From King Leg
A high plains rocker born near the west roads of Nebraska, the young Leggin’ kicked up the dust and moonwalked atop the sod. By the tender age of eight, he discovered abilities lingering in his limber legs, swivel hips, and ankles while imitating the King himself; thereon, he’d carry a comb to coif his Elvisian pomp. Soon thereafter, he’d pluck his first chords on the guitar. He was certain he found his calling.
In his middle years, the Boy Leg Wonder frolicked, jiving to the classics, rockin’ a shag-do, and emulating the mop-top mods from Liverpool. Radiohead and The Moody Blues lulled his weary limbs to sleep at night, while New Wave writhed him out of bed in the morning. He got his rock n’ roll toes wet partying hard in an Andrew W.K. cover band. Toward the end of this chapter, the adolescent Leg found an interest in songwriting, and the wind blew him to Nashville. Stranded, a rock ‘n roll seeker in Nashville, an awakening stirred in Leg when exposed to the vestiges of a musical world he had not yet known. Immersed in a town of songwriting, he studied the greats while haunting the halls of the Ryman. Especially attentive to the rockin’ country stompers, like Webb Pierce and Billy Walker, he dissected the sweet croons of Slim Whitman and warbles of the Big O… Roy Orbison that is. In the ghostly glow of the neon laments and all things country, he curated a respect for the idiom. In his later journeys, it would often combine in moments as a unique leavening with his more aggressive rock roots. He never strayed far from the inspiration of those Liverpuddlian lads, as it became crystalline clear that he, with those purveyors of the same said influences, would clash with the scene at large. Meanwhile, there was a light of love for The Smiths that never went out. Inspired, he started a band named The Backscrubbers with fellow Mozphiles. After adding into the set his originals beside classic covers, the group made its first public appearance as King Leg at the Grace Manor Home for the Elderly. The rambunctious performance roused the residents from the roosts of their comfy chairs. In this geographic interlude, circumstances found him misunderstood by many and perplexing to most in the far outpost of Leg rock. Although unclear which fork to take in the multitude of paths, he knew his future burned brightly as the sun setting in the west, which is what drew him on that highway, one in a long line of adopted musical sons of the golden state.
Oftentimes King is approached “Mr. Leg, is it band or a man?“ His response has been “Brother, Sister… it’s a state of mind.“ After arriving in the Golden West, he’s been asked “What is it you call this groovy sound you sonically seduce us with?“ Before he could proffer an answer, a fanatical female follower interjected in his defense “Aren’t you hip when in the presence of a modern millennial prophet?“ He stood resolute, with no apologies necessary, for being the Millennial Mod rocker that he is. He dwells now where he has found himself - in this state of mind he calls King Leg.