Damien Youth

In August 2006 a bunch of unlikely reprobates congregated at Damien Youth`s Blackberry Studios at his home in New Orleans. Suitably named, the purpose-built studio was housed in a Nineteenth Century structure reached by a crooked path at the far end of Damien`s mysterious overgrown with fruit-bearing brambles garden. Hidden from the harsh glare of the southern sun and the stark digital future of Now. Perfect bolthole.

Joe Pesci came with an impressive CV of session work in LA and New York. Reserved, cool, Mona Lisa smile of contentment flitting across his face at the end of every take. Unusually for a drummer his hands were oddly still between takes. He drank water and quietly polished his glasses with the tail of his expensive shirt.



In August 2006 a bunch of unlikely reprobates congregated at Damien Youth`s Blackberry Studios at his home in New Orleans. Suitably named, the purpose-built studio was housed in a Nineteenth Century structure reached by a crooked path at the far end of Damien`s mysterious overgrown with fruit-bearing brambles garden. Hidden from the harsh glare of the southern sun and the stark digital future of Now. Perfect bolthole. Joe Pesci came with an impressive CV of session work in LA and New York. Reserved, cool, Mona Lisa smile of contentment flitting across his face at the end of every take. Unusually for a drummer his hands were oddly still between takes. He drank water and quietly polished his glasses with the tail of his expensive shirt.

Damien Youth needed no introduction. Fresh from another live local gig, wired up and ready to go at any hour, Lennon cap pulled down low over those demon eyes. His missus made great coffee and served doughnuts until midnight. Star-child at her skirts. Damien was never without a guitar in his hands. He never once stopped playing -- and the band suspected that Elizabeth slept with earplugs. This guy can write songs in his sleep. He looks down and grins, upturns a can and hits a subtle chord of many colours.
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