James Apollo

James Apollo is restless as a willow in a windstorm. If he's not breaking his legs in motorcycle accidents, or barreling down highways to get to the show on time, he's screwing his life up at home, leaving a trail of wreckage usually left to generals and junkyard foreman.
While his music often has some pervasive themes, namely love, loss, loneliness and deceit, Apollo steeps it in so much melancholy that even the most dire of tales has you wondering whether he's cheering for the victim or the cause. And though there may be a sly smile between castanets on his latest, Til Your Feet Bleed, for Apollo, this is about as steady as he's going to get.
Apollo, who recorded his two previous albums near his home in Brooklyn, travelled back to the bluffs of the upper Mississippi, where longtime musical compatriots joined him in setting these songs in stone. The session took place in a short window between tours, leaving Apollo just enough time to shake the dust off his jacket and onto tape.
The result, Til Your Feet Bleed, cries out from the dark side of lover's lane. Apollo recalls "A fellow asked me the other day about being on the road. He said it must be tough to keep a relationship going when you're away from home. I said no, being away is the easy part. It's when i'm home that times get rough"



dark delights with a ghoulish air of danger and charming fragility. 4/5 stars.
MOJO
there's something instrinsically beautiful in how [Til Your Feet Bleed} is woven together to such a doleful, quietly epic effect. 4 stars.
Uncut
with the grumbling jazz stylings of Nighthawks-era Tom Waits, Apollo reminisces on cactus flowers, Ennio Morricone and William Faulkner—sounds about right to us
TimeOut New York
haunted, western-rich folk.
The Onion
A high plains drifter on the dark side of tumbleweed roots rock.
El Paso Scene Weekly
an earthy blend of haunted melodies and dusty rhythms.
Sheffield Star
gritty, rootsy, adventurous.
Star Tribune


Get "Til Your Feet Bleed" now at jamesapollo.com