Miss Peach and The Travellin' Bones - history

Kev Rowland, Miss Peach and The Travellin' Bones - history

Miss Peach

I fled a life of comfort and familiarity and thrust myself into a new harsh world. A world I was alone in. Having no one to trust except my own heart’s beat and the sun’s promise of dawn. On those long dark nights, as the devil knocked upon my door, my music spoke the truth of my weakening heart. It spoke of the earthquakes I left behind and sung of the woman I was yet to become. I came to realize, this collection of music was beginning to become a prophecy of events yet to exist... This frightened me, yet it also compelled me to go in search of answers. So, I asked the stars and the cards to direct me to company where I could share this music, and to places I could tell my dark tales of Beauty, Danger and Love. I was led into the desert SAND of Bardo. The place where people would bring out their dead. Some call it limbo, others the realm of rebirth. I crossed the veil I saw it with my own eyes. A land fertile from the ash, smoke and sea spray of three spirits long gone. These three souls remained bound to each other, their life suffering and final breaths entwined. I was enchanted under the light of the full desert moon, to resurrect their souls and entice them to become…

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The Travellin’ Bones


A young woman who was oppressed by her fathers fist. Her only joy in her short life was her loyal horse, Freedom. She rode as strong and as skilled as one of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse. The evening of her 16th Birthday, her father announced she would be sent away to boarding school and her Stallion would be sold to the Union Army to fight in the Rebellion War. Spurs fled. The hooves of Freedom could not be heard over the god of Thunder’s malice, endlessly, Untill Dawn stretched her Rosy red fingers across the wild lands of the new world. Spurs and her horse were found at the bottom of a salted craggy cliff, That embraced the Sea of Hope. Her Father, full of rage and white fisted, rode seething at the bit to Glorit, The Blacksmith. Blind to the truth of her death, that his daughter had taken her own life.

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The Blacksmith

The Father blamed Glorit.

Accusing him, screaming of poor craftsmanship of the horse shoes he crafted. “She is dead!” he spat “My darling Spurs ‘could out ride any man’ and this was no accident, and her blood is on your hands, Blacksmith!” Glorit was a kind hearted giant, and was sadden to hear the sweet girls’ spirit was lost, yet, he firmly asked her father to leave as he knew deeply there was no truth in his accusations. …..The Father returned under the blessings of Hades, with a New Box of Matches and burned Glorit’s home to the ground.

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As the flames and smoke engulfed the house and The Blacksmiths’ gentle soul turned to ash, sleeping on another bed of straw and horsehair was a young man, The Blacksmiths apprentice. A nameless soul, who never spoke a word all his life. But as the smoke filled his lungs he whispered Her name for the first & very last time.

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The oriental Princess & Mistress of the most notorious opium den nicknamed ‘The River Styx’. The Den was gifted to her by her deceased drunk father, the very same who had sold her at 14 to the filthy old man she was whipped into calling ‘Husband’ She was a beauty, and her spirit was as delicate as the silk she wore. She never cheated, nor stole, and always held herself far away from the dragon’s claw…… The opium was sold as a means of survival that feed her sisters and the children that ran about in the dirt. The news travelled quicker than the flames that set alight the midnight air. Her first true love had been stolen from her. Her Love, Her Silent One that spoke endlessly through his eyes. She had heard him say goodbye. Entranced with grief, she stole to coins from her sleeping husband’s pocket, walked through the black laced curtains of the den. Laying down, she placed the pennies upon her closed wet eyes, as she chased the Dragon’s Tail to the river of The Ferryman.

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My own Tale, well… one must keep the cards close to her breast, my secrets and origins are weaved in the fine tapestry of the album SAND. The first musical chapter of a time and place I once walked as….. The Sorceress. The Time Traveler. The Dark Story Teller.

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