Little Pebbles makes deep and moody music, with fans extending to the afterlife.
Henry Stone, the titan of independent music who sold over 100 million records in r&b, soul, funk, disco, and hip hop, discovered the group in Morocco during his last vacation before passing away at the age of 93. Lying on his deathbed at Mt. Sinai Hospital, he implored his son Joe, the current head of Henry Stone Music Inc., to sign, record, and distribute the music of Little Pebbles.
Little Pebbles consists of lead singer Rhyse, guitarist K’Lib, and master percussionist Honey. Their music and creative ideas have carried them on adventures around the world and into the studio with legends including Notorious BIG & B.B. King.
“I met Rhyse on an ayurvedic retreat in India,” says K’Lib. “We had to take this vow of silence, so we didn’t speak for three weeks. Then one day while we were washing rice we came up with a little groove, and that’s how we discovered we were both musicians.”
They formed a group and traveled through the Sahara desert like gentle sand floating on the winds of time, finally settling in Morocco. There they met Honey, and began playing gigs at dark and smokey clubs in the heart of the old town.
“It was a funny day that fortune shined on us,” reminisces K’Lib. “Honey’s camel had gotten into our tent, and that damn thing ate an eight-ounce bag of Kashmiri hashish. So there we were, playing at a little bar in Marrakesh, smoking camel shit, when in walks Henry Stone.”
“He sat there with his wife Inez, and they listened to us all night, grooving on our tunes, with Henry stroking his goatee almost the whole time. We took a break, and he walks over, and says, “I gotta take you guys to Miami! I got a studio there in my back pocket. I’m the record man, dig? You’re not black, you’re not pop, you’re not r&b. But you got soul, some kind of magic soul.
Early this year, Little Pebbles packed up their gear and set up shop in the Miami vodou realms of Little Haiti, not far from Iggy Pop’s own Fun House. They’ve been writing and recording ever since.
The stark tracks invoke a road-weary love trauma that is both abject and inviting. “Our music is intentionally haunting,” says lead singer Rhyse, “but it’s honest in its darkness. It’s a feeling. A feeling of truth from the abysmal depths of a dark place where beauty and connectivity are born, live, and die inside a lonesome heart.”
“Nobody Cares” is a ballad in the Devil’s Interval, a series of minor chords pronounced as evil by the ancient religious-like state . Driven by a phasing distortion on the guitar and provocative lyrics, the song is a skeleton’s death-grip at the throat of love.
“Worthless And Weak” is for fans of Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits. This banjo lit death knell evokes a merciless but ultimately triumphant journey through the dark heart of Americana.