After a few years playing as a duo, Thom and Jamie had a few more members board the ship. Now sailing as a quartet, the Ironclads seek new horizons and exotic ports to barter our music in hopes of a return to mercantilism. Currently our port of call is Seattle where we have joined the Wizard Rock family. As long as we keep our love in vessels stored in the hull, we will carry this metaphor until she shatters the crust in the deep.
i feel bad i didn't say goodbye. i didn't know we were parting ways at continental breakfast. thank you a ton for tiding up the room. i promise next time we share a room i'll try my best not to take up all the beds.
Dear The Ironclads, I read your "Sounds Like" tidbit to the left, and thought it said "Ministry." Then I let myself daydream for a little bit. Mazel tov!
thanks for the add guys, i think you guys sound fuckin great! Whore moans are some friends of mine, too, and I read one of them was producing your album? thats awesome! anyways, hope ya like our tunes as well!!
Being part of a musical collective, much like having a gold American Express card, has its privileges. Just ask Seattle's own Ironclads. Part of the Wizard Rock collective, which boasts the Whore Moans and their mellower brethren the Dirty Sleeves, the Ironclads have one Whore Moan producing their record and another as a temporary bass player. I'd love to give you a more accurate description of their musical stylings than "they rock," but it's nearly impossible as their sound (and lineup) are in a constant state of evolution. Primarily consisting of Thom Strub and Jamie Cotton, songwriters who switch off vocal and lead-guitar duties, the IC can always be counted on to bring it big-time live. The recent addition of their latest drummer, who plays with big, gonzo, balls-out abandon, only promises to sweeten an already stellar show. With Lake of Falcons and Future of the Ghost. Funhouse, 206 Fifth Ave. N., 374-8400. 9:30 p.m. $6.
Dear The Ironclads, Regarding your winky-secret show last (this) night: I am sad to have missed it. I put Bullet Train on over the tinny speakers in my windowless office at Ye Olde Local Flophouse and let the tears flow...
you sure f'ing did. and you know what's sad...i didn't even see okkerville river. i started feeling sick, went downstairs for a sec to catch my breath, and went home. pretty disappointed in myself. aren't you?
