frat chat.

Austin Texas USA.
This is our home now.
We’re here indefinately.
Here to make music, to soak it all up, surprise ourselves.
country music plays relentlessly, our home resembles the little house on the prairie. We’re surrounded by trees, and the wind, old microphones and a Texan sound wizard called Jim.
We’re setting racoon traps tonight, its strange having to hunt your dinner.
There’s a lake that’s skimming distance away, a poltergeist called truman, the doors are always open, i hear the sound of cholesterol melt-down.
This will be our fourth album, that makes us old men in rock ‘n roll years.
I have little to say about it other than it will be a double record.
There’s a few songs about fly fishing and the Jones town massacre, everything else is vintage jets.
Radlands.
Part film, part place,or just frat chat perhaps.
SXSW has left its mark on our brains, along with burger juice stains on our jeans, Gayngs were the best thing we saw, the house band at the Continental a close second. ok its time to go.