Forming (ca. 2009) from mists of solid-state polished chrome out of cavity closets, Mood Rings fought against the constraints of modern/shit desk programs to create a new name for themselves in the basements and damp sections of Atlanta. Guitarist / Singer / Songwriter Will Fussell stands, outlined in brick and neon, whispering faded tones into the busted echo box. The guitar tones resulting from his interactions with Tymb Gratz might remind you of a molded cassette of Felt or Durutti Column. The proceedings are grounded by the solid-without-oppressive rhythm section of Chris Alley (bass) and Peter Cauthorn (drums.) Meta-harmonies attributed by Seth Bolton (synth/guitar) careen through the balance to sensitize their compass. Mood Rings rip the captions off the stairs and explode moonlight panels with alcohol and mint. This is not political music. These are not ringtones. There is no mystery man in the plasma tent. The floor tom is the new kick. Don't forget the scale of mercury.