Artist description Progressive-ish heavy four piece.

Artist History The plank road along the shore was long and dark, and all he had to light his way was a fading oil lantern, soon to perish from lack of fuel. Rain was falling on his already wet clothes, mingling with the lingering smell of seawater. He wished he could find his way out of the debt he had yet to pay, as the light of the inn at the end of the way became visible at last. Just a few more minutes of walking and I'll work on stopping the shivers, he thought. The port had opened momentarily, only long enough for him to step through, only long enough for him alone. Those who had been left behind would have to be forgotten. He knew the way. He knew that soon he would again hear the sound of the boots, soles ringing, and the chase would continue. He hoped the remaining night would offer some rest as he stepped through the inn's door.

Instruments Voice, Guitar, Bass, Drums, Percussion, Synth (a tiny bit), Trombone, Violin, Viola, Cello, Mandolin, Crowds of raving wackos at burning man, Megavolt the amazing guy-with-a-tesla-coil, The BART

Albums Port of Sorts - 2000

Press Reviews SF Bay Guardian Aug. 16, 2000: Bluebeard, A rare beard "For their recent CD release party, San Francisco's Bluebeard got off to a hair-raising beginning in a packed Paradise Lounge: as the side-stage band played overtime, Bluebeard's crew rushed to set up the drum kit that had arrived just in the nick. But as soon as drummer Atma Anur sat his regal dreadlocks and chiseled abs behind the kit, guitarist Johnny Axtell let loose the first dark dis-chords of "Mustard," sounding like something off Queensryche's Operation Mindcrime. Carrot-topped vocalist Kevin Meagher dribbled tongue calisthenics in a warbling, sometimes tortured voice so unique you just wanted it to tell you a story, any story. The band jumbled moods, tempos, and time signatures like lottery balls – they thought nothing of losing a beat in one measure and picking it up five measures later. The first two songs went from melancholy to conversational, and the third song, "Rail," had a truncated guitar riff and machine-gun snare that was positively mechanistic. Meagher went possessed in robotic moves fraught with military about-faces and the terminator gaze of someone on a search-and-destroy mission. He had a stern schoolteacher's way of raising his eyebrows until they were something even Mr. Spock could envy. And after the song, he announced, "I got a fat lip. I smashed it on the mic. I'm really sweaty. Anybody want a hug?" (When Meagher lost the black tank top, he revealed the billboard of his back that crawled with colorful insect and bird tats, including an inverted dragonfly whose tail went up his neck like an alien symbiont.) Bluebeard proved to be the rare band that could pull off a chorus capable of alternating from a five-count to a six-count without sounding like prog rock. Bassist Graham McLachlan, in his muscle shirt (with muscles to match), coughed out the erratic time signatures in a bright, tight tone; Anur's drumming went from heavy and tasty to light and jazzy in the lift of an eyebrow; Axtell went from crunchy to acoustic in the flex of a delt. And the odd-timed ballad Roadside was good solid pathos any band could be proud of.

Location San Francisco, California - USA

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