From the shadows of Fuquay Varina, North Carolina, a town not often known for rock rebellion, rises a band with a name as intriguingly askew as their sound—Crooked Cranes. Composed of high school best friends Josh Faw, Dylan Hornaday, and Andrew Bateman, along with Josh’s younger brother locking down the bass, this quartet crafts music the old-school way: in the basement, beers in hand, riffs dripping with distortion, and lyrics scribbled down between bong rips and existential laughs. Their debut EP, This is Only a Test, released on May 9, 2025, is more than just a collection of tracks—it’s a snapshot of a brotherhood forged in fuzz, fire, and unfiltered truth.
With influences that span the grungy introspection of Built to Spill, the unhinged groove of Dinosaur Jr., the garage grit of The White Stripes, and even the mod-punk pulse of The Who, Crooked Cranes are not here to follow trends. They’re here to channel chaos into something real—and This is Only a Test passes with flying, smoke-stained colors.
Right out the gate, “GF” tears the door off its hinges with a gnarly, overdriven riff that would make J Mascis crack a grin. Josh Faw’s vocals sit raw and bare, half-spoken, half-shouted, drenched in a blend of disbelief and bravado. The track’s narrative; a surreal gut-punch of betrayal where a man’s father hooks up with his girlfriend—is twisted, ironic, and fascinating. There’s something intoxicating about how the band lets the lyrics linger in moral ambiguity: do you throw a punch, or raise a glass to the old man?
Instrumentation: Thick guitars churn over loose, driving drums. The bass lurks, rumbling in the undercurrent like a secret no one wants to admit. The production is purposefully grimy, capturing the energy of a garage show that got out of hand in all the best ways.
If GF was chaos, “Mehico” is a half-buzzed road trip gone rogue. Drawing from a real-life run-in with a cartel jefe, the song dips into psychedelic desert rock territory. Wah pedals whine and the drums slow to a hypnotic thud, while Faw spins his tale like a fever dream—equal parts fear, awe, and adrenaline. Vocals lean more spoken-word here, leaning into a storytelling vibe that places you right there, sunburnt and sweaty, on the side of the highway in the heat of Mexico. This track’s lo-fi mystique works in its favor; everything feels slightly warped, as though heard through a dusty cassette deck in a motel room just outside the danger zone.
A sudden left turn into intimacy, “Dolfin” softens the edges with a dreamier progression and gentler performance. It’s about a girl who won’t reveal her name, a metaphor perhaps for every person we’ve ever tried to know but never fully reached. The vocals here are vulnerable. Talking about instrumentation, clean guitar lines float on reverb-heavy rhythm, and the drums take on a jazzier touch. There’s a bedroom-recording warmth here; the kind of track that plays late at night when everyone else has passed out and you’re left thinking about what could’ve been.
Continuing the mellow stretch, “Interstate Song” is a stoner ballad for the road-weary dreamer. It captures the trance of long drives and deep thoughts, the windows down and heart wide open. Vocally, Faw channels a wistful tone, a weary observer watching life pass by through smudged glass. Instrumentally, the guitars shimmer with a touch of chorus effect, creating an almost ambient backdrop. The rhythm section is patient, letting the song breathe. This song is a quiet standout that could’ve easily been buried, but instead lingers long after.
Time to shift gears again, “Met A Gurl” reintroduces a surging, punk-infused energy, but this time it’s bittersweet. A divorce song in disguise, the lyrics cloak heartbreak in a deceptively upbeat tempo, making the punch hit even harder. Vocals are sharp, almost sneering at times, masking pain with sarcasm. This is emotional damage turned into a garage anthem. Musically, it’s fast, crunchy guitars paired with urgent drums. It’s a track that begs to be played loud, preferably with a crowd that knows every word. This one sounds like it was recorded in a single take, and that’s part of the charm.
The EP ends where it began: with stoner rock swagger and zero apologies. “NeWay” is about getting high, listening to music, and letting go. It’s not trying to be profound; it just is. The band invites you into their world, a universe of low ceilings, loud amps, and unapologetic freedom. The vocals feel relaxed, even humorous at times; Faw sounds like your friend telling you to take another hit and stop overthinking everything. The sludgy guitars, meandering solos, and a drum groove that rolls like a cloud of smoke across a hardwood floor.
“This is Only a Test” is exactly what it says it is; a trial run, an experiment, a warning shot from a band that’s only just begun to shake things up. But don’t let the title fool you. Crooked Cranes have already passed the test. Their sound, unfiltered and full of grit, is a refreshing return to DIY ethos, blending slacker rock energy with stories that sting, seduce, and spiral. Crooked Cranes remind us of the raw magic of imperfection, the kind of music that doesn’t just play in the background—but grabs you by the collar, pulls you into a smoky basement, and demands your attention.
Listen to “This is Only a Test” on Spotify
