Last updated: 5 hours ago
Biscuits is barn dust and busted gear and Bootgaze. It starts when the work’s done, the cows are fed, and the barn doors close for the night. We brush off the hay, climb up to the loft, and hit record. No polish, no plan — just whatever noise comes: lo-fi beats, country strings, rafters creakin, crickets in the dark, the shuffle of boots on old boards.
Some say the herd stays calmer when the loft fills with these rough sounds, like the music works its way into the milk. Maybe that’s true, maybe it ain’t. Either way, we’re not chasing charts, collabs, or inboxes. This ain’t a brand, and it sure ain’t a business.
It’s just us twisting knobs after long days, making late-night music the cows can breathe to. This is for them. Always has been. It ain’t much, but it’s honest work.
Some say the herd stays calmer when the loft fills with these rough sounds, like the music works its way into the milk. Maybe that’s true, maybe it ain’t. Either way, we’re not chasing charts, collabs, or inboxes. This ain’t a brand, and it sure ain’t a business.
It’s just us twisting knobs after long days, making late-night music the cows can breathe to. This is for them. Always has been. It ain’t much, but it’s honest work.
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