White Glove is hazy sunsets over scraped and sunburned knees, the freedom of tortured, ugly youth and the anger of the perpetually misunderstood. It is the heat of the day caught in empty swimming pools as bodies soar and plunge on bearings baked dry by the SoCal sun. It is the loneliness of the unpopular stretched like a skin over wet asphalt and tight with warm gin. It is the breath of a neighborhood thick with both kin & enemies from a hollow place that still feels like home. Like early JFA, Sebadoh & Gangrene played by the most sensitive motherfucker in California, White Glove is the sound from your basement, circa Summer 1987.