We'd like to start this essay with a precursor. The following is going to get raunchy. It's already randy and there's no helping any of it. You've been warned that you will feel certain areas on your body getting hotter by the second. You'll be perspiring before long, with vivid images of people being people when they don't care that anyone's watching them. What you're about to hear from the Austin, Texas-based band, T-Bird & The Breaks, is what happens when people stop pretending, when they become completely honest with themselves in all of the most obvious ways. There's never a good way to hide a wandering eye or a wagging tongue and there are times when you'd rather not to hide them anyway. T-Bird & The Breaks - and specifically the soulful lead singer Tim Crane - are all about making their desires and churnings known, felt. If Crane's got his eyes full of something, he'll let you know if he wants to get his hands full of it in a quick hurry. He's not one to play coy and tame. He will pounce. He demands that you bring him the "sexy stuff." Why shouldn't he? Why shouldn't any of us make the same demands? If we see what we might like and we're not being a Neanderthal about obtaining it, if there's no dismissal of general conduct, it should be accepted. A gentleman - and a gentlewoman, for that matter - should be able to directly and indiscreetly ask for a little ass if they mood strikes and there's a delicious and willing piece of it right there in front of them. It's all about the fun of it here, with T-Bird & The Breaks. The funk and soul that Crane, Sam Patlove, Cody Furr, Johnny Allison and Sasha Orti write and perform is geared toward the Friday and Saturday nights that can and should happen any night of the week if two people are feeling it. They celebrate the of-the-moment spontaneity that leads to people getting butt-naked and rolling around in the sheets without really knowing how they got to that point, and not regretting any of that fun. The regret could come days later, when they find out that they really couldn't be more different, that the broad is crazy or that the fella is a good for nothing. Even if the sex is good, what just happened and what keeps happening is going to have to come to an end. Crane sings with a late night hoarseness that emphasizes the thought that he knows exactly what he's talking about when he talks about the crazy chicks that he's known. When he and the ladies sing, "Working for your nasty love is just too much drama," it sounds like the beginning of a life lesson - perhaps the first or cornerstone lesson - that he will someday teach his son, while sitting on the corner of his bed, drawing from all of the many mistakes that horniness has led him to. He knows that history will repeat itself and much of it is going to feel oh so right. For a few days, at least.