For many months now the name Boris has meant a friend of a friend in Brooklyn (Bed-Sty) who threw good house parties (complete with enchanted garden in the backyard). His parties drew an eclectic group of Russian ex-pats, aging hipsters, local gangsters, and a few random Stevens kids (us). His fountains of Brooklyn lager both washed down the tasty treats of his kitchen and stoked the lively spirits of his company.
This week I am pleased to announce a new Boris in my life . . . one that is in fact coming to me, in Hoboken, to rock. This Boris comes from Tokyo to throw down their violent tones. They are a samurai sword reflecting the energy of Shinjuku Station. Enjoy...
Boris - "Furi"
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