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Justin Moody writes songs. They sit firmly in the folk vein -- dark, self-deprecating tales that are often vicious to their characters, capturing the excruciating eye for detail that only a storyteller can see.
Justin Moody also lives in a one bedroom apartment on the edge of Arcadia, a space cluttered with vinyl, acoustic guitars of varying vintages and requisite musical memorabilia hanging on the walls. Despite the trappings of a musician's life around him, there's a sense of transition within him, whether it's his restless chain smoking of Camel Lights as we sit on the tailgate of his white Ford Ranger or his inability to sit still when playing new songs from his upcoming record.
