Santiago Cynics would like to teach the world to sing, but to do that, you first have to go on an internal road trip, eat and cry simultaneously, break up with your former self, convert to a religion you just invented, make love to a poem you dream about every night, and grin through the hangover of too many regrets inhaled the evening before. There is a tune on this album for each of these places in your heart. There is one that is meant for your chinchilla spirit animal; you will know it when you hear it. We harvested outtakes from Bukowski and Neruda open mics, aged the power chords of Townshend and Pollard in ironwood casks, implanted the humor of your favorite uncle and Monty Python's accountant into our frontal cortices, and played the resultant cacophonous manna into a German ribbon microphone we found on the moon. The result is in your hands. Be careful. And then be reckless. We made this music with your extremes in mind, and their balance at its heart.