Indians

Of all the bands last decade to embrace the traditional Sunset Strip’s vision of cranium-to-crotch rock, the Ringers were one of two (the Vacation being the other) who should’ve become huge. Tears were shed when the Ringers called it quits a year ago, but the Hursleys — frontman, actor and former karaoke maestro Joe and cousin Patrick — have circled the wagons and teamed up with Michael Hayes and Mike McGill to form Indians. Suffice to say Indians’ music — an album is due this summer — is of the same high voltage. It’s a sweat-stained strain of punk and blues with sharp guitar work, furious rhythms and Joe Hursley’s caterwauling to sell it all. Hursley’s latest on-screen role is the lead in the forthcoming feature film “Balls to the Wall.” Which is where you’ll find Indians’ music as well.
- Buzzbands.la

If you were fortunate enough to catch Indians, you experienced magic in the making. Joe Hursley put on a show that left you wanting more, which made up for the less intriguing outdoor happenings. They played to a handful of people scattered throughout the club, whom by the end of the show all gravitated to the front of the stage. The bands’ avant-garde sound entranced the crowd while they watched the singer dive into the pit like an interactive acrobat. The quartet put on a show that could have satisfied a showcase at a much larger venue. - Crunk Magazine

I live in Los Angeles. I live in and through music, but particularly the local scene which surely boasts the best and worst incarnations that music could possibly have to offer, all nestled within our filthy little metropolis. Bands come and go on a daily, no, hourly basis and that’s the blunt force truth. The Ringers came, conquered, kicked our asses individually and collectively with their beautiful madness, and then called it a day leaving us inconsolable, sobbing piles of pitiful flesh. You should have seen Johnny; it was all we could do to keep him from ending it all in a death-by-STD binge of Ke$ha songs. It hurt. Still does. See Steve’s intro to the band for further.

“A phoenix is a mythical bird with a colorful plumage and a tail of gold and scarlet (or purple, blue, and green according to some legends).” Have you seen what Joe Hursley wears? His plumage is kind of awesome.

LA has a new bird in town, and it’s called Indians.

Since their formal coming out, Indians have played a handful of shows here and there around LA-town; no doubt finding their performance footing in anticipation of bigger and better things to come. There’s a small bar space above the famed Roxy Theatre in West Hollywood called On The Rox (equipped with a built in stripper pole) which is often used for show after-parties; on Wednesday night it was the location of the show and the party.

Indians are a new take on an old theme: brass, thrash, swagger, sweat, and rock. Unless you’re batshit blind, deaf, and/or just in denial at a retarded level, similarities to The Ringers will be and are impossible to ignore (hell, 50% of The Ringers make up Indians) and that’s okay. In about 35 minutes Indians made the point of reconciling the fact that rock/punk spasticness has a solid place in the scheme of rock and roll, particularly here in Los Angeles.

Ever channeling his inner Iggy Pop/Jesse Hughes, Joe Hursley is the poster child for this swinging-from-the-rafters, musical circus in punk rock-land. He roams the stage like a cross between a caged feline and a Red Bull-infused yoga instructor; mid-song he dropped into a plank-position then extended a leg overhead displaying some annoying flexibility only to later take liberties on the pole located in the middle of the audience and room. Before you go there, know that this gig, while high on spectacle, is not without finesse, fine-tuning, or badass flair. Side arms to the right and left, Michael Hayes (guitar) and Mike McGill (bass/keys) are formidable members of the tribe cranking out crotch-thrust worthy rhythms while Patrick Hursley (Joe’s cousin) is no delicate flower behind the drum kit. He’s skilled in the art of thudding and laying heavy and dense ground beneath the air of the other Hursley’s wail and Hayes’ gliding guitar work.

Rocket science music this is not; it’s been done before and will be done again, but it’s the beauty in the frenetic balls to the electric wall energy and the hook-driven punchiness that make Indians so much awesome. They’re musically leaner, perhaps a slightly tighter outfit than their predecessor in performance and songcraft as Hayes and McGill are more focused on the structure while Hursley (the Joe one) carries on as the kinetic, high kicking (literally), in your face, always sweat-soaked front man. Songs like Love Over Gold, I’m Patient, Welcome to the Dream Store and their current calling card Long Way From Home bounced loudly off of the walls in such a compact place as On The Rox and gave a crowd (myself included) that has seen more than its share of bands vying for a place of relevance on and beyond The Sunset Strip cause for their heads to bang and hips to shake. The truth is anyone can rock (and unfortunately “anyone” does), but not everyone can rock so well at a fun yet primal level. We like that in a band.

- Antiquiet.com