The sound of Bendigo Fletcher begins with the poetry that informs it. With songwriter Ryan Anderson’s rangy, howling vocals as bedrock, the band’s creation floats between pop and folk-rock textures, unconventional structure, and wordplay as a feeling that functions free from a confined form and culverts beyond the comfort zone of Americana.
Anderson writes of intimate moments; revelations that occur on rhythmic steps through the woods; reflections on love and relationships. The songs are anecdotes, told not in the service of some grand moral conclusion, but as heady little hints at both the absurdity of the world and the awkward rewards of our living in it. Like a robin in the rafters or a couch in the garage.
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