From the depths of the backwoods of Middle Tennessee, along a railroad stop where the likes of Jessie James came to wind down, comes a band from the dried hot springs of a classic town. The Kingston Springs are four young men with nothing to win, nothing to lose, and some damn good music. Their taste influenced by too many and too little to stick to one solid sound, other than that of their own. If not skatin’, fishin’, or sippin’ Colt 45 (with some OJ for a poor boy mimosa), they’re hitting the streets looking for good times.
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