Late Residency ft. Skratch Happy

Late Residency ft. Skratch Happy
Event on 2012-10-15 00:00:00
Late Residency ft. Skratch Happy

Skratch Happy is a very serious band founded by very serious musicians. Don’t book us to play at your club or venue unless you have grilled cheese sandwiches prepared for us in our dressing room. We expect you to cut the bread diagonally, none of that horizontal crap, and we want ridged pickles, none of that straight cut stuff for us. We have opened for very serious national acts, but have never shared the same stage as said national acts… the people that stand in line for the main act while our band plays on the second stage have a response that’s typically flaccid and unresponsive– but we are serious, and those fools know nothing about music. Skratch Happy is music personified. Ask us how our day goes, and we will reply, “that part that’s all like, doodly-doodly-dooh, should have a drum fill that’s all like dugga-ba-dugga-da-dah.” We walk around with a sense of self importance at all times, even when we’re not being watched, that’s how important we are. We shred hot licks and boogie the night away, but don’t ask us for autographs. We don’t want our fans, or friends of our fans to capitalize on our greatness via EBAY, because we deserve every dime in circulation that’s destined to fall into our wallets. Skratch Happy is a group of strapping young lads who will turn your world upside down if you just give us a chance. Skratch Happy will soon play in a town near YOU, but you have to give us gas money, or a hot meal in exchange for our services. We have spoken.

It was a shimmering grey dawn when Skratch Happy was born into this world. The year was nineteen eighty-something when Ron, Bob, and Saul, a conjoined, crusty cluster of musically oriented triplets, were squeezed out of the mother-ship otherwise known as the groove-womb. The groove womb, which was deemed by the Bank of America to be “unfit” to raise such a family, dried up with shame and collapsed onto itself like a wrinkly, pinkish, hairy, juicy, neutron star of sorts. Having been violently split apart at birth with pair of hot tweezers and a hack-saw, and adopted into different foster families living in distant geographical borders, it was a dark time for Skratch-Happy. Approaching adult-hood, and searching for some sense of identity, some semblance of closure, Ron, Bob, and Saul escaped their savagely oppressive groove-less guardians, and met one night just outside the blast radius of the fleshy hole that spawned them, as if destined by the stars to do so, plugged in their amplifiers, and howled savagely at the night sky. The flesh was whole once again, and it was good. Rated PG-13. LISTEN HERE

at The Outer Space
296 Treadwill St.
Hamden, United States

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