Young & Wilder – “Prom Queen” – 2.1.12

[audio:|titles=Prom Queen]

“I’m just a little prom queen…
Waiting on my limousine…
Come pick me up…”


The interconnections and interactions that inform an individual’s musical “history” have always fascinated me.  As it so happens, Dead Horse March began as a structured form to chronicle our own personal discovery of artists.  Often, irreverent tales from the past are stirred up when listening to a new artist with shared similarities.  Or the events that unfolded to introduce an artist influenced their overall appeal.  This next band was recently introduced to me by my long-distance ladies’ roommate and in many ways was the quintessential “discovery” story.  In reality, the story has nothing to do with Young & Wilder in particular, rather the story centers on one of my absolute favorite bands, Baltimore post-punk crew, Future Islands.


This is a trans-continental story of serendipity, fate, love — and finally– the overarching experience that has come to define “music” in the 21st Century.  It’s decidedly long-winded already, so feel free to tune out now and simply enjoy the pure rock and roll sounds of Young & Wilder.  The past-Portland based band have multiple albums for free download on their Bandcamp, highly recommended.



August 5th, on the cemented and lamented corner of 2nd and Blanchard in downtown Seattle, Future Islands were finally taking stage at the Crocodile Cafe.  Simultaneously, I had slipped from a stirring yet sloppy conversation with a group of close friends to request further libations from the barkeep.  As I lay wait for service, a bizarre creature loomed and leapt in the foreground; a collage of animal printed patterns, barren midriff, and panther-black lipstick. She swept past, leaving one simple syllable in her wake,

That single syllable stuck with me, the lyric of it swaying in my head, dazed.  An instant classic.  Even as she dissipated in to the dark and drone of the dance floor, it sizzled and singed.  Sauntering back to my friends in the midst of the soiree, I regaled in the emotional exposure of the Baltimore band’s frontman, Samuel T. Herring, and we let the summer seize our beings.  As quickly as she had vanished, she had reappeared; the convergence and coalescence on the crowded Crocodile floor had placed her by my side.  And there she has stayed, after that single night, where I ditched my friends to follow this mysterious creature in to the night.  A single night where two people living in two different cities, from different coasts of this sordid country, met through the mutual love of one band and one syllable.

– Travis


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