John Johnson walks on stage only with his roll of duct tape. Then he continues to casually take his shoes and socks off and rolls his jeans up to his knees.
The older man anxiously hovering behind me asks, “Do you even know who these guys are?”
Henry Kammerer mysteriously struts on stage with his banjo, his hooded sweatshirt, and his shades. The lights dim and he takes his hoodie off. Out come the fringed leather vest and his metal slide on his left ring finger; the crowd howls.
It’s not blues. It’s not Americana. It’s not punk. It’s not Appalachian. It’s ass-shaking, foot-stomping, danceable energy brought to the room. It’s Hillstomp.
“We never intended this to be a professional band. It was entirely for fun and it was just to entertain us a couple nights a week. It just kind of morphed itself into something else. It’s amazing,” says Kammerer.
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