Born and raised near Chattanooga, TN, J. Roddy Walston is the only limb left on the once-proud family tree of the Roddy clan. It was in the Smoky Mountain hollers of Tennessee that he was raised on the “Music of God” and taught to play rock and roll by the hand of the Devil. As a child, his grandmother turned down the Grand Ole Opry to sing only for God and family, while his uncle chose to drink himself to death in the real honky-tonks rather than heed the calls of the Nashville hit-makers that constantly beckoned. After young Roddy watched both punctuate their refusals with the business end of a shotgun, he decided not to let the family die nameless. In as much an attempt to bring due credit to his kin as a desire to rebel against what they stood for, he moved from the shadows and secrets of the South into the spotlight and temptations of the North. Whether by divine appointment or a cocktail devised by the Devil, no one knows, but by the time he reached Baltimore, a vicious band of players had gathered around him. First was his northern right-hand-man, Billy Gordon, a guitar player with a formidable pedigree himself. Next, taking his place on bass, was Zach Westphal, who sings like a bird but plays like he’s fighting a hellhound set on taking him back to Montana. Rounding out the troop to hold down the steady beat was Steve Colmus, a southpaw with an affinity for chew and a strong snare hand. Together, they’ve been begging rock n’ roll to respect its past and teaching old music new tricks.