LORD HURON
Kevin Morby
Kevin Morby
SUN, 19 OCT 2025 at 05:00PM PDT
Ages: All Ages to Enter, 21 & Over to Drink
Doors Open: 04:00PM
Ages: All Ages to Enter, 21 & Over to Drink
Doors Open: 04:00PM
Tune Prism Cover Artist Spotlight: Lord Huron and the Long Lost Sounds of Yore Words and Memories by Tubbs Tarbel
Friends,
I been thinking a lot about the past again. I guess if you know me, that’s nothing new. Yeah, I smell what you’re sniffin’ at: “Oh boy, here goes ol’ Tubbs again, ramblin’ about those good ol’ bygone days of yore.” Well, sure, I’ll allow you that one. Maybe I do tend to take a good hard glance into the rearview before I step my boot on the gas. But don’t we all? Or shouldn’t we, in any case?
It just seems to me that, these days, the past is everywhere you look. Hell, take another peek at that sentence again. The first time you read it is already in the past. Funny how time just keeps clickin’ along. These days, anyway.
So, sometime in what’s now the not-too distant past, I was sittin’ in my usual seat inside Whispering Pines, cozied up to a glass of something cozy, when, from outta nowhere, this particular tune crept into my ear. It was a funny thing, because it immediately felt familiar to me, as a song that creeps into your ear usually has to be—especially for somebody like me who don’t write ’em…I just roll ’em. (You’ve heard me say that one more than a few times, no doubt.) But then the more I thought about it, and the more I listened to this little tune janglin’ around upstairs, I realized that I couldn’t place it as something I’d ever heard before. (And take my word for it: the ol’ upstairs is a titanium steel trap for tunes, even now.) It was a conundrum.
That little number stuck with me for more than a few days. I’d be doing something mindless— scrubbin’ my cup, combin’ my hat—when all of a sudden, here it came again: It’s hard to make friends when you’re half in the grave, but I ain’t dead yet and I’ve got something to say. It was the loveliest thing, and dang me if it didn’t keep sounding chummier and chummier. It was sublime—that drivin’ jangle of the guitar, the steady thump of the drums, those breezy, lilting voices—but I just couldn’t place it. Could it have been that ol’ Tubbs here had somehow tapped into that cosmic eternal and unwittingly written his first tune without even knowing it?
A week (or was it a month?) went by and the tune never went too far from my head. There’s a stranger in my eyes again… It almost got to where I was more used to the tune being there under my hat than my own face. …I swear to God I don’t know him. But then it happened, somethin’ I’ll never forget for as long as I live: My little tune came to life before my very eyes.
Now, be patient. I’ll tell you how.
That day, one of my all-time favorite acts happened to be booked in Whispering Pines for a recording spell, those good-time bootscooters and rhythm rascals known as Lord Huron. As always, the boys showed up early—but not earlier than ol’ Tubbs here—and made haste toward the studio’s live room
Friends,
I been thinking a lot about the past again. I guess if you know me, that’s nothing new. Yeah, I smell what you’re sniffin’ at: “Oh boy, here goes ol’ Tubbs again, ramblin’ about those good ol’ bygone days of yore.” Well, sure, I’ll allow you that one. Maybe I do tend to take a good hard glance into the rearview before I step my boot on the gas. But don’t we all? Or shouldn’t we, in any case?
It just seems to me that, these days, the past is everywhere you look. Hell, take another peek at that sentence again. The first time you read it is already in the past. Funny how time just keeps clickin’ along. These days, anyway.
So, sometime in what’s now the not-too distant past, I was sittin’ in my usual seat inside Whispering Pines, cozied up to a glass of something cozy, when, from outta nowhere, this particular tune crept into my ear. It was a funny thing, because it immediately felt familiar to me, as a song that creeps into your ear usually has to be—especially for somebody like me who don’t write ’em…I just roll ’em. (You’ve heard me say that one more than a few times, no doubt.) But then the more I thought about it, and the more I listened to this little tune janglin’ around upstairs, I realized that I couldn’t place it as something I’d ever heard before. (And take my word for it: the ol’ upstairs is a titanium steel trap for tunes, even now.) It was a conundrum.
That little number stuck with me for more than a few days. I’d be doing something mindless— scrubbin’ my cup, combin’ my hat—when all of a sudden, here it came again: It’s hard to make friends when you’re half in the grave, but I ain’t dead yet and I’ve got something to say. It was the loveliest thing, and dang me if it didn’t keep sounding chummier and chummier. It was sublime—that drivin’ jangle of the guitar, the steady thump of the drums, those breezy, lilting voices—but I just couldn’t place it. Could it have been that ol’ Tubbs here had somehow tapped into that cosmic eternal and unwittingly written his first tune without even knowing it?
A week (or was it a month?) went by and the tune never went too far from my head. There’s a stranger in my eyes again… It almost got to where I was more used to the tune being there under my hat than my own face. …I swear to God I don’t know him. But then it happened, somethin’ I’ll never forget for as long as I live: My little tune came to life before my very eyes.
Now, be patient. I’ll tell you how.
That day, one of my all-time favorite acts happened to be booked in Whispering Pines for a recording spell, those good-time bootscooters and rhythm rascals known as Lord Huron. As always, the boys showed up early—but not earlier than ol’ Tubbs here—and made haste toward the studio’s live room
