Fire Arrow Records

Rated S is what happens when three troublemakers decide to be delightful on purpose. A sexually charged rock/pop supergroup whose S stands for Sexual, they traffic in innuendo and double entendres like magicians with a deck of marked cards—dirty and suggestive without crossing the obvious lines, light and fun until they decide to aim for the heart. The lineup reads like a label fantasy draft: Smithers (Houston, TX) out front with a voice that can purr or preach; Chastity Glasscock (Climax, GA) on guitar and harmonies, honey-drip tone with a steel spine; and Yellowthroat (Koper, Slovenia → Chicago/Indy) on decks, production, and the occasional oddball instrument, stitching the whole thing together with grin-inducing precision. They built this band to have fun, spend time together, and fly a united freak flag—and you can hear that joy in every bar.

The Origin
Rated S started as a joke that wouldn’t stop being a good idea. After a few late-night sessions trading hooks and punchlines, the trio noticed the songs were doing something honest: capturing desire, regret, and those vivid snapshots of intimacy that make you feel alive when you remember them. If Fire Arrow Records ever had a supergroup, this is it—one part playful mischief, one part grown-up romance, and one part “don’t think too hard, just move.” The influences telegraph the mission: “Weird” Al Yankovic for the gleeful wordplay, Prince for the fearless sensuality and groove science, and The Rolling Stones for the swagger you forgot was that filthy. Run it back if you don’t believe it.

The Sound
Call it lust-pop with rock teeth. Drums hit like a wink—you feel the pocket before you identify it. Guitars strut in satin, alternating between tight funk chanks and overdriven smirks. Bass lines are suggestive without being obvious; synths and samples add the confetti and candlelight. Smithers sings like he’s got a secret and he’s exactly the kind of person who will tell it if you ask twice. Chastity’s harmonies pour sugar on top and then cut the sweetness with a lemon twist; her guitar hooks are the thing you remember when the chorus leaves. Yellowthroat’s production is the velvet rope: clean, punchy, and engineered to make euphemism feel like electricity. Every arrangement has a nudge and a payoff—tease, release, repeat.

Notable Releases
As the Door Closes is the slow-burn invitation—dripping hi-hats, a guitar line that walks its fingers up your spine, and a chorus that breathes in your ear. It’s about the quiet between decision and action, that hinge moment where taste and touch swap places. The bridge flips perspective and lands with a grin.
Banana Creampie is pure innuendo sport—funk-tempo strut, rubbery bass, call-and-response ad-libs, and a lyric that walks the tightrope between cheeky and shameless without falling. It’s the track that proves they can be naughty and musical at once—syncopation as flirtation.
Beneath the Bruise is the moodier counterweight—midtempo pulse, reverb-kissed guitar, and a topline that aches with the memory of heat that turned to hurt and still somehow glows. Desire, regret, and the kind of honesty that sneaks into a late text—you’ll hear all three in the second chorus.

Themes and Writing
Rated S writes like adults with a sense of humor and a good memory. Desire is the engine, sure—but so is regret, and so is the nostalgia for nights that got under your skin in ways you’re still grateful for. The wordplay is the fun of it: lines you can quote with a raised eyebrow, metaphors that don’t break when you look at them, and turns that land as jokes on first listen and truths on third. They’re experts at suggestion: the outline, the silhouette, the implication that lets the listener fill in the rest. It’s flirting as a songwriting philosophy.

Chemistry and Roles
Smithers: frontman, ringmaster, and confessionalist. He sells the joke and the ache, often in the same verse.
Chastity Glasscock: guitar and harmony architect—lays down the lick that feels like a hand on your waist and sings the high line that makes the chorus bloom.
Yellowthroat: producer/DJ/utility player—glues the groove, spices the edges, and knows exactly which frequency will tip a smirk into a blush.

Influences and Lineage
Take the playful precision of “Weird” Al (minus the pastiche, plus the pillow talk), add Prince’s school of groove-as-foreplay and boundaryless vocal/arrangement choices, and sprinkle the Stones’ devil-may-care swagger from their naughtiest years. Rated S isn’t imitating; they’re inheriting the permission to be fun, filthy, and feeling-forward.

Live and Next
On stage, it’s a party with rules: move, laugh, sing, and maybe text your ex only if you mean it. The set paces like a good evening—icebreaker, shameless heat, a little confession, then one last dance that gets away with everything. Smithers works the crowd like he’s collecting stories for later. Chastity steps into solos that purr more than shout and throws smiles from the mic like favors. Yellowthroat pilots the room’s pulse—drops the floor a half-inch, changes the color of the air, then nudges the BPM when nobody’s counting. Coming up: a run of singles that balance clever and candid, remixes that push the innuendo into club territory, and a late-night session series that captures the band exactly as it began: friends, a room, a beat, and nothing off the table.

What to Play First
As the Door Closes: the invitation—slow-burn, close-quarters, irresistible.
Banana Creampie: the wink—dance-floor mischief with a hook you’ll quote inappropriately.
Beneath the Bruise: the ache—grown-up aftermath that still remembers the heat.