The sound
Golden age country, served warm, flat, and a little hungover.
We play the real stuff. The records that came out of jukeboxes in bars with sawdust on the floor, a lady named Darlene on her fourth husband, and a fistfight in the parking lot by 11.
No bro country. No songs about tailgates or sippin' on Fireball. If there's no steel guitar crying in it, we don't know it, and we are not learning it for your cousin's wedding. Unless he pays. Then we'll learn anything.
We run our own sound, so all you gotta do is pour. Heavy.