the jellyhearts

like prospectors, the jellyhearts are a gunslingin’, no-good duo known for hollerin', "there's gold in them hills," because we have hearts of gold and very fragile dispositions, as well as pistols and a handle of well tequila. spawned from rustbelt blues and cap city sludge, the jellyhearts slithered down to the ohio river valley, just north of the up-south. we exchanged the hearts and stars with flowers for tom collinses and mustachios. these days, we are chased by bats and exiled, speeding down the southbound freeways with a tiny acoustic global and a tambourine, singing to the wind and pouring fire in the belly. our tunes harness the bo diddley stomp, the defiant energy of the mc5, and the raw, most-punk gories sound to create a newfangled brand of reckless garage rock. notorious noise ordinance violators, reba con queso shreds through every jam with incessant swagger and gain, and mizz lorn pounds the blues away with an affinity for the thunderous floor tom. for us, music is spirit and soul and when we play, it comes from the very bottom of our jellied hearts. every song is prayer to sonny boy williamson, cap’n beefheart, art tatum, the stones, and the stooges, and also to all the kids who love to get sweaty and aren’t afraid to dance.