What makes music great? I guess the answer is the uniqueness of your music. I always try to make my music unique and far from standard.
Gas stations have always been a cornerstone of exploration. A glimpse into a different world every time you enter those doors lathered in other peoples fingerprints and rust from the hinges. We want to give you that feeling of going head first into a place that has room for exploration, where the possibilities never cease and the road always winding. But the first place every great trip starts and all good travelers go to share their tales is the gas station.
by Gloria Guns
When my maternal grandmother was eighteen years old, she left her home in what is now North Korea to head south so she could study nursing. It was while studying there that the country split into North and South Korea, leaving her family trapped on the other side of the border. To this day, she has never been back to her birthplace and has not heard from her family ever since.
I began with a classical training from age eight on violins made by my grandfather, from a half size to three quarter, then to his “number 2” with a finessed fiddleback grain in high glaze. His Luthier’s hands I remember as large and gnarly as they would trace the creases of my palm to elucidate future prospects. After ten years of scales and arpeggios working my way through graded texts filled with compositions by the gifted and deceased, a final concert in the embers of 1990 marked the occasion of my last musical performance on stage, aside from dreams.
Barely 12 months passed before my own strange sounds were committed to cassette tape for the first time, born of a natural necessity to do, and it was this background of prescribed exam pieces that gave me something to react against.
Moonshine Effect travel through the night in a psychedelic mood, humming dream pop melodies. They enjoy riding into pink moons on dancing horses and whispering folk sounds in the cool early morning breeze. They insist on watching the constellations of trembling blue stars, gently screaming their poetry till it touches the sky.