The Donuts Reinvent Music, Give Atkins the Finger

What do you do when there's nothing left to do? When you rocket from dayjob tedium to tabloid fodder in Real World time? When you record a 28-minute masterpiece unsigned, on the cheap - in Fathead's garage, no less - that goes multi-platinum, with no promotion and less airplay; with no nod to trend and yet not a note less than timeless?

When that same album - Sgt. Jack's Pepper Mill (Chapter 7 Records), to be exact - causes the New York Times to recall "a time when the best music was also the most popular"? When it earns 4 ½ stars in Rolling Stone - the coveted fifth star causing a fierce internal battle, you're told, involving Jan Wenner, two interns, and a shuck-sigh ken that maybe this train has amscrayed. When it garners spit-take praise from the Los Angeles Times, the Chicago Tribune, and USA Today (National Edition)?

What, exactly, do you do?

The Donuts don't know.

Frontstud J. Bearclaw doesn't know; axeangel-avenger Johnny Taint doesn't k