The Entrance Band

Imagine we could go back. Let's say 1968. The word “psychedelic” still has meaning. Surfers are outcasts. Music matters. Revolutions work. Now that we're here, let's add a few things. Entrancing lights. A brunette named Paz on bass guitar. Swirling riffs. Dizzying solos. An adult beverage. Feeling good? We are. Welcome to the world of Los Angeles's The Entrance Band.

Sound: It's loud — with songs hopped up on hissing guitars and bulldozing drums while vocalist Guy Blakesee ponders circular time. People in your car will say, "This is bad ass," but in a way that makes you feel cool as opposed to bar-brawl violent.

Stage Presence: Their outfits rival Freddy {{{Mercury}}} on a Saturday night: three skinny-legged creepies hovering around the stage clothed in flowing sheets, drifting back and forth between here and the next dimension. The bassist moves gently like the leaves of a willow tree. As the final song reverbs in the background you see her laying down with bass wedged into an amp, issuing the war cry for a revolution you want to be part of. Look for your right mind in the parking lot. You won’t find it inside.

Listen to The Entrance Band while…
…suiting up to surf your local spot at 3 p.m. for a glassy, mid-week shred….accelerating on the {{{405}}} South the moment traffic finally lifts….watching Andy Irons carve circa Campaign….drinking Makers Mark in a dim, stuffy room….flying to Eastern Europe solo….reading Sirens of {{{Titan}}} by Kurt Vonnegut outdoors at dusk.