Respect & Honor

Take a pause from your busy lives and bow the fuck down to Kelly Dean and Kwizma for this badass Therapy EP.  Now channel your inner yogi and get ready for some deeeeeep, deep ohmmmmmmmygods cuz this EP is ILL.

Lieterally.  We’d be shouting with joy right now, but our mouths are full of foam.

Get Wavey’s our poison of choice – how about you?

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In the Daylight

Meet Myth, a growly motherphucker who prefers to haunt us in the harsh daylight of our existence.  Hold onto your mind and prepare for that three-minute swell.   …aaaaaahhhh.

UPDATE: He’s back with a scrubby VIP.  These extra wobbles are exactly what we need to get our blood boiling.

Frickin A

Frickin A (noun)
A curse referring to the mammal known as an aardvark.
History:
Back in the day, people would go rabbit hunting and they would see stuff moving in the field and shoot it. But then upon inspection of their quarry, it’d just be an aardvark and they’d be like, “fuckin aardvark.”
Example:
The zoologist exclaimed, “its not an aas, its a frickin A!”
 (Courtesy of Urban Dictionary–where else?)
Aaaaand with that we give you lots of Subbassa.  Happy Monday, let the weekly struggle begin.

Bassquakin

When an earthquake shakes the ground beneath us, we start running.  When a bassline shakes the same ground–with the same magnitude–we start laughing and raging.

We broke in a new subwoofer the other day (150 inches–is that legal???) and every single window crumbled to dust.  Beach-quality sand, we shit you not.   And we’re not complaining about the bill at all–it’s fucking summer and we’re making a mufucking BEACH.  Win-win, friends.

Aaaanyway onto the culprate behind our man-made beach: KELLY DEANNNNNNNNN.

This sinister producer guarantees rage-lash (aka rage-induced whiplash) and irregular heart palpitations with every track.  We’re more than excited to show you two of our favorites: King ShitErryoody Knows Me.

Don’t feel gangster enough for those names?  After one listen, you’ll be ready to beat your best friend into a pulp.  Since we’re calling our broken glass is a beach …we’ll call this pulp a compost.  Yee.  That’s some eco-friendly violence right there.

Now get crunk: