege and strive to ensure our events are safe and supportive to those whose voices are suppressed and silenced. Through the power of nautical rock, The Old Smugglers continue to be intolerant of intolerance and shoutier than the oppressors. Be it whiskey-bent sea shanties, hillbilly horror country or maritime folk from the lost coast, The Old Smugglers sing tales of decadent misadventure for troubled souls everywhere.
The Infamous Dr. Thunder is the lead preacher shouting and serenading tales of victory and regret. He’s backed by Mister December the Handsome Devil slinging mud and taking names with a mouthful of bees. Up from the depths of the murkiest seas rises the nethermost tentacles of bottom heavy grooves, Honeypants delivers the spirit up from the silt and to the sky to resuscitate your vital force and cast out the demons. From out of the salty air an angel, nay, a devil emerges so powerful all the forces of rhythm are at his command. Sick Nick hammers and batters a booming assault to lambaste your wretched soul. Wading through the reeds and the weeds sways the sultry sounds of Stowaway Sage as his saxophone woos and soothes your soul. He’s ready to pounce with every ounce of bang and blare, the clamor of a distant dissident bides his time to blast the stage. Fantastic on the fiddle and violent on the violin, the teeth of The Shark sink deep into your earholes, bringing the world to its knees with great fortitude and reckless abandon.