From a small, filthy kitchen in a tiny Frisian village, some drunk-ass rats are cooking up a crunchy, fuzzed-out garage-punk sandwich, drenched in a homemade sauce. Every bite hits different, an explosion of flavors. (Gordon Ramsay would be cursing from a mile away) Inspired by the early 2000s freak rock scene, MARY cranks out music whenever she feels like, with every release shifting in sound and energy, mostly because the lineup mutates like a plague. Probably not everyone’s built to last the MARYSCOOVY madhouse. The special ingredient in the stew? Can’t say. But it’s moldy, chaotic, expired and most likely the cause of the infection taking over the madhouse. Step inside. but beware; you might just become the tomato to this sandwich.