Heartbreak Orchestra

We can’t all come from Connersville. Indiana is not big enough. We’d all

have to have been born there, to have the sleepiness cleared from our newborn

eyes, to have stared in wonder while a Middle American doctor slaps our

bottoms, crying, being breastfed from the red tractors and green, green

grass of home, to have spent our childhoods playing with barn cats and

endless blue skies, expecting square deals and wolfing down home cooking

cooked (and sometimes burned, for who among us are perfect?) in blackened

pots inherited from grandma.



The best bands are travel writers. Through their music and their words we

are brought, beyond our will, thank goodness, to places where true love

sometimes dies, where our darkness becomes our better half, where we

betray the ones who trusted us, where we are scorned and scorn back, and

where all that we once sought with such assured fury throws the last

shovel-full of earth into our graves.



Heartbreak Orchestra is one of those bands.



Cello and guitar, voice and reply, tambourine and mandolin, harmonica like

a troubled conscience — all bubble and froth and simmer and flame into

a country blues early era rock-n-roll with a symphonic twist. They paid

their dues. Here is their music.



We can’t all come from Connersville. But now we can pretend we did.



— Josh Dubrow, 2007