BLUE HOOK

Born in the trunk of a 69 Dodge Charger, The Blue Hook are creatures of circumstance. The dust on the lens of your gold aviator sunglasses. Two shots of whiskey to the moon. A lost child with no regrets and little remorse. Transgressions so pure, no one will say a word. Secrets we all share in our epiphany. Shades of quiet illusion surround the band, circumventing any hopes of a simple life. Yet they push on, never compromising, never backing down. Holding on desperately to their artistic integrity. One long poetic confusion, to jar loose any last sentiment held by the sentimental lunatics that follow them. Crying wolf was only a dream, and The Blue Hook are that highway. Follow with caution and beware of the dangerous curve. We all find our dead end.

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