|
|
A
dysfunctional family of performing buffoons, using their metaphorical
whip of parody to deliver satirical melodic surrealism. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Imagine
a deranged David Bowie with a punk attitude, singing numbers from
a major musical devised by Stephen King and delivered with the venom
of Alice Cooper. Got it? You're still well short of the mark. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Anal
Beard: nearly as much fun as qualifying for your bus pass. The musical
equivalent of fouling up the post office queue while you buy stamps
for twenty assorted amenities. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Prepare
for them to enrapture you by their magnificence. They may destroy
you, but only in order to save you. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Stunning
acapella female vocal harmonies, featuring Yvette Staelens who guested
on the Paradise Razed CD. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
A
mixture of punk, folk, ska and indie. Sounds rather like Violent
Femmes playing Belle and Sebastian songs. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Oh
no! It's the site for Attila the Stockbroker. Details are available
here for his band, Barnstormer, too. Who but Attila would dare to
write wicked poems about Mr Porter's sleeping bag, and still turn
up with a krummhorn in his hand? For vice, lechery and probably
football check this space. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Aha!
Wob. Former Blyth guitarist, now in pursuit of his own destiny,
and a sensible haircut. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Hazel
O'Connor was wrong. He didn't do all that stuff on the eighth day;
He actually made Chris Butler instead. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Think
Elvis Costello, The Jam and a whole lot more. With pop songs, real
tunes and lyrics that mean something. Fronted by the most marvellous
Mr Murray Torkildsen. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Fish
Brothers gigs have little in common with your normal Phil Collins
gigs. Fish Brothers main song subjects are alcohol and childish innuendo. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
I
don't believe you have to be an idiot to get somewhere these days.
Mr Smith has been around even longer than us and looks more like
Doctor Who every day. We are not worthy.
|
|
|