He may say that it all started with a reunion of estranged friends; the prep-school outcast and the pitchy Wurlitzer. Both hidden away under some covert staircase. But many will attest it started far before he could even reach the piano pedals. Josh Howatt has far outgrown the title of child-prodigy and has begun to stake his claim as the eccentric and evocative composer of the new era. He is hungry, starving, inconsolably ravenous, to bring the industry to it\'s knocking knees and back to a time, when men may have worn wigs, but beat down into that ivory terrain like linebackers. With reverence and unabandon, Josh resurrects the greats: Chopin, Beethoven, Joplin (Scott, that is), in a seance of sonic mishmash, by fusing classical structure with alterna-rock influence.
Originally from the freshly world famous Orange County, CA, Josh Howatt descended onto New York\'s hipster scene in the Fall of 2006. With showcases at the Bowery Ballroom, Sidewalk Cafe, Bitter End, The Living Room and his newly formed band in tow, he has begun to create a powerful surge in the art-rock undercurrent as a force to be reckoned with. Josh has positioned himself in a line-up of six more shows in the next two months, with a hardcore guarantee: \"You show up and I\'ll make sure we both leave out of breath\".
Now, with his overdue debut EP ready for distribution come Sept 12, Josh is tackling his most ambitious work to date. In this 6 song little gem, he lands anywhere from fevered to fluid, darling to devastating; Josh\'s melodic clamor is never short of a breath-taking sucker punch. Sometimes unexpected and gut wrenching. Always honest. Deep in that nest of red curls he hoards such autobiographical impetuses of unrequited love, suicide, politics, addiction, religion, only to have them escape in a series of vocal acrobatics sopped in pathos. Each lyric lays pregnant with meaning, and crammed with sarcasm, allusion, wit, and complexity, as he bushwhacks through intricate Baroque piano lines.
One devotee classifies Josh\'s music as akin to \"Mozart, Rufus W., and J Buckley throwing fisticuffs over a male-menstrual Tori Amos, as she gives birth to Fiona Apple and Ben Folds...kinda, sorta\". Though it may come off as hardly modest, it is nonetheless apropos. Josh Howatt is a modern-day minstrel, a pioneer to the industry, and a talented singer/songwriter long overdue. His songs resonate even after the final note, and like savory morsels, cannot be fully digested with only one bite. They can typically be easily summed up by a simple question. If you were to ask him \"What or whom is this or that song about\", he\'d simply shrug and smugly reply \"Not quite sure. Let\'s let it marinate for a couple years, perhaps then I\'ll have some smartass answer for you.\"