A band called Dirty Bangs has been born in Massachusetts, created while being stretched across area codes and run rabid purely out of the soul-burning necessity for creativity. The band that never was supposed to be anything became something very, very lovely. Five gentlemen who create loud, soft, loud melodies of far-out pop sprinkled with do-wop, rock n’ roll, and dark days ingredients, bled from the pulses of old and new friends making a noise. Take the anguished soul of Syl Johnson and Bobby Womack, add a slight bastardization of the sound with J&MC or BJM making love to Alan Vega and you got what Dirty Bangs is going for. These are songs for the spirited, songs for the misunderstood romantics, for the drunks and the saints. The sound is pure, honest, it is the sound of someone giving it their all, being real with you over a sipper of whiskey and smoke, or within the holiness of a beach breeze, with every rattle a truth or a lie for the listener to consume. Look out your window and imagine the whimsical pop of your city coming alive and trashing the place, and just feel it, man. This is Dirty Bangs.
