It was Sunday, October 8th, 2015. My roommate and I were making the drive from a dingy Hotel in Rohnert Park, to our apartment in the fog drenched hillside of San Francisco’s Outer Sunset District. Bleary eyed and dizzy from the night before, I lazily opened up my Discover Weekly to put on Wait for the Moment, a soulfully nuanced groove from some band with a weird name.

We both knew there was something special there, so into the artist page we dove. This is a path I’ve followed many times before, but often, the remainder of a band’s discography fails to deliver the goods. We put on Thrill of the Arts and were completely blown away. About two minutes into the auditory odyssey that is Welcome to Vulf Records, I had found my new favorite band. Funky Duck made us laugh out loud, Back Pocket was the best clarinet solo in existence, and Rango II made me grab the “oh shit” handles of the car.

We immediately checked tour dates, hoping a San Francisco appearance might be in the cards. To our amazement, they had a show booked five miles from home that night. It was hands down the best show of our lives. The music gods blessed us that night, and to this day I don’t understand why.