The Pancreatic Aardvarks are a drifting group of degenerate grapes disguised as musicians. The number of members varies inversely to the number of people that run screaming from various practice spaces and recording sessions. The only consistant member is Josh Loughrey, founder and sometimes the ONLY Aardvark in the pen. Josh is an odd cat, and responsible for much more than he'd ever admit to. He's been making strange music since 1994, and the first public appearance of the Aardvarks was in May of 1995, where Josh performed a few acoustic songs (okay, well, they were covers). Around the same time, Josh began street performance, and was sometimes seen in odd locations on the streets of Oswego, New York.

In August of 1997, Josh moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and the Aardvarks made a drastic stylistic change. Rather than dirgey shoegazer rock, the Pancreatic Aardvarks shifted into experimental music. As a fan of poetry, Josh didn't want to lose the lyrical aspect that had shaped the Aardvarks in the early days. So instead of doing straight noise soundscapes, the Aardvarks try add vocals, mostly spoken but sometimes sung, thus defining the current sound. However, to expect any one style from the Pancreatic Aardvarks is to be let down. Owing to the eclectic variety of influences, the Aardvarks change direction with the wind, providing a challenging listening experience. Harsh walls of sound, minimal static arrangements, folk guitar, cut-up tape collage or strange music beyond definition or recognition, these are all part of the Aardvarks experience.

Currently the Pancreatic Aardvarks are rapidly recording the vast catalog of previously written material. After nearly a year of mortal combat with inadequite recording equipment, Asocial Studios (Josh's home recording setup) has recently undergone major upgrading, and the Aardvarks are preparing for the apocalypse. Sometime collaborator of dubious origins, Aloysious Guildersnipe recommends "purchase as many garden hoes as you can. Trust me, they'll be invaluable in the near future. Be ready to hole yourself up inside a large oak tree, which you should insulate now while Circus Peanuts are in large supplies. Fear my ingrown elbow." Until they have tricked a label into releasing Aardvark recordings, you can e-mail the Aardvarks, and for a small fee of three dead maggots and 1/8 options on future soul aquisitions, you will be supplied with a cassette of large Norse gods not having sex with farm animals. "E-mail if you're curious! E-mail if you're bored! Send us Virtual Flowers (http://www.virtualflowers.com)! We're so sad, no one buys us flowers anymore :-( Dusk approaches, and I have nothing but mushrooms to keep me company." Direct all sounds to gnarphlager@mailcity.com, and I personally guarantee the Aardvarks won't find out where you live and butter your toenails. This is only a test. Had this been an actual emergency, information would have preceeded. Wait a minute . . .