liquid blue thursdays

Folding the trip white mellencamp has always been an obsession bordering on insanity and laced with a touch of acerbic optimism. Music has often been a tool for the wretched and miserable to commensurate with kindred souls. We have set out to destroy that model. Much like U2 did with bug eye sunglasses and Pat Boone did with race relations, liquid blue Thursdays have created a platform for wavering binge eaters to reform their minds first and than their swollen carapaces second.

With a simple hum of feedback from the hollow body Ibanez of Mr. Waddington and a rolling cymbal splash from the ham-fisted hands of Doctor Zinc, the first strains of music started pouring out over the footropes of Providence, RI over twenty years ago.

Now, busy in their den of pain in the bustling metro hub of Easton, PA these men scream insults at each other as they produce what might be called the most singularly brilliant stab at mediocrity since KC and the Sunshine band played on Merv Griffin’s show a while back.

Never be afraid of folding the trip white mellencamp