The pieces on this disc are the results of years or even sometimes entire minutes of introspection and painstakingly reasoned spontaneous combustion of thought. Sometimes it just pours out, sometimes it's like pulling teeth. That's why you won't be hearing this in your dentist's office anytime soon. Mr. Stravinsky has been seen in local clubs and other public places armed only with a kazoo and a smile, giving new life to this once useless piece of carnival trash as a vessel of purest vocalese. Layered with animal noises, twisted guttural yelping, electric bass, acoustic guitar, and sometimes percussion through the miracle of second hand signal processing (o.k. this sounds really cheesy) it sounds like a pan-dimensional journey to some jungle in another galaxy. That, and maybe armpit farts. Just listen.