In a dusty corner of an old band room, something weird started happening.
A cracked vinyl spun backward. A forgotten metronome twitched. And before anyone could blink, the instruments woke up — loud, proud, and full of opinions.

It all started one night after rehearsal when someone forgot to turn off the ancient band-room radio.
A static pop. A flicker of neon. A suspicious smell of burnt popcorn.
And boom — the instruments woke up with attitude.

Now they call themselves The Beatnik Bunch, and honestly… nobody’s been able to get them to chill since.

The trumpet refuses to play unless there’s a spotlight.
The sax hits on literally everyone.
The snare picks fights with floor tiles.
The clarinet has two moods: anxious and more anxious.
And the tuba? It just wanders around causing existential dread. No one knows why.

After one too many “incidents,” they escaped the band room, hijacked a retro comic strip, and demanded their own merch line.
So here they are — printed across tees, hoodies, and whatever else they can get their grubby little tuning slides on.

This is The Beatnik Bunch:
Vintage vibes with a side of unhinged.