Loaded with old favorites and originals that someday will be, and armed with a batch of low tech whizbangs that can barely be classified as instruments, The Smokin Fez Monkeys are a special ops unit in the war against seriousness. If you force us to describe ourselves, we might evade you with something artsy and esoteric like, “Cheapshot trashophonic retrovaudevillian gypsy hobo quackeristic wackhouse with a twist of Spike on the cutting edge of cornball.” But you can just call us a jug band. Our mission is to do to music what the Wienermobile did to the auto, what M.C. Escher did to the third dimension, what Bugs Bunny did to Elmer Fudd. We’re trying like crazy to put the fun back into live music and bring the audience back into the mix. So give us a listen. Better yet, come and see us. And prepare yourself to clap your hands and stamp your feet and sing along; be part of the show, make smart remarks, and have a barrel of fun. We were going to say something about our great talent and brilliant technical skills, but we’re out of space. Oh, yeah. Don’t buy anything from Rattletrap Jack.