Santeria, a rock band with three-parts pure Cajun blood and one-part East Indian, was born in the haunted bayous and swamplands of Louisiana where atmosphere plays as much a part of the music as the rich cultural legacy of the Deep South. For 10 years, they defied expectations by releasing three exceptional records (Santeria in 1998, Apocalypse, Louisiana in 2000 and House of the Dying Sun in 2002) on their own label (GolarWash Labs) while banging out hundreds of gigs in Nowheresville towns across America. By some miracle or supernatural force, they somehow retooled the basics of “southern rock” and modified it into a new and inspired form—relatively free of Confederate clichés and beer guzzling drunkenness—concentrating their creative energies on expressing the isolation and loneliness of the modern South—at times loud and overbearing and alternately quiet, subdued, and withdrawn. Rumored to have been cursed by voodoo practitioners upset at the band appropriating the name “Santeria,” the band soldiered on through countless setbacks—freakish car crashes, cow hearts stuff in their mailboxes, knife and gun fights, eviction from their band house, paranoia, mental illness, police harassment and numerous unexplained phenomena. As vocal/guitarist Dege Legg explains about the creation of the record, “Some of it has nothing to do with music. Faulkner. Junkyards. Céline. Literature. Fan boats. Sunrises. Richard Brautigan. The bayou. Alligators. Trailer parks. Sh*t jobs. Survival. Hurricanes. We aren’t re-inventing the wheel—just trying to spin it in three directions at once—the future, the past and our own. These songs are our experience of the South, rather than the beaten-to-death version from bands the world over. With us, there’s an odd sensitivity that has nothing to do with being ‘bad boys.’ We see the Deep South as the haunted, national subconscious of America. Like an unspoken species of guilt, quietly manifest in the subtext of America. All of the songs are mysteries. Like telepathically transmitted enigmas. I don’t know where they come from. Or why. But we’ve always been blessed…and lucky.” Along with Legg, Santeria is completed by guitarist Primo, bassist Chad Willis and drummer Krishna Kasturi. “All of us are Cajun boys, born and bred,” Legg proudly states. “Raised amongst the swamps and farmlands of southern Louisiana, except for Krishna, who moved here from southern India, at the age of 5, with his entire family. It’s an East-meets-South thing…even we don’t understand it. You’d have thought we’d gravitate toward a guy who could play a good shuffle, but instead we drifted into an unknown polyrhythmic universe as a foundation for the band.” Here’s what people have already been saying about Santeria… “Soaring melodies with a Soundgarden-ish crunch.” - Billboard Magazine “... a masterpiece of sun-boiled powerblues and midnight psychedelia, a surreal and evocative road trip into the very heart of darkness. When they are in full Southern death-boogie mode, as in the tribal-stomping ‘Leave Something Witchy,’ or the riff-gasmic ‘Haunted Heart,’ Santeria sound like a gothic Allman Brothers, a sort of funeral party jam band, at once mournful and joyous. Anchored by frontman Dege Legg’s breathy shaman drawl, ‘Year of The Knife’ is so atmospheric you may need fog lights to find your way back to reality.” - Classic Rock / UK “Tons of personality. Legg’s lyrics threaten to outstrip the songs themselves. Somewhere, in there—somewhere in Legg’s mind, possibly—is the genesis of true original, world-beating grandear…a dirty angel, certainly. But a muse, nonetheless.” - OffBeat Magazine “Southern psychedelic folk. A soundtrack for down on the Delta hippie voodoo jam rituals. Songs full of beauty, sadness, ethereal regrets, and haunting imagery, sung with resonant soul and passion.” - Tangerine Magazine “Live, Santeria take no prisoners. They are up there with the best bands on the planet. They have truly outgrown Louisiana and the South for that matter.” - StonerRock.com “Songs so hauntingly beautiful and powerfully deep, I cannot recommend this highly enough. Deep South acoustic mysticism that is played like a work of art. Make no mistake, this band is genius.” - Perkleit (Italy) “Santeria’s ‘Year of the Knife’ sounds as if, instead of Detroit, Iggy & The Stooges had cut their musical teeth in the murky backwaters of Louisiana’s Cajun country, and the only records to survive the flood were their tattered copies of Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and Junior Kimbrough.” – ConcertLivewire.com “Fantastic, dripping with mystery, emotion, pain, and salvation. Elements of Cajun folk, hard rock, delta blues, Indian ragas, and outlaw country…along the classic singer/songwriter vibe…all boiled into one cohesive whole.” - Roadburn.com (Europe) “Santeria is the greatest rock band in America. An America, mind you, that's more Mexican than McDonald's and more mystic and magical than muck and mire.” – SleazeGrinder “... Year Of The Knife is the kind of album Led Zeppelin used to make in their hey-day.” - RaysRealm (music blog)