Two drummers, two guitarists, two keyboards, bass, harmonica, three MCs and one DJ. All in chemical protection suits, making a filthy racket. Described as pointless and offensive, they declared war on dull indie bands. You had to be there…
So often the case that people work best when they are stretching out over an abyss of ignorance, hanging on to a thin branch of ‘what is still possible’, tantalised by the future
A Year With Swollen Appendices