The Weeks
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The Weeks

Nashville, Tennessee, United States | INDIE

Nashville, Tennessee, United States | INDIE
Band Rock Pop


This band has not uploaded any videos
This band has not uploaded any videos




Given their tender years it is remarkable that [The Weeks] have already mastered the art of sounding interesting while not exactly reinventing the wheel. ‘Buttons’ is a rampaging anthem from their new album ‘Comeback Cadillac’, a piece so fueled with youthful vigor and neat melodic hooks, it will be a major surprise if it doesn’t become a decent indie hit. -

"Comeback Cadillac"

[T]hese guys are officially on my watchlist. A very strong debut album. - Berkeley Place

"The Weeks - Comeback Cadillac Review"

4.5 out of 5. 11 songs of sheer awesomeness. - Allan's World of Music

"The Weeks"

The Weeks are a young band from Jackson, Mississippi and do that sort of southern indie rock we've heard from types like Kings of Leon (the most obvious comparison, given that unmistakable drawl in the vocals). The sonic palette is different though, with these particular songs showing off a more structured pop sensibility and a bit more chaotic energy in the way they attack their instruments. Like an unhinged pop version of what we might expect from Kings. - Awesome Until Proven Guilty


Comeback Cadillac LP
Lead single "Buttons" as well as "Hold It Kid (Your Heart Just Skipped a Beat)" have gotten airplay across the country on multiple stations, including XM Radio's XMU station.
Rumspringa EP
Dry Land is Not a Myth EP
Stigmata 7"



The sound of wind through the pines, bare feet brushing through leaves, snapping sticks like the spines of the weak. When we started we were small and strong at heart, five southern souls damned to speak the truth. But with this responsibility comes pain and loss. And as the years passed our numbers grew smaller, and there were four. This did not stop these brave soldiers of thought, keepers of truth. They were older now and their soft footsteps through the forest had grown louder and stronger. Like the dust filled hoof beats of a thousand wild horses, they layer sound like musket fire, their melodies bend and twist like train-tracks. A music shaped from the calloused hands and wrinkled faces of their fathers. They have walked through the fire wide-eyed and crazy, and came out enlightened. You cannot stop these men, your armies can’t cease their hands, dampen this thunder, or silence their tongues. We have trudged through the muddy swamps to freedom.
Our shoes are tattered and torn, but our feet are dry. As for our places in history, we will run naked through your streets before we sit decorated in your halls.