Dirty Bourbon began in Bourbon County, Kansas, when a few of us who were bucking horses at Fort Scott Community College decided to start a band.
That’s more or less the origin story.
People joined, people left, and somehow the thing kept going. For years, we played outlaw country, red dirt, and whatever else felt right around the rodeo circuit, usually from the back of a flatbed trailer wherever somebody could find an outlet and enough room to dance.
A lot of miles and motel rooms later, we’re still at it. We’ve shared too many beds, spent too much time together, and lost entire afternoons to conversations that started nowhere and somehow ended with aliens, corporate overlords, or the possibility that none of this is real.
Mostly, we laugh. We tell the same stories, argue about details nobody remembers, and give each other enough shit to keep everyone humble. There’s no drama. We’re just a bunch of idiots somehow making our way through life mostly unscathed.
Eventually, we noticed western wear was loosening up. Less costume. More everyday. Clothes for people who might spend Saturday at a rodeo, Sunday recovering from it, and Monday pretending to have their shit together.
We knew that world. We were already living in it.
So we started making clothes.
Dirty Bourbon is still a band, now it’s a brand, and it may become something else before we’re done. We take the music seriously. We take the clothes seriously. Everything else is negotiable.
Why are we doing it?
Because why the fuck not?