Bringing some much needed brain rot to the band, Johnny needs to be taken to a sensory deprivation chamber before he comes up with something that isn’t utterly insane or depressing. In the rare moment that he isn’t making Canterbury Scene or obscure Japanese prog his entire personality, he is instead making Björk or The Kinks his entire personality. Johnny provides a laid back and natural sound with his production, which is a professional departure from his manic personality. Show him an old camera or a 50 year old pair of pants, and he'll go apeshit. Laughs when showed unassuming images of random people.

Evan’s musical taste was forged in the seventh ring of hell, somewhere in between John Cage and wherever Zappa ended up. If it wasn’t for the mediating nature of his bandmates, Evan would probably use the band’s money to hire a 40 piece orchestra to play random cacophonous notes. When he’s not foaming at the mouth about Gentle Giant, you can find him cheek drumming the William Tell Overture and making incredibly shitty puns. Wears cat ears and a tail on holidays, and is in a committed relationship with his stuffed animals.

How does one even describe Jackson? If they were a sandwich, they’d be a sloppy jessica. If they were a pair of shoes, they’d be crocs. Jackson is an embodiment of chaos in times of leisure, an embodiment of order in times of business, and an embodiment of support in times of struggle. You know they’ve arrived if your driveway is shaking with the bottom 100 Hz tones of Swag Like Ohio. With a number of questionable tattoos, and muscles as beefy as their bass tones, it is no secret that Jackson’s raw swagger is integral to the success of any band as incomprehensible as Funhouse Mirrors.