Simon Joyner, who recently turned fifty, has been quietly making records for a small cult of dedicated fans since 1990. Hovering above the intersection of chaos and beauty, the Omaha-based songwriter’s vivid and imagery-rich songs occasionally recall Leonard Cohen at his most personal and apocalyptic, while always revealing Joyner’s affinity for the fearless, unpredictable sounds of the noise and experimental scene on which he cut his teeth . . .
Only the good shit. Aquarium Drunkard is powered by its patrons. Keep the servers humming and help us continue doing it by pledging your support.
To continue reading, become a member or log in.