Crashing onto the streets of Australia’s Mornington Peninsula, we were discovered by The Styes.
Trapped in our burning vehicle they pulled us free and immediately started serving up a refreshing brew of honky-tonk guitar rock and/or roll. Whatever it be, rock, roll, or both, it filled our bellies and fortified our spirits so that the blurry-faced band of four could guide our sorry carcasses to the local pub.
There they laid down a groove of deep cut blues changes and twangy vocal shenanigans the likes of which these ears haven’t heard in some time. The band’s raucous sound rang through the town and out over the bay, some say guiding a lost penguin home.
That night we slept like babies, and dreamt of Elvis as an old sea captain, leaving port, passing through the perilous heads, and out into open water.
