A small appalachian town begins to tremble under the heaving breath of distant drums as a ramshackle street performer sings for his supper with the voice of a waterfall and the words of a prophet. The rhythm, the melody, and the throbbing pulse of countless hearts breathe like smoke through these forgotten streets and skyward, stretching skinny arms toward a distant caterwaul. And this shriek, so much closer now, so much clearer, screaming inexorably toward our hamlet, cracks the blue canopy overhead like an air raid.  Sirens to sing you from your sleep.

Folk wave? Dance craze? Anyways, it's still cock 'n' balls to me!

Sounds like being told you were adopted on your wedding day.

A wholly American, decidely Southern brand of danceable art rock with universal appeal.

Forget love songs. Forget break-up music. Now being in love, but hiding a terrible secret has a soundtrack.

Four parts of an infinite mass bursting to create the cascading soundtrack to the gentle apocalypse.

Think of your grandfather. The world darkened in his shadow as he stoops to lift you to your feet. Feel his bristled face gently abrading your tear-soaked cheek as he carries you softly, whispering lost words, to the waiting arms of mother.  And in that supple breast disappear.