Four long-haired lager louts stumble out of a cider farm in the English countryside where they’ve been locked up with Nirvana and Black Sabbath albums.
Pretty songs packed to the gills with hushed vocals, lightly-strummed guitars, understated strings, unintrusive synth blips, and light washes from the drumkit.
All kinds of hard rock/psych splatter-flower-howl from the Nixon era, gargled through the requisite Dee-troit Amboy Dukes/Frost/Stoogeness head waggle.
From the same Detroit pop scene as The Sights and Outrageous Cherry, The High Strung compose pop songs worthy of being mentioned alongside those two fine bands.