Across the street from an abandoned skiing facility in Nashville, Indiana, there stands an A-Frame. From within come the sounds of a guitar amp set to "3", a bass dug deep, and the snap of drum sticks. The chopped sticks are the clarifier of the guitar/bass relationship, thus hearing protection is strictly enforced. Occasional bleeding and consistent sweating are par for the course. The music associates itself with all conditions including: humans, diseases, books, films, dead hearts, events predating the big bang, flight, empty hands, breeding, fire, water, the jesuses and how to not panic. The sound is tightly wedged between a rock and a roll, hard and compact, but fresh and piping hot. The final result is direct and spastic; a bit cryptic, while simultaneously genuine like pay day. They are Mikes. Mikes are Push-Pull.