When we started out, we were just going with the flow. Feeling the beat so to say. People were making stuff. Some metal, some wood, some of a stranger material composition. A water can masquerades as a bass guitar. Rhythm dances forth. A spine is formed.

Metal and bow, water and void, the waterphone was a few keys to far. Yet it resounded somewhere off the Norwegian coast. Every other time a little whale would sing.

Swimming across frequencies guided by the steady beats of the cajon. A pattern emerges. Spikey little notes try to adhere. Music surfaces. Magic happens.

Fly little whale. A band is born.