When I was very young I remember my dad messing with the rabbit ears on top of our TV and cursing about "them damn ghosts on the screen."
It kinda freaked my 5 year old self out. What? Ghosts were in our television set? I was afraid to stand to close to it thinking some ghosts would reach out and grab me. It wasn't til a couple or so years later that I realized that TV ghosts were things that would appear and disappear on the screen that weren't suppose to be there. By that time though cable had finally been run down our road so I didn't have to worry about any video spirits for more than a quite a few years. Then I moved out on my own and cable was waved off as a frivolous expense (or at least that was the excuse I used at the time. The actual truth was that I couldn't afford it then). I got used to TV ghosts then. Hell, I got use to them to a point where when I did get cable again I missed the visual mash up of seeing the action from the late movie (back when broadcast channels still had the "late movie" on their schedules) superimposed over a snowy reception of David Lettermen when he came on after Carson. The challenge of managing sensory confusion could be fun if the mind was in the right place (even if it irritated my girlfriend at the time who would always say "Y'know, we can hang out at my place. The TV there works").
The band TV Ghost remind of a polyvinyl chloride version of those days. One half rock band and the other other half rock band too BUT two (if not more) completely different ones sparring each other for some kinda synapse gap attention. A noisy Dirtbombs vibe but instead of those funky and dangerous Detroit streets it's a cave somewhere out in sticks. Headlights aren't reflecting off rain washed and potholed streets but blacklights and strobes are illuminating some twisted path out past the pumpkin patch, bean field and septic pond. The bass line guides the way, a twisted guitar line has ya stumblin' over roots yr keeping the feet close to the ground get tangled up in but blame the keyboard lines for causing the double vision as a drunk carnival baker (Dirtbombs comparisons stop now by the way. This ain't the voice of probably the last real soulman the world has got but a fed up small town town raised guy with the wrongs things on his mind from an environment that allowed it to fester) shouts over a bull horn making ya keep walking towards the light.