Back just before the Summer of '05, a relatively obscure PhD student at an equally obscure mid-western university decided he would make an attempt to clone a fax machine. Armed with surplus Navy ring modulators and a peck on the cheek from Betty Page, he finally finished after 3 arduous, sleep-deprived weeks and almost 35 gallons of Canadian protein shakes. What he came up with was a mechanical device that no mere mortal could have ever conceived (at least without the aide of "the nip-slip goddess", janet jackson) - The Drowned Committee.
In a simpler world, we would all be The Drowned Committee. But our particular world is wrought with wars, famine, circuit bent domesticated pets, and Jews for Jesus. So four brave gentlemen have taken it upon themselves to shed their exoskeletons of grief in order to join this worthy fighting cause. They bask in creating melanges of rock in negative gravity (a/k/a Brooklyn), and believe that reincarnation and karma come with a price - a price that their zeitgeist is NOT willing to pay. Prepare to be de-tuned out of your indie rock orbit, and never look back as your moons scatter among the flailing, green cosmos.
