Album Notes

Picture four people cramped in a sweaty basement in Rhode Island tangled in guitar cords, snaking computer wires through little cracks under drum kits with American flag headbands on in August. No air conditioner to muddy the water of banjos twanging and a stand-up bass cut through by a whiny e-bow. These guys will kill me if I play the snake charm gourd to this song again so just stick to the trombone. Tiny tin pianos and handclaps or claves to the five count song Liam wrote and the drummer plays a toy squeezebox melody to the happiest sad song I’ve heard in a long time.
A barn packed in summer with a lifetime of family heirlooms and a dark path with a rope swing and the smell of a campfire next door. From here we can play and see the water.
In Bristol making quiet recordings on the apartment floor so the neighbors upstairs don’t complain and ruin the take with the dull thud of a broom.
Why did we start this ten years ago in another dark basement with another bad band name and why are we still tinkering away, bringing our songs out to see the light? Have a listen to the latest byproduct of saltwater and nail-guns, traffic jams and surfboards, laptop computers and six-inches of snow. See for your self.