Wrote this for Taco Bell.

You'll be hearing more about our Taco Bell endorsement soon, but I wanted to go ahead and post a biography I wrote for them. The Frontier Brothers will be eating for free on our upcoming tours, as long as it's Taco Bell.

Here's to the Taco Bell Diet:

The Frontier Brothers are all about Earth appreciation. We appreciate the relatively moderate climates here; the women that exist in bounty; the food; the short distances between stops. TFB is space rock. It's party punk. It's garage pop. Most importantly, the music is from space. My name is Marshall Galactic, and no, it's not a stage name. I came to spread our contagious brand of rock and roll across the stars.

Five years ago and 427 million light years distance away, we were touring the crowded confederation of planets that surround the great star Betelgeuse. Despite the gigs being on entirely different planets, they lacked the variety of spots like Baltimore, Chicago, or New York. All the planets were relatively safe, most with low crime rates. Sure, you might run a 15% chance of being vanquished by merely stepping onto the soil in Baltimore, but the city is unique. In the Confederation, all architecture is the same. The ceilings are low, each citizen is given a specific parcel of land to farm. Its public rock venues, controlled firmly by local government, stifled our creative passion. House music was horribly ubiquitous. We began to look elsewhere to showcase our quality tunes.

Earth's addiction to the strange and unique attracted our attention. People here want something interesting; they need it. That's why we've never compromised the truth. No, we might not be directly related to Dave Grohl, and we often choose to don regalia other than flannel. Space suits, ties, space goggles -all that stuff. We can't help it. Imploring us to dress regularly is pointless; it's like asking U2 to perform in beaver pelts. They wouldn't feel comfortable.

But, if we were forced, I suppose we might comply. Because for The Frontier Brothers - myself, Moses, and Groovemaster- it's all about the music. What can I say? In my humble opinion, the s*** rocks: Big percussion, nasty guitar, and bouncing piano that will find its way into your date's hips and keep you dancing all night long, with vocals that sound like a dryer full of cats compelling you to party. Then, later that night, you and the cabby can pop in the record and delve into some serious life questions. Our new album, Space Punk Starlet has that kind of range. What can I say, I'm proud of it. So far, our photos and music have been featured in Spin and The New York Times. I do believe a buzz is building. But the way we make music doesn't give us a clear and easy shot into the hierarchy of the entertainment industry. We put in the work, touring relentlessly.

Right now, driving long stretches of empty roads among the Appalachian mountains while chewing my Crunch Wrap Supreme, I mentally reaffirm the decision to leave the place I called home for so long, perhaps never to return. Here, the women are so warm, the beer so cold, the road so insane and new everyday, I cannot miss nor hardly remember that place so far beyond the stars. That is, until I pick up my guitar, Brett fires up the piano, and Travis takes a seat behind the drums. Then we become aliens again in this strange world and the only way to feel right again is that rock and roll.