"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars."

Beat poet Jack Kerouac wrote that in his 1957 novel On the Road. But if it were written today you might think ol’ Jack had happened across Steff Mahan on his journey.

Make no mistake about it – Steff Mahan is mad. The kind of madness that captivates to the point you find yourself staring at the disheveled man on the side of the road screaming to no one in particular, evoking scriptures and in the same breath cursing at the clouds. Madness that comes from blind love, where you would sacrifice gladly your very identity and drive off the side of a mountain chasing it with a smile on your face. It’s the same madness that inspires a lyric that cuts you so deep your blood runs blue. That’s Steff Mahan’s madness. It’s not conventional, nor methodical. It’s just Steff.