There are bands that are defined by trend and genre and ones that are defined by flouting them. The Hot Springs don’t fit into either camp.
They’re not gimmick whores trying to catch the next wave of viral marketed hipdom or self-conscious scenester apologists quick-stepping to avoid being absorbed into the mainstream. They’re just a band that wants to make fucking good music.

Once upon a time, The Hot Springs plied the lacerated edge of punkglorious posture-pop, delivering tunes with bite and ‘tude. Those days aren’t gone but the music has matured and evolved with the years, adopting orphaned influences as wide-ranging as The Beach Boys, Piebald, and Run DMC. The resulting collision of sounds is a beautifully splintering indiepop magestic, sometimes sweet and lusty at other times raucous with cock-rock bravado (an amusing but appropriate bluster for frontwomen Giselle).

In all things, Hot Springs eternal.