There’s a cantina somewhere in the universe, and Stuff. is the house band. The ungoogle-able band (period included) peddles a warped mutant funk. All the pieces are there—popping bass and toe-tapping beats—but it plays all wrong (which is why I listen). It’s like a tea pot that’s been dropped and not quite put back together correctly. That they accomplish this without grafting on different styles creates a sort of uncanny effect.