The Old Smugglers’ transient circus of shipwrecked fools steals the devil’s words and slings them with fortitude and reckless abandon. Be it whiskey-bent sea shanties, hillbilly horror country or maritime folk from the lost coast, the Old Smugglers sing tales of decadent misadventure for troubled souls everywhere. Their music smells like an empty bottle of Night Train, feels like a rusty knife against the throat and looks like a dark alley behind the Tom Waits Hotel.