As I write this, the E.P. is being printed in a factory somewhere in the dark haunting depths of magical New Jersey. In my mind, folk versions of Oompa Loompas (think beards & flannel) are cramming drumsticks, piano keys and guitar wire into grinders and juicing them down into pipes that pump them to a giant cauldron to be slowly boiled. As the stream rises, butterflies carry the blank CD’s through the musical mist cloud collecting an ever so slightly different version of the melodies we wrote for your own personal consumption. At the same time the CD jacket is being individually hand drawn by old Irish monks at the top of an ancient round tower that sits in a heather garden beside a creek of endless Goose Island IPA Beer.
Close your eyes and think how awesome that truly is.
Or as some people who have tried unsuccessfully to convince me, it looks a little more like this: