When in the veins a torrent moves, chances be pretty considerable that it is a music of some sorts or another that fills the blood to the brim of some unknowing man, bent like hell and beyond cognitions to pick up some dusty instrument, blow it off and fiddle about ‘til some such noise arises from its respective bellows of sorts. I knowed of such fellers, East Virginians them all, same blood as the other blood too, brothers on more than just them papers in filing cabinets of the big city. They each carried a name, one of ‘em being the same or similar, if you will. Fugga is what they’s tied to but as one to each’s own, we got a Mearle, a Ulysses, a Harlan and a Urly: collected together in a room of smotherin’ walls they fall under the banner of The Muh Fugga Band. Now, much has been said about the rising up from mist-shrouded foothills and the like but none may dare say they know the inside of a Fugga mind. Cain’t be done. Closest one might find oneself is through ears of the head they are charged with. That, my friend, is the only way to know. Here is now time for the searchin’, of listenin’ so unkind that no doubt of its purpose shall be purposed for naught. Open it up…find what you find.