Welcome to the official home of MiLES FRoM CLEVeR, the band that wouldn't die, even after they were dead. They rode down the mountain some half decade ago, toy-banging gunslingers looking for bones to rumble. They were three, then four, then three for a short bit, and then four. Steve, Moondog, Opus, and Ward.  Along the way they gathered a handful of chords, a flurry of notes, and a message: MfC is love. MfC is hope. MfC is pretty darned loud . . . but in that substitution-mass-confusion-clouds-inside-your-head kind of way, that wind-won't-blow-only-goes-to-show kind of way. That way that gets your toes a-tapping and your head a-bobbing. Then comes the mighty thirst and then the dancing.  After that, all bets are off, as they say down the trail and across the dusty plain.

But be advised, MfC is a blunt instrument. Once the launch sequence is activated it is impossible to reverse (until management shuts the place down or the sheriffs show up). So enjoy. You might not know where you are, but there's nowhere else you'd rather be. You're MiLES FRoM CLEVeR . . .