It's
strange. When The Val Papadins play music, they sometimes find
themselves in the steep canyons of Death Valley and sometimes in
the black hollows of a Russian winter, where not even trains pierce
the prehistoric age of night. If they were Nevada
Highwaymen, they'd have broken into a St. Petersburg Opera House
by now, sending splinters of classical piano exploding into the night
on the metallic afterburners of steel guitar.
If they were jazz musicians, they would be lost on a great sea of
subway systems and sea shanty soul--consumed by the seagull harangue
of melodica, underwater dreams and big city blues--like sailors drunk
on rum. (If the rum were the scotch.)
But they're the Val Papadins. Buoyed by the common ground of Sergio
Leone, a good bottle of scotch, and an old hollow body guitar, the
Val Papadins make an ominous, beautiful noise that is at once Old
West, asymmetrically woven jazz and the lipstick stained rip-roar
of classic rock n' roll.
Sasha Papadin on vocals and guitar, Ryan
Lynch on lead
guitar, Nick Webb on bass, Ryan Alderman on drums,
and Lauren Berv on keys.
