Our lead singer might be an anarchist, but he won't say. Our bassist is a libertarian. Our guitarist believes that totalitarianism may be an inevitable consequence of population density. Our drummer is a new father. Our fiddler knows 7,000 songs and doesn't leave his house except to go outside.
We sing of whales, hawks, distilled spirits, secondary highways, Klansman/Senators, gunnery ranges, weary love, preachers and housewives, herbs and herb growers, ferns and fern allies, Jackpot, Texarkanada, Caleximexico, Mexicalexico, Provo, and Vermont.
We encourage home gardening, solar panels, and an escape route.
Here's what Jonny Whiteside of the L.A. Weekly says about us:
"These freewheeling lords of California psych country approach their music almost as if it were a portal, an unseen threshold that, once crossed, promises a wholly unpredictable experience. The Hawks singular style always operates on an epic scale, exploring weird panoramas of hallucinatory metaphor with a sound as much traditional hillbilly as it is accelerated lysergic-rock spontaneity. Up, up and away."
My profile was customized using the sheer power of our collective mental energy