Album Notes

Our Sophomore offering with better equipment and slower jams. Much of the conceptual bits were inspired by a particularly strong batch of Billy's moonshine that has the odd effect of keeping one up for two days and the need to pick.
If you dig acoustic folk with a weird twist, grab your shovel.

In a world where catgut meet copper tubing, Plasticine Porter bring you an offering of fucked up songs focusing on the essence of pure beatititude, Yo. We groove and we stagger while we slur and we shout. Through the Blue Grass and off the porch, right into the bus that Jack built. Let’s get the Show on the Road. The Desert is calling and the dessert is falling, so stop all that racket. No, you don’t want to see my face if my souflee’ don’t rise. And the banjo bequeaphed the chords. And the phrase bequeaphed the melody. And the stanza bequeaphed the bridge, that which y’all’s lookin’ for , that which y’all’s lookin’ for.
Plasticine Porter is for Outsiders. Oddballs and weirdos, but Shamen in Y’all’s own rite. Right? We bust a nut to entertain and keep your interest while parasimutaneously teleporting you to a better place, a peaceful and violently bloodly in a warm and fuzzy way place. Dark Humor.
Hark, rumour.
Now listen to Free Music. If you get it, take it. We dig a reply, so give us a ring.
Look for our breakfast cereal in your local supermarket!!!










The byProduct of Plasticine Porter resembles Post Modern Mountain Music. The minimalist sounds of string pickers just a-hangin’ out on the porch bonding musically in what certain circles refer to as a Jam. So get off your ass and join us. Buy this batch of tunes and contact us to set up an appointment on Your Porch. Our music is Deconstructionism. Where other string bands blend 4, 5 and 6-stringed boxes into a stew, we take it apart and present each texture on your plate all pink and naked. That is the essence of Plasticine Porter, that is the sound of banjo-infused psychedelic Americana. If you like Earl Scruggs, Bill Monroe, Doc Watson or the Foggy Bottom boys; you will hate Plasticine Porter. If you have ever drank too much moonshine and needed to stick you finger down your throat, you will get it. We are the finger. Our music is something that you may not want, but, by God, you need. Now more than ever let Plasticine Porter give you the finger. Bon Appetit.