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“Why have I not heard of this band before? Now I remember what real music is supposed to sound like. The Chasers shine like a lonely beacon in the played-out K.C. Blues scene, the last bastion of integrity in a world of pretentious pantomime and panting self-importance. It was a blessed star that marked the birth of this unassuming little band, though greater wonders await the patient listener who stops to consider that they almost never existed, indeed would have surely perished in cover-band oblivion had it not been for this intrepid reporter. I happened to spot them at a greasy spoon called Marcy's Lounge one wild and stormy night. I stepped inside for a moment to dry myself, when suddenly I stopped short- was that Dwight Yoakum blasting out to the approval of several dozen Septuagenarians? No, it was the Chasers. Age was no barrier to these die-hard country fans, moaning lustfully and gyrating to the rhythms emanating from JD and his compatriots on a postage-stamp sized stage.”
“Once again, J.D. & The Chasers have raised the bar. When it comes to quenching the sullen rage of an often fickle and indifferent crowd, The Chasers pull it off like the seasoned pros that they have been forced to become. Just last night I stumbled into what passes for the shimmering oasis of our humble burg, an establishment known as the Atlas Saloon. From inside drifted the haunting dulcet tones of Marie Mawby and Jacob Duncan launching into a Neville-induced rendition of "I Fall to Pieces", as the accompaniment of Blue-collared belly rubs sent besotted vibes of fumbling sex to come into the fragile night air. What I was witnessing was no mere cover band re-hashing the same tired numbers, but a living breathing entity of pure song that wafted into the soft spaces inside my ears, immersing me in long-lost memory; the shadow of a more innocent time when people still believed in live music and went so far as to leave their houses and high-tech cocoons to hear it. Simply miraculous.”