You dig the plant from the root ball if you want to preserve it in its complexity, how deep the roots go you cannot tell until the shovel hits dirt and you start pulling. Im thinking of dirt and roots and organic materials in a late spring charge and Miserable Chillers is playing on my shit box stereo. Half speaker in line, in and out in and out while the seal on the window rattles in the breeze, down a pollen soaked pack of pavement.


Miserable Chillers are from New York, by way of New Jersey and fall into that realm of garage cum bedroom..or maybe dorm room. Miguel is Miserable Chillers and he might be in college, he is probably at that age where weed and fat bass is miasma-ing through the chrono-sphere. Im riding the car, its warm out, Miserable Chillers might be a misnomer for this weather, maybe it was written in the middle of this bastard winter the northeast barley retreated from like Messner down the Eiger northface. MC is a box of soft alien kittens cooing each other. Sometimes were riding the plane of Weezer via Aeriel Pink,

sometimes there’s a hint of Eno-ness bellowing pomp into the singularity.

There’s limit testing, but it’s also teenage, ‘How far can I move this needle before she breaks off and if she breaks off, now she is just free.’ That’s it, questioning the motives. “but maybe it’s just a dream and I should just shut up and let it go?”


Download all five tracks of ‘Bully’s in Heaven’ by Miserable Chillers at with five beautiful works of art by the musician himself. Oh & it is for free!

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