Django Django The triple distilled essence (and sensibility) of an artistic huddle of mischievous musicals, the deft purveyors of an acutely infectious amalgam of neo scoto-irish bop to the pop sentiment. Fruitily looping and catchily hooking our hungry ears with their finely crafted fly hooks; fly
hooks finely tied and then melodically unknotted, by well feathered professionals. Songs which strike a fine aural tattoo on our eardrums with their (as of yet) small yet quite wonderful repertoire of cyclical
compositions; rollicking along sing-a-longs, galloping into disco sunsets ike whisky addled and leather saddled bandits on the stolen backs of prairie wild mustangs. Kidnapping our attention and taking us full belly circle with a throat and muse tingling splash of firewater, some of which spills onto the spent ash of an extinguished criminal campfire; a campfire from which a malted barley beat lyrically stirs in the spittooned soot, and is reborn and reverbed, rising phoenix-like with feathers flashing electrically along cable, to be emitted from a surrendering speaker in the delicious form of song.
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