It's not rap. Not reggae. Not metal. It's not Americana, nor is it world. It's not blues or bluegrass or ragtime or swing. It's not jazz, and definitely not electronic. It's silk butter, thunder and beat confetti wrapped without bows and thrown at your doorstep waiting to be picked up, opened up, eaten, and barfed out or savored or lost and forgotten. It's what happens when you take Marc, Keith, and Fritz and shove them in a garage with alot of music instruments. But mostly, it's fun.