Growling and crooning, muttering about lost love, brimstone, and the glorious view from the underside of a rusty world-order, Owen holds the rhythm on mandolin and foot percussion. Bobby takes the opportunity to stretch bass notes into lyrical vines that vibrate somewhere north of your liver and flower unexpectedly at night.

Joining forces in Philly late in 2013, they’re coming soon to a bar, living room, alley or rooftop near you.