It's just an old time feeling when you're gropin' down the road not really knowin' where you're goin' or if you'll even get there at all. Time comes sneakin' along and you find yourself dyin' from the shine. You realize that you're too young to be where you're goin' and you're too old to go back again. Many of station houses have passed, not even recognizin' the travelers who in due time will never find what they're not lookin' for. There's an unknown thing bein' offered up to an unknown place for a known purpose. If thrown to the wind, the travelers will once again wind up in that dusty Calico town relyin' on cosmic forces to guide them towards that one horse motel. But in the end, if you ever want to be kept from it, bowling shoes, semi-cold beer, and a place to sleep is what awaits you. It's a long way from Uncle Boyd's Sawmill, and a warm welcome from two Mexican friends, but it's alright.
Deer Head Fridge was garage born in Shoreview California. they are the original soldiers of modern day working class rock and roll. Their roots are spawned from the many rock, blues, folk and country records that litter the many rooms of their "wrong side of the tracks" houses. Hours and days are spent at their Sawmill rehearsal studio which often serves as the band's home. Just south of San Francisco is where Deer Head fridge creates their dusty guilt ridden songs. Please enjoy their musical testament of life.
