Well pump me full of nitrous and stick a match up my keyster - look at that - those head-nodding knob-twiddling muppets that call themselves Seake have pulled finger and have staked out their patch in the rarified atmosphere of the intraweb.
There they go, laying claim as one of the hottest rising acts on the positively bristling underground music scene in that city we love to hate, the throbbing cosmopolitan metropolis of Durban, no less. (I jest, but hey, whatever gets me through the day, right? Right.)
Music? Too right, but not the usual doof bang doof bang tish whoo hoo, no, no, no. You'll feel your gristle wibble to the wobble, your epithelium will positively tingle, and that's a promise you can take to the piggy bank. Are they the future of dancefloor voodoo or is it just the medication talking? Dunno, too early to tell. Gimme half an hour.
Hats off, gotta hand it to them and give them a round of applause ladies and gentiles - there they are, that's the noise they make and those weird-looking toys are in fact their instruments.
Tell you what, I'll name my first-born Seake, even if it's a girl, how's that for enthusiastic?
Can't be fairer than that.