Artist Detailed Info: Bryce Midas

Bryce Midas was born of wolves in the Mississippi wilderness in 1984 the year of our lord. He grew up wondering those lonesome lowlands absent of fur and friend for the pack of wolves that conceived him exiled the poor boy due to his lack of a wolfy coat.
He spent his childhood through his adolescence weaving between the cypress trees and juggling stones. He invented his own language and tried to teach the forest this language so he could once again converse with life. As it turns out, the forest did not speak back. This lack of reciprocation and ultimate failure caused Bryce to weep. The weeping then turned to song and all at once the gravelly baritone voice woke the wilderness and they began to sing together. Finally Bryce Midas had found his place in world.
Because a man and a forest singing produce an incredible amount of noise, passersby became curious. A travelling musician by the name of Jean Benot picked his way through the melody of forest until he came upon young Midas.
The Frenchmen asked, “May I sit and listen?”
Bryce replied, “Silly Frenchmen, one cannot ask the trees to be a forest, so why ask music permission to be heard?”
The bewildered Frenchman immediately replied, “What in Napoleon’s fuck does that mean?”
Bryce, noticing his ambiguity, apologized at once for not being acquainted with conventional English idiom, as he was a wolf.
Upon hearing this, the Frenchman exclaimed, “Boy you are not wolf but man. Flesh and bone, song and dance!”
“A MAN!” Bryce shouted.
“A MAN!” the Frenchman retorted.
After this brief exchange of epiphany the Frenchman soberly declared that he had heard such honesty and melody from another being only once before and added that Bryce must not have truly been born in Mississippi.
“Where do you reckon I was born?” Midas inquired.
The Frenchman after a moment of contemplation replied,
“I have heard a similar sound once in all of my travels, and I believe it was during the winter of 52’ in the Midwest, the Dakotas to be exact. Only there can such honesty and melody originate. Here my boy, take this guitar it should serve you well for my time is at an end. Find your way home and make sure you share all that you have shown me.”
Shocked, Bryce stared at the strange Frenchman for a moment. Then, right as the Former wolf began to speak an eagle charged out of the sky and through the trees. Sinking its talons into the Frenchman’s shoulders, it pulled him skyward until the two were but specks on the horizon.
Left with nothing but a guitar and a destination Bryce muttered, “Damn Christ, those fuckin’ eagles.”
Beginning here, Bryce Midas picked his way through the South, writing songs, playing with legends and surviving his first introductions to alcohol.
Upon his arrival to the Dakotas he found that the Frenchman had been right after all. This was his birth home; he could feel it in dirt but how he came to be in the Mississippi wilderness remained a mystery for him.
Now with a place to hang his head and call home, Midas writes and records music with no boundaries. Sometimes it’s just a guitar and that dusty voice, sometimes it’s everything, and sometimes it’s nothing.
When asked how he came by such a guitar and sound he says, “Those fuckin’ eagles.” Some think he’s upset about a football team, but we know better.

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