The Ruralists (live at the back back).jpg
The city, of course, is a thing of the past. There was a time during the middle ages when it was the only source of culture. There was no way of acquiring this thing we call culture except by direct contact, see.

—Frank Lloyd Wright

The Ruralists


True believers in Dave Kramer's ruralist platform know that art and beauty can be found hidden in the back of any old garage. One late summer evening, five guys hoisted a broken-spring garage door and gathered together rusted gas tanks and ancient oil pans, barn wood and bailing wire, all the best bits of whatever sound and strain they could uncover or acquire, constructing something stratified and sound, a mellifluous mouthful of sharp and shiny teeth, nuanced and narrative, northwest of nowhere, seeded in the silvery soil of soybeans and cornstalks, flavored by the very salt of the earth.

Also: guitars.


Vocals, Guitar / Luke Hawley

Electric Guitar / Ben Lappenga

Electric Guitar / Laremy De Vries

Bass / Jake Miller

Drums / Titus Landegent






Guitar driven … an incredibly powerful sound to back up The Ruralists’ poignant and personal lyrics. … wonderfully written songs … a powerful set and performed as a cohesive unit.

– Sioux City Weekender
At the center of all this—the swelling noise, the sweaty crowd—is the band’s anchor and heart … songs deeply shaped by a storyteller’s sensibility.

– The Voice
Norman Rockwell meets Nirvana.

— Dave Kramer
Pulled me out of my funk.

— Andy Roetman
A helluva surprise.

— Ron Suir, Anthem




Now available!

The Ruralist EP (CD)
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The Ruralists EP


When it comes my time
To fade into the light
To finish being stuck in between
You can find a home
To bury all my bones
Underneath an old pine tree
And when winter comes
And the wind blows cold
I will rest my head
Beneath the frozen snow

And I will be evergreen
I will never lose my leaves
I will never die complete

Well this love we share
It's not new novel or rare
But it sure is yours and mine
And if we treat it right
And we hold each other tight
We can keep it burning bright
And when we find ourselves
Running short on breath
We can trust our love
To be stronger still than death

And we will be evergreen
We will never lose our leaves
We will never die complete

My Father's Favorite Hymn

I dug my father up in Michigan
And if it's a sin
I would do it again
I drove his body over four state lines
And if it's a crime
I would gladly do the time

It is well with my soul
Now he's buried in the Minnesota snow
And it is well with my soul

When they laid him in the ground
Six hundred miles down
From my hometown
I shook my fist and cursed the lord of hosts
The one he loved the most
And I swore to do right by his ghost

It is well with my soul
Though my spirit's wandered deep into the cold
It is well with my soul

In the madness of this world
Is it too much to ask
For a small patch of grass
Close to home for the ones that we love?

I took my son to see his grave
Out by Well Lake
Off the interstate
And though my faith has grown dim
I taught him then
My father's favorite hymn

Lord, haste the day
When the faith shall be sight
And the clouds be rolled back as a scroll
The trump shall resound
And the Lord shall descend
Even so, it is well with my soul


Don't be a fool
Love is not all just simple and cool
It's hammer and nails
Cement and shale
Lightning and hail
So we prepare
To fight it clean and tough and fair
We put up our fists
Tape up our wrists
And we swing and we hit

Aren't we savages?
Starving and ravaged?
Hungry to be held close
And never let go

And we are bound
To fight it toe to toe and round for round
We fight and we fend
Come lose or come win
We fight to the end
And we go down
And bust our faces on the ground
We huff and we puff
We bleed and we scuff
But it's never enough

shoot the lights out

When the sun goes down
Over this old town
We'll shoot the lights out
And sit beneath the stars
And though our time is short
And our years are long
We will shake our fists
At the fear of the dark

And I don't know what comes after this, old friend
But I know it's not the end
of our time
I can't tell you how I know
I don't have a lick of proof
But I know it
In my heart
I do
I do




The Ruralists EP (digital)
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Rural Squirrel

Merle the Rural Squirrel

Squirrel by Jennifer Allen 

Font by Laremy De Vries

Laid Out by Ella Swart

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