Fever Dreams & Fire Sweats

All Insulated

With pounding headaches, our heroes crawl from the shores of Smuggler's Cove and into the dark and ominous woods that lie just beyond Point of No Return. It is getting late and the temperature is dropping. The screech of an owl and the taunts from the moon was enough to keep them pressing onward.

The Old Smugglers come to a clearing where they see the flicker of a lamp through a window of an oddly shaped house. In the distance they hear the faint sound of a child crying through the verses of Happy Birthday while a substitute teacher eagerly greets his classroom.

The Infamous Dr. Thunder and Mister December approach the dwelling and open the door. Heat blasts the room from an old cast iron stove. There is no electricity or running water. The hissing gas lamp on the center of the wall illuminates a menagerie of objects on a table. The shadows dance and drip off the ceiling as if the Devil himself drank the fire and gave them life.

Armed with 50 batteries, The Smugglers quickly get to work and record an aleatoric masterpiece of undeserved confidence and ill-conceived notions of grandeur as the snow starts to fall.

Cap'n Thunder - vocals, guitar, drums, percussion, accordion, kazoo
Mr. December - guitar, backing vocals, bass, percussion, mandolin 

Lyrics and music by The Old Smugglers
Recorded by Erik Pearson
Mixed and mastered by Tom Herbers
Photography by Joshua W Murray

Last Bullet Records
LBR003
©2015 The Old Smugglers. All rights reserved.

Aleatorium

Black Molasses

The Infamous Dr. Thunder and Mister December awake several months later from a smuggle-filled slumber. In a desperate attempt to make sense of their surroundings, The Old Smugglers take stock of what they know to be the facts. The hull of Shipwrecked Studio lay in total chaos, dripping with the sweat of a thousand cursed singers and stinking of a rich mixture of reckless abandon and gritty fortitude. A stream of obscenities ring through the hallway as a train screeches down the avenue and whistles its blistering call into the dark bone chill. 

A tiny audio recording device was discovered on the navigation desk. Our heroes pushed the play button and wept with great joy as the slow burn turned to a cacophonous wail. Suddenly the joyous feeling was replaced with the fear that something was terribly wrong. The Old Smugglers quickly ran to the boiler room and started fiddling with knobs and valves assuming they know how to contain the pressure that's slowly building. After a near meltdown and sailing off course, The Old Smugglers are caught in a blizzard of ineptitude and blinding regret.

Hard Pan to Chaos

Tricky Fingers

Shadow's Fall

Digging with My Dinner Plate

10:30 a.m.

Borrowing Happiness from Tomorrow

Another Man on the TV

Great Divide

Boilermaker

Bramble

Like bulls in a china shop, The Old Smugglers are here to take the stages and rattle the cages while throwing glass shards of hope into your hearts and earholes! The Old Smugglers’ transient circus of shipwrecked fools steals the devil’s words and slings them with undeserved confidence and reckless abandon.

Be it whiskey-bent sea shanties, hillbilly horror country or maritime folk from the lost coast, The Old Smugglers sing tales of decadent misadventure for troubled souls everywhere. Their music smells like an empty bottle of moonshine, feels like a rusty hook against the throat, and looks like a dark alley behind the Shoutier Than Thou Hotel at the corner of Waits and Cave.

The Old Smugglers

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