Anchor in Ink, that's six men from Kiel, the northernmost part of Germany, where you can smell the winds of the Baltic. They sing of the sea. Of blokes, of pubs, of booze-ups. Their tunes stumble and sway like a sozzled sailor after a long passage, who still hears the racket from Rosie's Bar. Who needs a last beer. And a Gin. And who can't get this mandolin-solo out of his head.