THE APACHE RELAY & THE WEEKS**ONLINE SALES HAVE ENDED TIX STILL AVAIL AT DOORS
Visulite Theatre (16+ (Must have ID) - Under 16 with Parent Only)
Doors Open: 8:00 - Show Starts: 9:00
Michael Ford Jr. was a music business major when he met The Apache Relay in a Belmont University dorm. They were already deep into “a very Americana, very rootsy” sound, and before long the band was backing up Ford around campus, and soon everywhere else.
Ford Jr. dropped out of college, and the group, which at the time included Mike Harris (guitar, vocals), Brett Moore (keys, guitar, mandolin), Kellen Wenrich (fiddle, keys) gigged relentlessly behind their 2009 debut 1988 and 2011’s breakthrough American Nomad. Midway through their touring in support of American Nomad Ford, Jr’s brother joined the band rounding out the group’s line up and sound. While touring in support of the album The Apache Relay found themselves opening for Mumford & Sons and hitting such festivals as Bonnaroo, Newport Folk Festival, Firefly Music Festival, Voodoo Music Experience, among others.
The writing sessions for their new album, TheApache Relay, were the first time the Nashville-based group stopped to catch their breath in years. Inspired by Shelby Lynne and Richard Swift, and working with producer Kevin Augunas at Fairfax Recordings, formerly known as the famous California studio Sound City, The Apache Relay shows a band eager to push past their boundaries, and commitment to always evolving their sound.
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.