Heralded as musical historians by Steve O’Rourke, THE BOSCH claims The Pixies and Frank Black, Camper Van Beethoven and Cracker, the Ventures, Link Wray, Man… or Astroman?, and The Gun Club as significant influences. In other words, itÌs a furious and melodic mixture of surf, garage, and punk rock.
The Bosch, smarmy surf rockers extraordinaire, claim the two most prominent Williamsburgs as their home. Originally hailing from Williamsburg, Virginia, erudite and visionary guitarist MATT HARRISON and super-charged sociopath HOLT RICHARDSON met in their tedious years at a tiny white-bread private high school. After they developed a disturbingly telepathic musical rapport, they began a professional affair with the Sound of Music in Richmond, Virginia, and more specifically, with engineer Jonathan Demaio, who, when not touring with Southern Culture on the Skids and other top-notch Southern bands, has cut “The Bosch Sound” onto analog tape on many occasions.
In the past few months, The Bosch has been fortunate enough to admit two new players into the fold. ANDREW RAFF, a legal eagle, tickler of ivory keys and blower of hot and cool on the tenor sax, means the music up real good. BRETT BEYER, darling of the Williamsburg loft-party scene, frequenter of his own custom-built darkroom, and all around hipster extraordinaire, recently joined The Bosch as four-stringer. Holt and Matt are wringinÌ their hands, eagerly anticipating BrettÌs successful sneaking of The Bosch tunes into the most magnificently coiffed circles of hipsterdom.
Cred and Live Show
The Bosch boys, having sexed-up audiences with their surf rock and twang, have begun seeing the fruits of their labours: substantial airplay for their latest release, “Havin Fun Soundin Good,” as well as a residency at the Lower East Side’s Luna Lounge, keeping alive the dream of a future filled with champagne, cocaine, and the chance to hunt whales in a hovercraft. The Bosch has won the annual battle of the bands competition at the College of William and Mary, booty-rocked the bulk of downtown New York clubs, and helped many unwed mothers get their start.
The Bosch only desire a few things: to electrify the stage with gluteousmaximusshakinus tunes, and perhaps cause you to crack a smile, or at least break a sweat. The most poetic thing theyÌd ask of their fans is to ponder their place in a world of violence and lust.
The Bosch perspire and strain, jump and howl, bump and grind, armed frequently with go-go dancers and always with total recall of Steve Martin’s routines and the film UHF. You can’t lose.
Give the Bosch a chance to rock the joint and no one will leave unhappy.
- No categories