I Know I've Been Changed

Wayfaring Stranger

Motherless Child

Judgement

City Of Refuge

I Don't Do Nobody Nothin'

Highway Sound

From Miraculous Mule's forthcoming  album 'Two Tonne Testimony'. Released 24th March 2017 and preorders are open at the link below in various formats, including a beautiful gatefold LP.
http://bronzerat.limitedrun.com/products/584537-miraculous-mule-two-tonne-testimony

04 Where Monsters Lead

Taken from Miraculous Mule's forth coming album 'Two tonne Testimony'.

Two Tonne Testimony

Shave 'Em Dry

Shave 'Em Dry!

Miraculous Mule - Ain't It Hard

MIRACULOUS MULE 
SOUND OF THE SUMMER
b/w AIN'T IT HARD & IN MY TIME OF DYING 
Release date 16th June 2017 Digital download (Bronzerat/Muletone Records)

"A blues drenched epic rock riot" 4/5 The Daily Mirror
"Don't miss this galvanising soundtrack for treacherous times" 9/10 Vive Le Rock
"A topical soul filled road to salvation, top layered with bite and fury" 9/10 Louder Than War 
"Passionate, paranoid heavy rock built for these times" The Arts Desk

Following the release of their second album Two Tonne Testimony in March, London three piece Miraculous Mule release Sound of the Summer, a psychedelic-soul inflected stomper which takes a well worn music industry cliche and turns it on it's head. Taking its cues from Hendrix and the Isley Brothers 'Sound of the Summer' begins as a paean to long joyous sunny days and hot sticky nights before morphing into something a little darker, i.e. burning, looting, the death of protest and the rise of the police state.

It's backed with Ain't It Hard - a slow, funky blues howled from the cold bed of a passionless relationship - and In My Time of Dying - a reworking of the old gospel/blues standard which the band recorded for MOJO magazine's tribute to Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti. .

Miraculous Mule - Ain't It Hard

First single From Miraculous Mule's debut album 'Deep Fried'

Satisfied

Nothing comes from nowhere. The mule, the miracle plough-puller, the humble and mighty tiller of the earth, is blessed and cursed with a dubious origin. Likewise, though their nativity was in London in the latter half of the last century, these Anglo-Irish honkeys know that their souls were forged further back and farther west. Fallen into hell’s ditch, baptised in brimstone, reborn in the devotion of African-American Gospel, the pain of penitentiary work songs, the jittery stomp of hillbilly rock. Creeping with shovels to the lonesome resting places of traditional folk, delving deep into the treasures of song that lie beneath broken soil, loading a wagon under cover of night, they have electrified and reanimated those borrowed remains with a newfound urgency, melancholy, rage and beauty.

As a lost soul in chains once observed, even the ugliest train looks pretty through the cold bars of a cell. Rattling its way to redemption, with evil on its mind, the one-eyed machine follows an impossible route on ghost rails through a landscape of folk and country: Jackson, Mississippi. Memphis, Tennessee. New Orleans, Louisiana. Big Rock, Arkansas. Old Funk, Georgia. A legendary south of country preachers, forgotten jailhouses, jaded dreams of salvation. But always the irresistible, insidious, inevitable pulse of the dangerous blues. Wheels pounding the track. The guitar pick, the drum, the clap, the holler, the cry, the need never satisfied. The runaway monster roars into a tunnel, a smoke-choked furnace of devil cries and sulphur, then back into the night, screaming off the rails, blazing down into a canyon, to a final, raucous reckoning of steel and flame.

Dark night, cold ground. Wreckage sizzles. Buzz of crickets like a legion of derelict amps plugged into hell’s socket, gathered to wail their lament. Sad moonlight on the cornfields. Then, after a long moment that lasts for seconds or for centuries, aching gears grind again. Scorched to its bones, trailing its metal guts, three dozen iron wheels clawing the canyon wall, the ancient beast resurrects. The Miraculous Mule Train drives on, railroad or no, ploughing the black earth of night to the dawn that does not come. But this is mere prophecy. The train is only now leaving the station. Get on it.


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