The Monkey Power Trio might sneak into your town, right into your neighborhood, and you wouldn’t know until now. We might Airbnb in that shotgun shack or that bungalow next to your uncle’s.

We plug in our megaphones and cigar boxes and wet our sax reeds. We take what the Mississippi washes up. We use the stray voltage of streetcars. And then, we make garbage art for our fellow survivors.

The songs don’t so much wash away our annual sins as reveal them, like time slowly revealing skeletons. These songs hang on to our precious regrets. We fight and we succumb in hope and affliction.