Member Since: 3/1/2006
Band Website: skullandboneband.com
Band Members:
TROY YOUNGBLOOD
GUITARIST/ VOCALIST
Idiosyncratic lifegaurd to the cosmos. A clown, a baboon, a horse. He doesn’t know what time it is, or what day it is, or take showers.
He smells like Charles Bukowski. Without warning he throws up all over himself, or if you’re close enough he throws up all over you.
William Shattner is his idol. That’s the person he emulates when he sings. He poops a lot too. He’s always pooping. Everywhere he goes.
It’s like a ritual. The last time he shaved was when the Vandals sacked Rome, and his favorite movie is "Strange Brew." He loves that flying superhero dog.
That’s all he talks about. And to make matters worse, he even likes the taste of beer.
JERAMY MARTIN
GUITARIST
An atheist who doesn’t believe in evolution. He’s a fisherman, a cosmoses, a welder. He’ll bite your ass. Influenced by poets
like Rimbaud and Baudelaire, he often drinks himself silly or slobbers on his arm. But he’s been playing the guitar since before the
Greeks made their stand at Thermopylae, and he’s fond of Romans. If you ask him why
he decided to be in this band, he’ll probably draw you a picture in the Victorian
style like Aubrey Beardsley, otherwise he’ll just try and make love to your leg.
CHRIS BROWN
BASSIST
Well, he plays bass, but this reclusive genius is rather demented. He doesn’t like classical
music unless it is served with brandy. In fact, he won’t accept anything unless it is served with brandy.
He likes brandy. She’s the one who always makes him remember the way it feels when the Nile River overflows its banks
and spills into the Nubian gardens. He’s a princess, a lover, Hunter S. Thompson’s best friend.
Ask him about Picabia or Duchamp, and he’ll show you a collection of his doo doo. His dream is to one day
own a ranch like Ken Kesey, eat acid, and invite the Hell’s Angels over to piss on the pigs.
MIKE SCHUMAN
DRUMS
You may have seen him runnning through the forests of California, or maybe you caught a whiff of his royal skunkiness when you were down south in the Everglades, or maybe, if you’ve been on top of the world, you may even have seen him trudging along a high ridge in deep snow drifts on a lonley and desolate Himalayan mountain peak. He’s a beast of burden, nature’s abomination, a wild, tameless creature that howls at the moon, and sometimes turns into a wolf, or a wolverine. If you ask him about his favortite concubine, Hera, he’ll tell you a long and painful tale about a burning bush. He’s a kind hearted and secretive enigma, but overall, he is one hairy, sexy monkey. And if you wish to climb his colossal frame, the only thing that he asks, is for you to wait until after a show, when he’s good and lubed, when his slick fur is greased with sweat and his body is soaked in musk and pheromones and moonshine.
Influences: All the great musicians who play from the soul, and live for their art.
Sounds Like: A Freight Train howlin' like a hurricane blowin' through the Great Oyster Shack.
Type of Label: None