In·di·an Val·ley Line (n.) ; An imaginary railroad "at the end of the rainbow," on which you could always find a good job and ideal working conditions. Boomers resigning or being fired would say they were going to the Indian Valley. The term is sometimes used to mean death or the railroader's Heaven.
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A waking dream of the West Way out where the telephone poles lay down and buckeye overtakes the train tracks, there’s an old shack with a sagging front porch, whistling winds and a place for everyone to sit. You’ve reached the end and the beginning of Indian Valley Line, a trio of young itinerants who traded a life of wanderlust to settle down and sway with the ghosts of frontier women while penning romantic, Whiskey-worn words.
They began as three buddies who each cut their teeth on the road and roughed up their souls as musicians or roadies. You have big-hearted Bubba, a film and music composer of equal parts wilderness, wistfulness and DeBussy, all thrown together with a little slack-key guitar taught to him by his Hawaiin granny. Then you have true-blue Ben Boyden, one of the lingering bastions of DIY punk with nothing but a stripped down kit, rhythm as sharp as a switchblade and a barrel full of kindnesses where his ego should be. Lastly tipping his hat is sweet-souled Ryan W. Lynch, a loyal friend of Bubba with a century of newspaper ink in his blood and a fancy for music so deep and wide he can minister to mountains with a mere twang.
Banded together by a love for authenticity and a hankering to connect to their audience, Bubba, Ryan and Ben rustled up a band called Indian Valley Line---pure of feeling, free of pretense and bared to its bones. Bubba with the limitless lungs sings lead and occasionally dips into the accordion; he and Ryan pluck magic on a number of different string instruments; Ben keeps time on a scaled down drum set and backing vocals.
You might say their music is a lingering hideout for all that is sweet and nostalgic and true. While so many contemporary bands gnash their guitars with irony and cynicism and trendy edge, the Indian Valley Line boys would rather find honey in the bark of an old tree or open jars of long-trapped fireflies. Their music fixes upon the echoes of that lovely red canyon in your mind’s eye, that fabled gold mine, that place you long for but can never reach, a sound which has always played somewhere in the faces of old souls or the shadows of taverns at closing time. Indian Valley Line wears its heart on its sleeve. It has no aspirations of stardom, only a place under the stars and a need to share music with friends, lovers, wanderers and wayfarers whomever might sit for a spell and lend an ear.
For booking please contact:
Jake Rohr at Artist Home Booking
jake @ artisthomebooking.com
quotes from the peanut gallery
"The evening started on a high note with Sacramento’s Indian Valley Line. The band members said it was their first-ever show together. If that’s true, they’re certainly worth following in the future." -Ian Hill, 209 Vibe
"Indian Valley Line combine a very human and apostolic voice, soul stirring guitar licks, and a two piece cocktail drummer that give this very human and moving act a great deal of accessibility, evoking images of Americana and whimsical love. An outstanding new band with an old timey, yet very new sound." - On the Can
"We have been playing it (Peggy, Sonoma, and a Boxcar) on repeat around here and are often heard singing the songs. Their music is artfully simple, heartfelt and bigger than the sum of its parts. " - Elliot Hours
"I closed my eyes, listened, felt my heart leap inside, and knew that the joy they produced through music was what it must feel like to be in love." - anonymous email