This is not music for the faint hearted. This is not music for the weak. Prepare to monkey. Prepare to shake it. Inspired by the music of Link Wray, Sandy Nelson or Dick Dale, the Magic Twangers show up with their own brand of stomp. Smoking guitar picking, crazy tremelo dips, sexy bass grooves, and in your face jungle drumming has the place in a frenzy!

Nürnberg's staggeringly great Instrumental combo manage to coalesce surf stylings which will pin you against the wall. (No complaints please.)

Before the sloth-like bouncers can intercept them, they storm the stage, batting the skulls of the loser band with their instruments and hurling them off the stage with the same movement you use to empty a garbage can. Within seconds Mr Randy Nelson is behind the kit, and begins to pound out a hypnotic and primal beat. Doc Man Chu and Panama Pat crash in with crushing power and millisecond precision, like a hundred mile long wave of lava exploding on the beach of Planet Vulcan.

Out in the audience a dreadlocked eyebrow twitches. Hairs on the back of spotty, unwashed necks rise. Limbs jerk. The barman snaps the stem of a martini glass in astonishment. Somewhere, deep in his guts, something is stirring. They are – what's the word? Dancing, that‘s it! Dancing. He hasn't seen dancing in here since the night James Brown stopped by to play a secret country'n'western gig. But – he wonders – what is that music?

And then he realises: It is the sound of some primal twang, some primitive rumble of rhythm – the sound of the Magic Twangers, dormant a billion years, on a mission to breathe life into the half-dead, to express the surf gene in every human... It is the sound of the future and of the past, and already, even here, in this pool of dismay, they are whooping with joy and surfing on the tables.

Finally, when you think of the Magic Twangers don't just think of kids round the fire, havin' fun. Think James Bond on a long board checking out the barrels with a Cougar Magnum strapped to his board shorts to waste the seagulls. Think three bleach blondes playing Twister on a blanket while kids on the dunes play Russian Roulette. Think hot rod, think surf, think Blue Moon Babes that make Nobody’s Guys riding on a Down Bound Train... Whatever you do, think danger – think the Magic Twangers.

As for the rest of you luddites, in order to check out the location of the next excursion on the Magic Twangers's endless road trip to fame, fortune and a fist in the face you're gonna have to mail them or see them at their space and as a result we can offer the golden opportunity to grab ‘em at a special price.