Four fine fellows decided to form a band. They met at a dusty jukebox in a dusty bar, in a dusty town, over dusty beers. Minds met over small talk, and, on that Afternoon, an understanding emerged. They then played music. “Pacific Americana” they exclaimed, and that’s what it is. The blacksmith, Zack Smith, educated in the fine musical arts, wields the mighty upright bass. Charles Scheinblum, hailing from the North-East, a fine percussionist. Michael Starr strokes the fiddle and electric guitar with precision and ease. Brandon Reynolds, child of a rusty harmonica and a whiskey jug, sings. The music, a product of their origins.
