Deleted Scenes burst onto the now legendary Olney, Maryland hyphy-pop scene in 1998, after songwriters Dan Scheuerman and Matt Dowling met at a juvenile detention center urinal while visiting incarcerated relatives. Citing Cabaret Voltaire, Sparks and Misissippi John Hurt among the artists in which they were in no way influenced, the two immediately began sculpting the Deleted Scenes signature sound using mostly shoe horns and limp pillows. Guitarist Chris Scheffey and drummer Brian Hospi- tal soon joined the compulsively apolo- getic duo to take their nefarious bedroom scuzz into a live setting.
In 2005, Deleted Scenes entered a commodious hellhole in East Baltimore to record the four songs that would make up the “Deleted Scenes” EP. Following the album’s release, the band hit the road in Scheffey’s father’s airbrushed, self- portrait-slathered bread van, playing scores of dates across the US in an attempt to get people to like them.
After having their van covered with faded denim in Gary, Indiana, Deleted Scenes relocated to Washington, D.C where they subsisted exclusively on Ethiopian fir-fir and recorded only raindrops for three months.
It was around this time in 2007 that Deleted Scenes stumbled upon a surrealistic plop of a record called “Sookie Jump” by one “L. Skell” (of The Rude Staircase), and immediately went on a crusade to hunt down the now bald and olfactorily unpleasant recluse. Wearing sneakers, the band drove up to Skell’s West Philadelphia dungeon, only to find him in a salvia, nutmeg and EPMD-induced stupor. After haranguing him for 10 straight hours, Skell finally agreed to help in the creation of what would become “Birdseed Shirt”.
Following tender sessions with heroic sound- smith J. Robbins, the band holed up in Skell’s dark, dank hermitage for 17 months collect- ing like stamps every last perfumed essence of sound until what resulted was not only a mellifluous, anthemic collage of existential joy and despair, but the best pop record of 2009. Dig!
“Birdseed Shirt”, Deleted Scenes first full length record, unclenches your chest and pours sonic Elysian Fields inside, water- boarding your viscera with unspeakably catchy hooks and unbridled, youthful senescence.
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