"The Trauth brothers comprise three out of the four members of Mavin. Born the sons of a soldier of fortune turned gypsy farmer they are no strangers to the cold, black smack of life. Before falling into shambles after the death of their favorite ice cream truck driver, their mentor the Mavin armed his scholars (AJ, Pete and Chris) with everything they would need to survive: Alley cat wisdom, a solid handle on phonics and the ability to play music with such intense beauty, fury and power that the almighty Buddha would have no other option but to crap thunder out of his enlightened a**. Joined together at the hip, the brothers were separated at a Phish concert in 2001 after ingesting what some smug little stinker from Brigham Young University told them was “Tang”. It was an experience so intense and profound that it forced A.J. into a confrontation with his challenges with situational narcolepsy. An affliction born as a young man fighting for his family’s life in the form of a song, during the Great Gypsy Riots of 83. It found Pete waking up in an “institution” in Wyoming, apparently missing a huge chunk of time with the name “Carlotta” tattooed to his chest. It found Chris obsessed with the power of nachos and the unorthodox spirit of Gandhi alive and on fire in his heart. It was a serendipitous catalyst that would send these brothers on their own, solitary adventures to equip them with the necessary life experience to make Mavin what it is today. But they had to meet the fourth member of their band first. His name is Mike T. If one fears for their life, one should never mention Mike’s past as a television whiz kid/contestant on Manny Trebek’s opus, “Who Got Brain?” One should never mention his mother’s overbearing nature and obsession with French braiding his hair. One should never bring up the nickname, “Little Sissy Smarty Pants” in some drunken fit of ignorant, “latch key kid”, game show nostalgia. One should only bring up his reputation as a legendary, brutal cage fighter from the mean streets of West Covina and ask him to tell the story about how his life long struggle with rage found its true place when three brothers from “Anytown, U.S.A.”, challenged him to leave that “poor stupid son of a b**ch drunk on Peppermint Schnapps” alone and bang the holy hell out of some drums instead. With that, Mike took their suggestion. It was so raw and passionate that the brothers were awestricken and jumped up on stage to play with him. They had a palette for maniacs. Mike was certainly top notch. From how they explain it, it was one of those sessions that brings every heartache, joy, experience and abomination into focus and makes sense of this cupcake called life. Summer. 2005. Tank’s Bar. Baker, California. Put it in the books. Open your ears. Get sonic confirmation of the great miracles of this life." BP