This is ¡Distortionista!

This is us worshiping at the altar of the Church of the Blown Speaker.

This EP is meant to leave you drenched in sweat by the middle of the first song, like we are at every show. This is what happens when a 50-dollar fuzz pedal gets dialed to basically melting.

This is record collector pop with blood on the pickups and

This is ¡Distortionista!

This is us worshiping at the altar of the Church of the Blown Speaker.

This EP is meant to leave you drenched in sweat by the middle of the first song, like we are at every show. This is what happens when a 50-dollar fuzz pedal gets dialed to basically melting.

This is record collector pop with blood on the pickups and a fort we built from broken drum sticks. There is a reason we have a streak going of five straight shows with at least one broken string. We aren't trying to do that. I mean, we are trying, but not to do that. We just want to be one of the bands that your cool cousin puts on a mixtape. We want to blow the dust off. We want to bleed out the stress and boredom of modern adult life with four chords tuned to exhaustion. These songs are about gentrification, nostalgia, urban ennui, self-effacing humor, and Elliott Smith's ghost, like everything is, really. We want to make an EP that's missing teeth, but hey, the smile is in the eyes anyway.

We hope you like it. Really. We really do. If you don't, that's OK. Your cool cousin probably does.