Back in 2002, some one off, some friggin' fly by night record company of one dude in a basement or whatever, some label named Smelly Sock (WTF is THAT?) on the sly burgled all of the old boy's bedroom demos, some cut off as they barely got their blue suede Doc Marten with yellow piping in the door (though, it may have been a tan suede Clark's Wallabee... who knows?). What the hell are ya gonna do about it, big ass record labels who love raking in the dough from the dead?
I'll tell you what I'm gonna do about it right here, Busy Microbes fans! I have the entire deal ready to be downloaded and dropped in your digital music library platform which may or may not have been brainstormed by minions of Jobs in Cupertino, the whole album chockablock full of forty-four tracks of the chronically sullen one (...and I'm right there with him) showing off that lovely, ghostly voice of his, singing, chatting, mumbling, and playing the shit out of his guitar.
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