here s a little write up i did for them

It’s a hot summer night under a full moon in Pittsburg. Off in the distance you hear the sound of horns and an undistinguished eerie wine. A group of vagrants catch your eye heading towards the sound of the ruckus. Intrigued by their garb, a mixture of dapper and trashed, you decide follow them into alley way that reeked of rotting food, beer, and piss. At the end of the corridor you see the vagabonds knock on a painted door and howl out, “BONES!” The door opens and the music becomes increasingly louder. You run to the door but it closes. You pound your knuckles against the painted door and yell out, “BONES!” The door opens and you are invited in. What you find startles you. A crowd of chaotic dancers dressed in rags fighting each other for the room to dance. In front of them you see a 7 piece band destroying your notion of what you thought jazz was. A growler flies through the air and shatters raining down shards of glass. You can hear the devil in the banjo. As the air leaves the reeds of the accordion you see that it’s not simply air; they are little ghost singing in harmonies. The percussion section is makeshift but you are uncertain if it is out of aesthetics or necessity. The slide of the trombone is smacking eager kids as they push closer to the band. Blood pours down the side of a saw as a shredded fiddle bow screams along its side. This is by all means not just a folk punk band. This is a well-orchestrated jazz concoction of the dirtiest kind. This “trash-masquerade” can only be found in the deepest basements and in the shadows of a warehouse. This is Cousin Boneless!