Somewhere in the Wasatch Mountains, during the cold winter months, a rowdy group of ski bums and hippies gathered in the belly of a warm house. Drawn together by a common love of snow, fun, and bluegrass, they set out to howl at the moon and dance through the night in hopes of shaking a storm loose from the heavens to cover up the the stones and ice, and to wash clean the filthy air in the Salt Lake Valley.
They sang and danced until they were drenched in sweat and their bodies ached.
They sang songs from The Grateful Dead.
They sang songs from Michael Jackson.
They sang Katy Perry.
They sang Lady Gaga.
They sang Creedence Clearwater Revival.
They sang Taylor Swift.
They sang The Talking Heads.
They sang Avicii.
They sang Britney Spears.
They sang Aretha Franklin.
They sang all the songs they knew and then they sang songs they wrote.
They sang songs about wandering the desert. They sang songs about drinking whisky. They sang about the lies they've been told. They sang about the love they've lost. The love they've gained. They sang about the endless destruction that they simply don't understand.
They sang about Chickens.
... And from that night a new style was born...
The style of Partygrass.
Pixie and The Partygrass Boys