It’s the distorted, crunching sound of overdriven amplifiers stacked in the back of sweaty dark cantinas reeking of booze and heartbreak. It’s the howl of a grizzled old Delta bluesman being attacked by a pack of flinty-eyed, starving coyotes. It’s the black-hearted moaning of a tired soul growling through steely electric strings and speaking in tongues of Tecate.
If the Black Keys and the White Stripes were to have a desert-borne bastard son, he would sound precisely like C.W. Ayon, a musician with enough old-school mojo to power a roadhouse for a month. Combining gritty vocals with guitar notes previously only imagined by angels cast out of heaven, C.W. welds ironclad blues riffs with a bassline forged in the fires of Hell to pay tribute to the lost Gods of electric blues. Hendrix shakes hands with Stevie Ray. Junior Brown tosses a pick to RL Burnside. Jimmy Page raises a glass with Hank. It’s the way C.W. grew up in small-town rural New Mexico, with a blend of influences sharing a common thread of music from the heart. No sweetness or frilly lace, just hard-hitting songs about love, life, and the blues that make it all stick to the wall. Sometimes, it’s okay to just sit back, toss down a shot, and let the blues tear you up.
Keep your hands and arms inside at all times, and please remain seated until the ride comes to a full stop.
C.W. will be your personal tour guide. Oh yeah all instruments are played by one guy, all at the same time.