Standing with our black brothers and sisters who need the mic a lot more than we do right now.
It should come as no surprise to any of you, fine friends and supporters, that we are locked up tight in our respective bunkers indefinitely. Though, this time, it is not for our own desired seclusion in the pursuit of our shadowy, grit, and rust coated, dark musical sorcery. No, we find ourselves captives in the wretched, reaching pall of this new world pandemic, whose icy fingers have no doubt infiltrated your lives just the same.
It is for this reason we have had to postpone and reschedule all of our upcoming performances. We would like to assure you that,of course, we are already scheming on what the next batch of congregational, whiskey flavored, noise, freakout, storytelling setpieces will look like and when we will be able to bring them to you. In the meantime, the estimable sirs, Deacon and Incroyable are diligently carving tiny boats, birds, and other mystical missives, to deliver you music and merriment. If we may not hoist spirits with you over songs in the flesh, then we shall lift spirits how best we can from our inky underground altar.
We treasure your support, and will be back on the road as soon as the fates allow.
Our online stores are still up and running to fulfill whatever fix you may be craving, though orders are running a little slower for the expected reasons. Stay tuned, amigos, the Pretzelmen don’t even know how to stop anymore.
And so we conclude one more trip around the sun, retiring back to our grey and secluded cave in the outskirts of the emerald city. The Murder of Bedlam and its colorful cast of (mostly black and somewhat blue) birds darkening skies wherever we rolled the mighty pretzel war wagon. We carved some new trails and reignited fires in our favorite cragged, shadowy dens all around the United States. The illustrious Mr. Crow has released us from our debt, the origin of which shall remain shrouded in mystery for reasons both ethical and legal.
And now, we, your indefatigable Peculiar Pretzelmen, retreat not to sleep, but to scheme, and I am here to say, these are heavy schemes, indeed.
Thank you to everyone who supported us through 2019, whether it was attending shows, working alongside us, paving the way with producing and promoting, or even just streaming our music, and purchasing merch through the mail. On that note, now that we are settled back in the dark hovel we call the Reliquarium, expect all those errant mail orders to be on their way.
New printings of Innumerable Seeds, and Who Brought the Serpents Down are coming and will be available soon.
Stay tuned. 2020, is going to be the wildest weirdest one yet, and that is a promise from Incroyable and Deacon directly to you.
Never stop, never sleep, never make a promise you can’t keep.
BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY
—- the Pretzelmen
Oh snaps, the Pretzelmen war wagon is hitting the road again.
The madness, the mayhem, the maelstrom that has been occasionally described as “music” is coming for you. Check the tour schedule for updates, follow us on the regular channels, train your crows, the Peculiar Pretzelmen Bedlam road show has some new treats and dirty tricks for you diabolical denizens of the US understream.
#MurderOfBedlam
We bid a fond adieu to the year two thousand and eighteen, and would like to thank all of you who made it such a peculiar and noisy year of traveling and rocking and rolling and drinking and breaking and repairing and stomping and hollering and drinking and more drinking.
Partial list of people we could not operate without:
Vic “El Jefe” Giron, Anthology of Erotic Esoterica, Nick Passey and all of Folk Hogan, THe amzing family at Backwards Distillery in Caspar, Bryan Ostrow and Connor O’Neal at Triple Nickel, Brian Eastin, Freight Train Rabbit Killer, Jessica Bloom, Thomas Self and the crew at Mercury Lounge, Joey Henry, Brody Wellman, the crew at Gillies, Humble Vine, Mike E. Wilson and the crew at Firefly, Fawntastic Fast and Scott Shambaugh, Shawn and Holly Finnegan, Andy and the crew at Wally’s House of Booze, all our Texas family, Waco Winery, Lucky Diaz and his Family Jam Band, WhiskeyDick, Kirby’s Beer Store, and of course all of our friends and fans who continue to support our journey to the center of grimey voodoo weirdness and slam bang battering ram blues.
We had a hell of a time traveling this big, odd nation visiting and sprinkling strangeness wherever we go, adding chapters and characters to our incomplete saga. Now we crawl back into our shadowy cave for the depths of winter to scheme the structure of our ongoing adventure. There are big hulking shapes looming on the horizon of 2019. So hold on to your hats.
See you then,
Incroyable & Deacon
Drawn to light, long questions answered in short bursts.
The recipes mysterious the results mischievous and the fallout malicious.
Still the sound was all around.
Weather shifts in favor of sweat and wildfire.
Displaced familiar faces and the lingering injuries they left behind.
Running out of reserve whiskey.
time complications and strategic misfires.
Sour air soaked through clothes.
This must be the place. The bar at the end of the world.
New electrical nerve box eases psychic transition. Transmitter so far unblinkable.
Time travel, mountain pass, dense fog.
Late night psychedelic misadventures short one dimension. The new runes surfaced and the warnings are indisputable.
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