Ned Byrne & Paul D'Amico licked their wounds after the fall of their previous band, The Ghost Tongue. Our Little Animal was conceived out of wedlock and is thus the bastard child of Rock and Roll and despair.
Building upon frenzied jams and late night strumming, they worked up a bunch of numbers. Working in a converted one room school house from the 19th Century, they cobbled together a studio worthy of capturing their muse in a cage. They studied the lost mystic art of mic placement and recorded without the use of equalization. One would say to the other, "I think this track could use a mandolin, a xylophone, a metal staircase, etc . . ." and they learned to play it. They took turns singing and screeching and picked the voice best-suited for the moment. They wrote through storms and turbulence. They cracked each other up with unreleasable, filthy songs about triple-chins and food-fetishists. They listened to old records and played and sang and recorded until their skin was wet.
Their nails grew longer. Their long hair morphed into fur. Their eyes began to glow in the dim light of the moon. Our Little Animal howled. Paul pounds out grooves that cause stampedes. Ned claws at his guitar with reckless abandon. These are the Highs and the Lows. The Light and the Shade. The Blood and the Bone. You were not expecting us, but I suggest you get ready. Our Little Animal is itching to escape.