There are three bands named New Madrid. a) http://newmadridmusic.bandcamp.com new madrid's music bout a quarry, was once a mountain glory, Or metal on metal on paint honey, come down to a river, mama lookie that water's on fire, tries his best to beat the silver sun. Georgia and Tennessee made phil mcgill, graham powers, ben hackett, and alex woolley. they use four voices, some guitars, a bass, and drums spun through today to sing about Yesterday, the ones all prior, and tomorrow, right now. a realization this place was awash in noise and a desire to embellish and sculpt rhythm already there something about a desired immersion into American Magic and Dread. transient pleasures, drastic measures. A walk home in the rain fog. Rowin' a boat through sunshine falls 1. New Madrid is a unique Brooklyn-based rock trio formed in 2009 consisting of Axel Ito (vocals, drums), Anthony Formichella (bass), and Erik Barragan (guitar). Their sound, influenced by traditional rhythms found in the South American Andes, is fused with contemporary American and British Rock/Alternative and embraces lyrics in both Spanish and English: un estilo engendrado en Latino America pero creado en Norte America...Proud to represent the union of Spanish and English cultures and languages, New Madrid provides the soundtrack for rock, and bilingual rock, worldwide. Una fusion, un nuevo lenguaje, una nueva cancion unida; eso es New Madrid. 2 [not that order matters]. New Madrid is a band. A band of rogues, ruffians, rednecks, punks, and queers. An ever-changing cast of colorful characters in a play that has the makings of an epic tragedy, the lead role of doomed antihero played by the most miserable miserablist; that shit-eatin'-grin-wearin' whiskey-drinkin' Timberlake-lookin' geetar-playin' Kirbyvillain, Andrew Dietz. When Dietz is sober he plays lugubrious ballads and defiant anthems, bitter and beautiful. His songwriting comes across with a lucidity and candor that can prove haunting, heartbreaking. (My Papaw always said, "Never trust a man that honest." I don't know what in the hell that is supposed to mean, but it sure seems to fit). He writes with a poet's pen and a prophet's voice, a voice that seems to come from beyond him, from a Muse maybe. Or maybe them old hills themselves are whispering and whistling the songs in his ears. When Dietz is sober, he is a professional and charismatic musician. But he ain't ever sober, honey. And that's the point. When Dietz picks up the electric guitar, Les Paul rolls over in his grave, one of the toilets back up at Graceland, and the Ghosts of Country Music slip a sick smirk. A pedal clicks and a room full of innocent bystanders are pushed a few steps back by a massive, pulsating wave of never-ending discord. The kind of chords that are known to the State of California to cause birth defects, reproductive harm, or cancer. Lyrics that can cause heart failure and are responsible for numerous and varied existential crises. Often the only reasonable reaction is to drain the PBR you're holding, order another, and stare deep into the flecks of dirt and paint and sweat and blood that you haven't noticed until now make a gorgeous, galaxy-like formation on your work boots. I guess there's some kind of dichotomy to it all (in all things there is duality, says the wise Hindoo). Just some tattooed gutter punk playing a Patsy Cline tune on some street corner. Just another rednecked farm boy armed with three chords, a dream, and a 'lectric geetar. Sounds that are soft and furious, melodious and discordant. Whatever it is, it's Art, I guess, and that makes Dietz an Artist. I guess. As far as I can figure, Art and Money are inversely proportionate. The more successful and rich an artist becomes, the more the pieces he creates begin to look less like Art and more like commercial product produced to to meet a certain market trend. The real Art, the real Culture, comes from those brave wretched souls born or cast into poverty, who toil endlessly at their Art or Trade with care, patience, and an attention to detail that is almost lost today. The kind of folk that would spend their grocery money on paint, the rent money on a new amplifier, or scavenge, skimp, squeeze and save every penny for a concert ticket and enough gas to get there. And that's all and well, cuz New Madrid doesn't really make any money. Instead, they mostly make new friends, a few enemies, and just enough dough to keep the four wheels moving. The incessant drive to play music to anyone who will listen, in any venue where they haven't been banned yet, in any town that won't lynch them, in any state where they aren't wanted for unpaid child support or back taxes.