Donne Don't and the Do-Da's

Spawned in the dank aracnid-infested basement of a tumble-down shack on Green Bays notorious east-side, Donne Don't and the Do-Da's arose out of the abject squalor of alchohol and substance abuse to achieve a truely remarkable/legendary level of mediocrity in the early 1990s and continuing into the early 1990s before flaming out in a spectacular death-spiral of Marriage, Mortgage and THE MIDDLE CLASS. Many that surrounded them have died. Those that survive speak in hushed tones of of the bands blistering sound and consumption of BLATZ in such fantastic quantities that it is rumored to have kept the brewer solvent in the last decade of the troubled 20th century. In their brief flirtations with sentience they managed to leave behind a bewildering array of recorded works with no disernable pattern or apparent ability, rangeing in sonic quality from crude to poor. The bands steadfast unwillingness to compromise their utter lack of focus made them virtually unsignable in the narrow visions of the major labels that courted them; however that didn't stop a bidding war from ensuing, during which Mr. Don't absconded with one companies advance without signing a contract, and spent the funds on half-a-dozen Plott hounds with which to hunt black-bears. Crazed carnavores to a man, the band was known to host huge meat-feasts during which gigantic dripping platters filled to overflowing with a succulent array of the tender roasted flesh of beasts both wild and domestic were consumed with depraved abandon until, stupified and sated, not a note could be played or sung for days. An outcome not entirely viewed as unfavorable by some citizens... for the raucous din of their "music", performed at volume, had been documented to cause spontaneous miscarriage among pregnant mammals and fowl who wandered too close.