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The Sect was spawned from the sleepy, rural town of Branson, Missouri – a baby born of a graveyard. Nestled peacefully in the heart of the bible-belt, Branson defined itself in a holier-than-thou image, claiming a crown of fundamental righteousness and canvassing itself as the embodiment of the utopian splendor of a long since forgotten 1950’s ideal; a land which cherished and remained home to country music and easy listening stars of our grandparent’s youth. The town thrived and prospered until stark reality came into play: To run the theaters, the restaurants, the hotels, the tourist-traps, and the t-shirt shops a labor force was required, a labor force restricted to upholding the glorified perception of reality in which Branson defined itself. This labor force, as any other, became fruitful and multiplied. Their offspring began their journey into adulthood, one generation after the other, growing ever more distant and alienated by the setting in which they grew up. The city ruthlessly struggled to uphold/maintain its overtly-grandiose image and did so by limiting and neglecting the area’s ever-increasing number of youth. This youth, thus turned to age old practices of venting frustration: rebellion, rage, and withdrawing into music that encompassed their struggle. Some even began playing such music; music, however, that differed greatly from the music emanating from the self-proclaimed “live music capital of the world.” This would serve as the catalyst for the formation of SECT, which would come to be comprised of this very demographic. The search for like-minded soldiers-of-the rebellion in a land of blind followers devoid of free-will proved tedious, still SECT marched on. The "father" of this abortion gone awry, Big Daddy Smooth, began to realize his destiny while playing quarter notes in a quartet. Somewhere between the 2 & 3 counts of the 8 millionth measure of "I'll fly away", Big Daddy Smooth decided that he needed more. The first to join him in his quest for true musical meaning was the one whose name is "Round". The Round One was snatching bodies for a local wealth disposal service during the day and living the secret life of a delinquent at night. The time had come for him to let his dark side see the light of day, all the two needed was thunder. That thunder was provided for by a "Gypsy" that was passing through the area. With a little bit of liquid encouragement, the "Gypsy" decided to stay in Branson and continue on the journey that is SECT. With riffs, beats, and thunder, the only thing SECT needed was someone to summon demons. The man calling the undead was none other than "Pall Smenis." Having trecked to this music mecca for a reason unknown, even to himself, he was in search of the proper soundtrack to complement his vocals. He found exactly this in SECT. With four in place and ready to move forward, the sound was still missing something. After much debate, the four decided that what was missing was size. Everyband needs someone so physically imposing that they command attention simply upon entering a room. Combine this with vicious shredding and that what SECT found in Juan "Stretch" Torres. Once the current lineup was in place, SECT took to the streets, relentlessly promoting the impending revolution. Wirestream and the Shake It Up Show Club, fellow dissenters, set the stage for the first battle. A council convened and rose in unanimity to counter and protest the Sect’s threat on their condescending, wholesome values. But when night fell and the gavel with it, Wirestream ruled that the façade’s reign had endured long enough and the Sect would be permitted to participate in the battle. Descending like the horsemen of the apocalypse upon the unsuspecting onlookers for the final battle of good vs. evil, Sect fired the first shots and delivered the new soundtrack to the apocalypse. Sect, the only band representing Branson’s deprived youth were the first to cause an uproar. Everyone emerged to join them in the battle and show their support, setting the bar for all succeeding bands to compete with. If the battle had been decided on audience participation, performance and/or musical ability then the Sect would’ve unquestionably emerged victorious, but the status quo had to remain in tact. A band that represented the Branson ideal of wholesomeness and righteousness would be declared the victor solely on their success to conform to not only current trends but Branson’s narrow and isolated perception of them as well. The crowd roared in protest. One side chanted Sect! The other side Whisper To Scream. And alas, the trendy, contrived leviathan emerged triumphant only to a barrage of jeers and disdain. But the factions had emerged. The lines had been drawn. The alienated and repressed youth had spoken and against the current the beast marches on, gathering momentum and ever more followers along the way. The battle was lost but the war had begun. The demon has awoken.