Tsunami in a teacup melodic indie pop

We drift like floaters in your eyeballs in the vicinity of tunes that won’t insult your intelligence as you indulge in whatever form of benign escapism best accommodates your more feral needs.

First encountering each other over curly fries and beer in the warm, ethiopian womb of a welcoming group of enthusiastic open micʻers in the urban wilds of West Philadelphia, we decided to pool our musical resources (well-trampled classic rock to indie alternative whining) and make a go of it. We play originals – our own and other peopleʻs.

Since then, we have not stormed the Bastille but have nibbled at the base of it, enjoying moments of public exposure and indulging in gentleman hors dʻoeuvres when opportunities arose.

Our lineup evolved through the usual litany of musical differences, personal antagonisms, and perceived financial incentives (*no kitchen utensils ever became projectiles). One element we prided ourselves on was our cultural amorphousness (i.e. “what-the-hell-are-these-guys”), which brought ensemble at various moments a gloriously hairy and wild Gloucester Man in an iconically unwashed cut-off t-shirt, a ponytailed, aloha shirt-bedecked, Hawaiʻi transplant with big bongos and a Zen heart, a brief flirtation with a multi-talented pediatrician with a music addiction and a spiff basement recording studio, a long-suffering partner who sat in with us on a few occasions when she wasn’t parking the car or taking video, an infectiously ebullient, relentlessly energetic and constructively-exigent, rock-solid bassist of bottomlessly generous inclination and beer-drinking capacities, a smooth-fingered, Santana-discipled, congenially urbane, corporate executive and Dr. of Physics from India, a Puerto-Rican/Italian pocket drummer from the still beating, gritty heart of Philadelphia with refined percussive impulses and few words but vaguely suggestive jokes, an anxious millennial of Chinese determination with an intuitive yet well-researched affinity for a blues lick, an angst-ridden lyric, and an ongoing predilection for the first-year-post-college lifestyle, as well as a nascent career in the lucrative universe of legal rancor, and finally, a second, Hawaiʻi-raised person of Tokyo-Queens roots, with unrepentant musical ambition, a finely-tuned, passive-aggressive leadership style, and a light foot for jumping whenever jumping seemed like a good idea. Cap, Bruddah Ron, Sam, Marie, Jerry, Rahul, Ricky, and Norm, thank you for boarding the dinghy, no matter what port you disembarked from. And especially you last two for sticking it out til the far-off horizon became an actual place.

No longer roaming the city seeking gigs and complimentary hors d’oeuvres, we are working on our debut farewell album, which we will announce to an anxious world later this year of Our Lord Jim, 2021.

Click on this word for demo versions of our soon-to-be-unleashed original music, certain to take many a teacup by storm.



songs, chords, bottoms.


songs, leads, bottoms.


tom-toms, pitter-patter.


tom tom.

Dr. Rahul