Hopes And Drums
Hailing from the end of hurricanes, where the ocean pulls sand into the undertow, HopesAndDrums craft sounds of a time that land forgot.
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Story
A few miles inland, where the last local Indian was killed, and the hill was not named for him, the mighty Sachems became small-town mascots, revered by sports fans with no knowledge of their legacy. This is where HopesAndDrums cut their teeth on wild apples and strawberries.
The rural farmland turned commuter town, nestled between tourist destinations and post-industrial decay, was fertile for the underground mainstream of HopesAndDrums.
The haze of bouncing between town and garden gave way to dusk crickets, forming a backdrop for HopesAndDrums.
Meanwhile, as car-oriented development increased the online disruption of another formerly vibrant downtown, HopesAndDrums’ music lived on in lieu of an outlet. In fact, the farther it moved from the mainstream, the more cohesive their sound became.
HopesAndDrums laid on old oak floorboards as their 4-track blasted sounds across the pond behind the asbestos-clad house.
As coldness dropped to meet post-Puritan isolation, HopesAndDrums developed connections to deeper truths.
Four distinct seasons each felt special as framed by the others and played a crisp role in the development of HopesAndDrums’ sonic landscape.
Moments of near-perfection can exist if one is open to the possible of everything. All HopesAndDrums converge there, awaiting experience.
