Imagine you’re marooned in some lazy beach town and are desperate for an icy beverage. You wander around nondescript storefronts, faded cars parked on vacant streets, and a feeling of zombie despair suddenly overwhelms you. In the distance you hear what sounds like be-bop but with driving guitars and a refrain—”why you lookin’ at me?”—and instead of running from it you’re drawn closer. There, through the squeaky doors of a blacked out bar, three guys and a beanie-topped girl are churning out pop-fueled, surf psych rock that forces you to tap your toes and nod your head into a frenzy. This is what it’s like to be sonically invaded by Hooded Fang.