Ranchos Crucifixion
There's a band standing on a mesa in front of a gigantic storm, playing their asses off trying to keep it at bay. That's Ranchos Crucifixion.
Scorched-Earth Prophecy
Their sound is scorched-earth prophecy—Southwest doom-metal fused with desert rock and spiritual sludge. Drop-tuned guitars collide with reverb-soaked trumpet. Drums mimic hoof thunder in dry ravines. Vocals come half-preached, half-howled, like a prophet shouting through a busted CB radio.
The trumpets don't mourn. They warn.
At the core: soil, fire, and time. These are hymns to the land and those who labor it. The lyrics ask one eternal question: Who do we answer to—those before us, or those not yet born?
Forged Between Lightning Strikes
"Outlaw gospel for the end times."
This isn't music made in studios. It's forged in the space between lightning strikes, where the wind carries both warning and benediction. It's outlaw gospel for the end times, sung by those who know the land well enough to love it and fear what happens when we fail it.
Hymns to the Land
These are hymns to the land and those who labor it. Every riff is a prayer for rain that never comes. Every trumpet blast is a warning shot across the mesa. The rhythm section pounds like hooves on hardpan, relentless and unforgiving.
Ranchos Crucifixion doesn't just play music—they conjure it from the dust and the heat, from the bones of the earth and the ghosts of those who came before. This is the sound of the Southwest at its most raw and uncompromising, a sonic testament to survival and struggle.
Scripture in the Soil
Ranchos Crucifixion's debut album is a scorched testament to survival, labor, and reckoning. Every track is a sermon delivered through distortion and dust.
