““Balto sound like the kind of band you’d want playing in the background as you cruise down the highway with a road soda clutched in your hand.” – What Youth”
Summer, 2017. A touring rock quartet called Balto blows the head gasket of a friend’s Ford Econoline Van 100 miles south of Seattle, WA. They arrive at the venue on the back of a tow truck just before showtime, grinning and buzzed; an empty thermos of bloody mary rolls out into the street. The bar fills, the band kicks in, the roof needs repair, the tow truck driver catches the set and drives half the band back to Portland. The tour went on, and has never stopped.
Balto is the kind of band that is unafraid to bleed for their craft. Young working musicians with thousands of miles of highway and hundreds of shows already under their belts, possessed of a deep appreciation of where their music comes from and where it’s headed. They are card-carrying cultists of the Great American Song, the Great American Groove, and the Great American Highway. Long may they run.