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Old Tyme Folk Punk

with a side of Squat Club Swing, served on the street at the back of the breadline with a theatrical flare, a political edge, and brimming with humor.

The Recession Special formed in quarantine during the summer of 2020. Dusty The Kid (guitar/banjo) and "Bucky-Eyed" Geoffrey Taylor (fiddle) started busking together in downtown Missoula, MT in the wake of the collapse of the live music industry.

Soon joined by Finn "Stovepipe" Carroll on bass and Thrift Storrs Bishop on washboard, the group began to amass a small following of tramps, local characters, and college students hungry for the return of live music.

Taking their name from the Old Post Pub's once fabled menu item for the down-and-out, the band seeks to bring the spirit of resistance and resilience back to folk music.  They pour whiskey on the fiddle and the crowd, and remind listeners that, no matter how hard times get, there's always a place for dancing in the revolution.


Dusty The Kid

Regarded in some small circles as The Last Footloose Wobbly in the West, not much is known about The Kid before he stumbled out of the rain into the ACAB radio station with a headful of songs and a handful of stories. (Or are they lies?)

Some say he was born in a small railroad town in Montana, others that he was born under the boardwalk in Asbury Park. Some say Ireland, and yet others say a vegetable cart somewhere in Transylvania. Concrete evidence emerges close to The Kid’s twelfth birthday, where he was found working as an actor at a vaudeville playhouse somewhere between Santa Fe and Staten Island.

Wanted in multiple countries and counties on charges ranging from vagrancy to the habitual robbery of Starvation Army coin collections to redistribute their contents to the queer youth of America, The Kid has turned a life on the run into a breakneck romp around the world; collecting, fabricating, and sharing the songs and stories of workers, revolutionaries, and hopeless romantics.

"Bucky Eyed" Geoffrey Taylor

Geoffrey Taylor was born in Taiwan at the turn of the 20th Century. The child of Revivalist missionaries, he spent his infancy as part of a traveling show. Audiences across Southeast Asia gazed with amazement and confusion as the newborn Geoff, barely the size of a summer pumpkin, leapt from the stage to the alter and back again, playing blazing jigs and reels on a fiddle twice his height, his floor length hair self-animated with the crackle of electricity.

In 1906 the family boarded a ship bound for California which sank while attempting to navigate Cape Horn. Riding his fiddle like a canoe, Geoff paddled away from the wreck eventually washing up on the shores of Louisiana. Here he was adopted by a rag-tag band of moonshiners who weaned him on white lightning until he grew strong and his eyes grew wild.

When he was old enough, Geoff lassoed a swarm of grasshoppers to take him to Texas, where he got a job playing in the Austin Symphony Orchestra. That is, until he broke into a rollicking rendition of “Whiskey Before Breakfast” in the middle of a sold out performance of Handel’s “Messiah”. He fled the scene in a barrage of monocles and angrily flung pearls, flagging down a gaggle of geese that were on their way north. They gave him a ride as far as Montana, where our story finds him today.


Finn "Stovepipe" Carroll

Finn “Stovepipe” Carroll led a remarkably average life growing up. That is, if being born the love child of John Coltrane and an oak tree could, in any way, be considered average.

From an early age they were able to outplay the most senior bassists, conjure the most abhorrent bebop imaginable from thin air, and sprout the odd acorn out of an ear from time to time.

Despite these peculiarities, Carroll's life remained strictly academic and respectable. That is, until the fateful night when they became inhabited by the wandering ghost of that famed railroad tramp: Stovepipe!

From that night onward it was wine, women, and song as far as the eye could see. Haunting the jazz clubs of New York and the jails of Montana, the highways of the Rust Belt and the high desert plains, you can hear the cry as it rings through the dreams of Americans: “Stovepipe Rides Again!” 

Thrift Storrs Bishop

Born in the back corner of a disused photography shop and swaddled in a roll of Fuji 400, Thrift Storrs Bishop spent his formative years listening to the whir of the old film processor and the clank of the radiators. He showed early promise as a boxer; winning a Golden Gloves championship title by the age of eight.

Unfortunately, shortly thereafter, he slipped into a bag of broken cameras and was taken to the Salvation Army, where he spent his adolescence lost among the shelves. He passed the time by constructing drum kits out of pots and pans, and assembling recording consoles from the myriad of tape decks and telephones left there. During this time he recorded and produced several Grammy-nominated albums which have since been lost to the ages.