So, check this, ya dig; Papa D. Gedalecia lays down some slick banjer lines, right? Plucks, clinks, hot-licks, does the whole lot, right? Then progeny sonny D. Gedalecia comes along, yeah? Snags up those chops, those poses, those sonorous posits & sliiides & such; &so, he, he takes ‘em into his compututationthingamabob, right? Tweaks, twerks, twitches, stretches, iii-sooo-laaates, & further abstractomaphies the whole she-bang, right? Stops this maybe li’l warm-up-gone-shred-gone-warm-up-gone-shred sesh from being just in-tim-mate and just BALLAST-am-phies it all to Mars or Pluto or wherever the hell he’s pointing that sound-freaker raygun or whatever he’s got buried ‘neath his laptop towards.
HILLBOGGLE. More “for" the weirdos than them hammerclaw-homies, for sure, but, HEY! Could turn some heads! Could ‘least bend a few ear-sets t’ward stranger compositions, more adventurous ahm-bee-yan-cés, amirite?
HILLBOGGLE.
Listen up, fools!
—Jacob An Kittenplan
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