This is a song what we did. We used crepe paper, a lot of pva glue and a bit of help from an adult. We originally did it for the tramlines thing so you might have heard it (in which case go and do something wholesome for four minutes, we’ll wait) but if you haven’t then flex those pecs, oil your ankles and get ready to charleston like your life depends on it.
Horny-handed argument-unit LADB (that’s us!) will be limping into Ross Orton’s mysterious music-chamber this week to record yet another stab at this ‘music’ thing we’ve all been hearing so much of lately. Sadly it’s going to be filmed for some Tramlines related jiggery so you’ll have to deal with our bloated Moray Eel-esque boatraces leering at you, possibly with fronds of pond-weed hanging out of our fetid maws. And don’t bother bringing up that tired old ‘but Moray Eels don’t live in ponds’ chestnut - we’re mixing metaphors and imagery baby, and you’re either with us or against us. Presumably you’ll be able to find the video on tramlines.org.uk post-wednesday, probably under a ‘who let these twats in here?’ heading calling for our blood. Well, you can’t have it. We needs it, for the circulation of oxygen and other things (ransom notes, ‘home made black pudding’ etc).
This could be your torso. We’ll be selling t-shirts at all upcoming popshows, also with a download code to some extra-special man-sounds what we made. It’s sort of like a single release-type-situation, except a single you can wear. Tomorrow’s World!
Ach, we know it’s been painful out there, struggling through the grime-smeared wasteland of your LADB-less life, wondering where the good times and went and how it came to this - sucking at the lichen growing on the undersides of paving slabs for sustenance and trying to recreate the Official LADB Experience with four plastic bags and a wind-up radio tuned to Don Valley FM. We feel it. It hurts us too.
So it is with no small measure of relief we can announce an end to your moss nibbling ways via our imminent return - sort of like the second coming of the messiah if the messiah was an obscure quartet of badly dressed mountebanks from a post-industrial shit-tip - that’s right petal, it’s gigs gigs gigs and even some actual god-blind-me music.
Saturday 16th April we’ll be playing at the Cremorne in Sheffield for Death by Shoes with the deeply sex-excellent Best Friends, so expect surfy vibez and not much room, ie: Perfect Conditions.
Monday 18th at the Brudenell in Leeds with Bad for Lazarus and Apple Cannon, so expect… a Leedsy sorta time, and much rocking and/or rolling.
Wednesday 20th sees us sacking off the ENTIRE NORTH of the country and hitting the Bull and Gate in London for Club Fandango, so expect to find us tinkling genially at an old Joanna surrounded by a platoon of starry-eyed Chelsea Pensioners. Probably. That or supporting The Doublecross and This Business is Closed.
So it’s quite the jaunt for a change. And if we don’t come back from this momentous expedition…
Squatting here in this corner of the hypertubes is yet another grotesque conduit for all the malk and julge that comes sputtering out of our gutterminds - or at least the M n’ J pertaining to LADB. To burden the internet with the entirety of our neuroses would be liable to bring the servers down from here to Jakarta so we’ll try and keep on message and not go shooting off on any particularly unbecoming tangents.