Shaun Hencher, of the Worchester outfit Virals, goes into those fever dreams and determines that they look and feel a lot like Hawaii. He likes it, wherever he is. The weather is gorgeous, the scenery is just the same, the beaches are resplendent and the drinks are copious and good-looking. He wants to drink it all up and pull all of the stray issues and the pulsing lights along with him. He'd like to bring it all with him, if he's not allowed to stay there. He seems to want to find an easy way to stay there, though. He's like to put the stakes into the ground and pitch his tent on the front lawn of the fever dream's property and just stay there for an indefinite amount of time.
He makes music filled with characters that yearn for the kinds of days and nights that never cool down, that just remain humid and stuffy, rife with the kind of tense flint that only needs a tiny flame to set off. The situation is set for shit to hit the fan. Hencher might even encourage it, as his dirty, feedback-heavy, slacker-like rock and roll - all of which could be mistaken for a collision between Guided By Voices and Superchunk - is bursting with anxious energy. It doesn't want to see a fight, but it might want to see some glasses shattered in some dirty bars, some trashy ladies with chipped fingernail polish and legs up to their chins and everyone do a little howling.