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This 3 piece could well be the result of a giant butcher's knife slicing the Captain and his Magic Band in half only to wriggle away as a fully fledged autonomous unit, free to indulge their passion for Dick Dale and the Surf. They make it look easy - shapes are struck, lucid lyrics drizzle from the side of their mouths like an after thought.
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Their collective rhythm sometimes adheres to a Shellac-like ruthlessness while still enjoying forays into disembodied scronk, meeting back up at the end for a few beers.
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