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“Their set was just that—set. Like a perfect pearl laying in the satin solo song of a clam, quiet, cold, and alone in the bastard, brazen, and often-tumultuous deep of the sea. This beautiful pearl of Amateur Theory called their prey audience with their siren song, only to capture them by clamping down and rocking like bad mutha-fuckas do. These kids weren’t here to have an excuse to get into a fight or to accidentally grind up against their best friend’s girlfriend’s heat box, no. These kids were here to hear the music. And it wasn’t just kids. Family members, stage-hands, live-mix sound-people with Airhead hairdos, other bands, press, all were mesmerized and taken under these pipers’ call to what I can only recall as a half hour cure for A.D.D.”
“I almost turned around to my roommate to ask if these guys were serious, until they broke into the most furious music I think I’ve ever heard. It clicked. I think I got it.”
“Looking for something new to audibly wreck your face? Then do I have the band for you! Welcome to the world of Amateur Theory, where there are absolutely no rules, no beating around the bush, and nothing you've ever heard before. I promise.”