In the beginning, Tyrant Taylor was a lonesome guy, spending most of his time surrounded by half-written compositions on coffee stained paper. Turning a blind eye to others and the world around him, it was just him, alone in his studio with his musical works. Eventually the walls of his studio began to close in on him; the isolation was beginning to overwhelm. So he packed a bag and set his sights on the road, busking along the way. On the good days, he’d make enough from others’ pocket change to get to next town.
One day, while taking a break in a sleepy Pocono village called the Pines, he wandered into the local saloon, Hops. There he found a girl plunking a drunken piano. By their next song, the Tyrant—accordion in hand—had joined her in the merriment. It didn’t take long before they knew were onto something and destined not to part. The Tyrant told her of his travels and of his desire to bring his music to life, off of the paper and into the ears of those who would listen. Without much hesitation, agreed to leave with him. The key had been turned and the musical engine soon to be known as EGRESS had been ignited.
On their way out of the area, the trio absconded with a jovial fellow called Joe “Bone” Lynch, best known for blowing gin bubbles from his trombone bell. He and his trombone, Napoleon, joined the crew. Now there were four; but before too long, they were aiding and abetting Jaclyn “THE” Kidd. The Kidd, already on the run and eager to see the world, jumped in the van—mandolin in hand—with little hesitation and never looked back. In New York City, they ran across a surly sousaphonist named Toobie Doo. Without asking, Toobie threw his tuba in the back of the van and quickly grabbed the nicest seat—and assumed bass duties.
The now complete Egress left New York and toured the countryside far and wide. They often found themselves in the company of dancing ladies, sideshow folk, and circus sillies—many of whom shared that same love of the road and lust for a life of expression. It seemed a perfect fit, for they all were dedicated to spreading the gospel and the sound.
Some years have passed since that time. Many songs have been sung and many—so many—miles have been accumulated by their mighty van Clarence since those early days. They concocted a musical novel from their tales on the road and left a trail of confetti-crumbs, broken hearts, and worn out dancing shoes in their wake.
However, even the most gnarled troubadour needs a home away from the endless highway, and Egress found theirs in the sleepy town of Bethlehem—not the same one that fellow Jesus hailed from, but nice just the same. It is there, at the “Egress Inn”, they play music until the ungodly hours of the dawn, make moving pictures, build new props and playthings, dream up new schemes and ultimately, plot their next move: To Come To A Town Near YOU! And you’ll know when they’re coming. Their arrival will be heralded by an “Ah-OOG-Ah” from the van and complete with hobo horns, cheap suits and bad hats, more cowbells than you can shake a drum stick at, and of course, all those whiskey soaked melodies. Get ready, they’ve come for you. And remember… It’s This Way to the Egress!