Long ago, in Ancient Egypt, they used to make music using small shells for whistles. Now re-imagine this in modern times, with Filofaxes, industrial printing solutions and much less whistling. Practice sits happily within the climate of a disgruntled corporate office worker and a dedicated musician’s bursting heart, wandering the school corridors with a yearning for the pop sentimentality of the 80s and 90s. Frustrated with the trappings of modern offices, Practice finds comfort in his own musical torture. As independent as a co-dependent person freshly de-platformed, music is coming to you from a dark energy unraveled like a Christmas gift you are not sure about at first, but could grow to like by the time next Christmas comes along. In short; sad music to dance to.