[H]AVANT GARDE? This is a montage, if you will, an "ATONAL MONTAGE" (Thanks, Rabbithole!) of various c'labberative efforts, conceived for theatrical interludes, sleevenotes, promotional flyers or just plain mucking about on a Sunday afternoon, at the legendary Clashing 2 environs.

THIS IS AN APPRECIATION OF THE MUSICAL ENTITY ONCE KNOWN AS THE LOUD FARMER... It is not just a poorly-disguised exercise in kissing up to Mervyn and Rabbithole, in the vain hope that, when they get a Skunk Funk website up and running, they will include a link to our humble little effort in return.(Mind you, they'll have to use a different domain name - some Austrian oompah band appear to have used the "skunkfunk.com" already! True! ...Ed)

In the beginning there was The Loud Farmer - jazz-funk orientated, complex instrumentals coupled with lewd lyricism. Then, in what seemed like an unusually drastic move, they promoted the lighting engineer to lead singer and the "man-who-does-the-funny-theatricals" to second guitarist in a desperate attempt to achieve that perfect, snappily-commercial sound they were seeking.

"Combien 'Arvester Monsieur, Oo are zese Loud Farmers? Do zey 'ave sheeps and ze foot and ze mouth? Zey are, ow you say, a rock band from Angleterre? Why 'ave zey such silly name? Because zey are weird? Ze avant-garde? You mean like Jacques Cousteau, non?"

"So," some of you may be asking, "What can these men, standing before me, offer to stimulate MY imagination? I'm bored with breakfast television, I weary of Wogan, I have outgrown the run-of-the-mill diet of audio-visual stimuli. I need something new in my life, I came to this humble venue in search of biting satire, titillating lyricism and music to make me THINK!" Well look no further, tonight your needs will be fulfilled, tonight you will witness LIVE entertainment! You wanted the most agricultural, you've got the most agricultural, the hottest, least mechanised band this side of Sturminster Newton... if ever there were honorary members of the Crocombe and Stogumber Mangle-wurzel Community Co-operative, then surely it is this band... A band that's given a whole new meaning to the word "FLUMMOX!"... The darlings of the hep generation, archbishops of bop, field-marshals of funk and King Canutes of the chord change.

Hubba! Hubba! Hubba! Take your places please for the experience of a lifetime! They're healthy, they're organic, packed with polyunsaturates and as loud as a 1948 Fordson tractor at full revs!... One-hundred percent wholemeal!! It's time to muck out your mind and leave your worries behind...

"cause AgriFunk has hit this town and all the farmers are getting down... the tired ploughman leaves his plough and Seth milks his last friesian cow... "

...Clear the area, please! Make room for the giant inflatable tractor to crash into the stage..." Ladies and gentlemen, more exciting than playing Scrabble in a live volcano, louder than an angry bull giraffe with a grazed knee, more street-credible than Doris Day... funnier than a million clowns wearing two million false noses, funkier than Betty Crendloe and her accordion-playing dog called Dennis... sharper than a laser-razor and better value than Fairy Liquid at a cash and carry, you guessed it... tonight you will be entertained by some significant instrumentalists... Thrill to the frenetic funk of the now-generation, swoon to the smooth sound of psychedelic syncopation... dance over the rainbow to the rock'n'roll nation, do the twist and shake from station to station, get into the headspace of soul fenestration and then, if you can still stand up, 'ave a listen...

...To Mervyn the rude man, Murvin the systems anarchist, Mervin the activist with a LARGE placard, Mervyn the one they once called The Chasm... Grit your teeth as he sends those minims scudding across the bar, for we have on lead guitar none other than Ol' Doctor Rubberknuckles himself... Mervyn who thrives on EXTREME behaviour (in the name of ENTERTAINMENT and under the name of DIRK THRUST)... Murvin who makes domestic appliances pregnant; Someone bursts onto the stage with a three-pin plug, crying "He's the father!"

Next, a yoga-freak, MAHARISHI MAVIS YOGHURT, leaps onto the stage and assumes a series of ludicrous postures, addressing the rocking teenage combo thus: "If you did yoga, you wouldn't need all this terrestrial amplification equipment, you could attain TOTAL PEACE OF MIND by chanting the MYSTIC MOO MANTRA. To release the vital force within, all you have to do is place your thumbs on your forehead, waggle your little fingers and chant MOOOO! Come on, try it! (I can't hear you... and if I can't hear you, then the UNIVERSE can't hear you... for I AM at one with the bloody UNIVERSE!). Lesson two: THE GANNET POSTURE... all stand in line, stretch arms behind you, raise one leg, bent at the knee AND START MOOING!" Murvin interrupts with a torrent of filth...

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, lads and lasses, guys and dolls, mods and modettes, blokes and bints, mainmen and neat floozies, cool cats and hip dudes, milkmen and tea-ladies, night owls and weird freaks, leather guys and elderly Greeks, surfer girls and King's Road teds, part-time reds from under beds, weathermen and weather girls, massive rubber limpets spraying artificial blancmange out of their elaborate ears, nightclub hipsters and champion twisters, teenage punks with married sisters, phantom lords with magic rings, these are a few of my favourite things, hippy girls in search of answers, west side gangs and old-tyme dancers, live from the very heart of somewhere-or-other, a guy who thinks he's a parrot... for behind the drumkit we have that congenial muleskinner, Martian prince of the Hi-hat and mystic cymbal, the one they call the Professor... he enjoys the delights of chicken farming, gerbils and leaving underwear in opticians, y'know...

21st September 1985, New York, New York... When I listened back on my ansa-phone this evening, after staggering up fifteen flights of stairs (Jeez! Why does the elevator always break down when it's 102 in the shade?), the last thing I was expecting was a call from those TV By Tears guys back in limey. "Wanna write us a press release?" said a nervous voice over a wall of static. "It's for this charity soiree we're doing at the local emporium." (Y'know the way these guys talk!) Then the static got the better of the voice and I was left none the wiser...

Well, what can I tell you about TV By Tears that hasn't already been said? From their humble origins as porno-funk three-piece The Loud Farmer, they've grown from strength to strength since being augmented in their line-up by a couple of Glass Sturgeons (or was it Brass Vegans?). This five-piece combo trod the boards as Jump! for a while, even going to the trouble of getting the badges printed, until someone pointed out the existence of at least 465 other products under that name. A name-change was obviously needed before it was, gulp! too late... The name that no one disagreed on was TV By Tears, taken from one of the guys' songs and they've done the rounds under that name (and several others, it says here...). That covers everything, I think. They're not the prettiest of bands, in fact some of them are potential paperbag candidates, but I think once you've got over the initial shock of seeing them for the first time, you can relax and just enjoy the bountiful treats in store... is that alright, guys?

Phew! Hey! how is everyone out there? Alright! let's hear it for The Loud Farmer, Jump, TV By Tears, Nightwatch, Absolute Zero, The Grim Roofer... I was playing darts in the Old Fox & Glovepuppet with a bloke called Ramsden the other night and he said something to me that was very poignant: "If music is the food of love, then drive on!" But if, on the other hand, music is your idea of a good laugh, then listen to...

3am... a cellar in Dusseldorf... Couples stagger into the moonlight from a smoke-filled room, their ears bleeding, mouths cupped behind gloved hands, unable to believe what they have just witnessed... What had overcome them? What strange force lurked within? What if my mum found out? What time is it? Why not just shut up and tell them about...

Disco trendies street dance poorly... very bad robotics and CAKKY breakdancing... spinning on their backs with someone else pushing... out-of-time, badly-rhymed rapping... Grandmaster Swarf and Miller Mel whose cliquey cliche reads "MY COLLECTION OF IMPORTED 12" REMIXES IS MORE OBSCURE THAN YOURS, DUDE!" In 1983 we tried to get on one of those Streetdance compilations, but more than five people had heard of us... WIV A HIP AN' A HOP AN' A GHETTO-BLASTER WORN BACKWARDS... In 1984 we played a gig at Ford's Social Club in Dagenham - the audience was full of robots pretending to be humans... The breakdancer finishes his spincycle, cries for his SOUL BOWL and emits pantomime vomit... the politically-aware punk roadie assumes the role of SYSTEMS ANARCHIST, sets up and tests the equipment and recites a poem about overthrowing the Status Quo... GIRLS! DO NOT TALK TO THIS MAN!

Hip hop curds and whey!
Yer be the yokels that..ll make your day.
Hip hop Massy Fergy!
They be the cure for the dreaded lurgy.
Blip bloop chicken coup!
Now listen in to a real fab group
Bink Bonk! a bunch of charmers
That go by the name of THE LOUD FARMER(s!)
Clambake, guitar break
Bend your hips like a rubber snake
Clam Ping! Do your thing!
You'll go ape when THE FARMER sing.
Plough, reap, cows and sheep!
Farm-hand bands do not come cheap
Dung spread, upside your head
The queue for tickets is behind the shed.
Attention please come gather round
For the west country's most rustic sound
Fresh from last week's Wurzel's Ball
In Midsomer Norton's Village Hall.
Sons of the soil, they'll fly with ease
In crimson tractors o'er Los Angeles
With their amps 'n' lasers 'n' massive stacks
And barrels of scrumpy for the music-biz hacks.
Their music blows your mind away
And kills the blackfly, so they say.
The music loud and the effects are weird
And their dry-ice may freeze your beard.
Loud Farmer rock, Loud Farmer roll,
They muck the pigs out of your soul.
They ploughs yer brain and they plants
The seeds of funk into the dance!
Ol' Ned the roadie humps the gear
And pulls the groupies in his big John Deere.
This guy's no hick in his Hawkwind shirt
That he found in the bogs at a Stones concert.

Brothers and Sisters, turn on, tune in and think CABARET... float downstream on a lilo of love and fill your head with supernatural ducks... take a look at Lot 69 here, an excellent example of a 1953 Ming dinnerplate, the man with the knitted throat and wristband, the human harmonium and Subbuteo enthusiast... enjoys testing the tensile strength of paper-clips... great voice, but handicapped by a passing resemblance to Jo Brand...

What do you call the band that has everything? Smug bastards? A taxi? Hey you lot? Time please? What do you call a band consisting of three-fifths Loud Farmer, two-fifths Glass Virgin, several splashes of The Belly Brothers and a whole Jump? Confused? You won't be when you watch tonight's exciting episode of TV By Tears!

TV Recipes with Zelda Zitz
1 vocalist, plump and fresh
2 guitarists, lightly oiled
1 bass player, plucked
1 drummer, according to taste
1 lb. brussel sprouts
1 pint, real ale or cider
1 sense of humour
A bucket
A dash of garlic
Another pint of real ale or cider
And another.
Throw the whole lot into a pub with a suitable music licence. Stand back.

McTavish from the Isle of Bute mounts the stage, a heavy metal fan wielding his very own cardboard bagpipes and a false beard that becomes dislodged as he HEAD-BANGS to the frenetic sound...

Some bass-players aspire to little more than counting things for a living, but ours breathes life into his 4-string Kalashnikov and starts a minor earthquake with his slap-and-kick technique. His real name is Gilbert McOystercatcher, but we know him as Mr.Bassman... his mother once tried to organise a petition against DANCING!

We are introduced to the possibilities of concert merchandising (by a man with a European Basin) - Kiss tongues, Stranglers' cuddly rats, ZZ Top stuffed buffalo heads, Foreigner passports, Motorhead crash-helmets, Kajagoogoo nets, Spandau Ballet shoes, trusses for support bands, Wham false noses, Saxon axes, Krokus alpenhorns (ed's note: Who the bloody hell is going to remember KROKUS?), Iron Maiden's very own brand of souvenir torture equipment and last, but not least, your very own Steve Hillage flying saucer frisbees...

Now folks, hold your breath and hide the horses, for here's the famous beard with a luxuriant growth of man. See him abseil down the neck and humiliate that humbucker, Ol' Twenty-Five Fingers is back!

...For I am Ellis Banoonoo and I'm actually sitting inside one of the speaker cabinets, here on this rather impressive stage. Now don't get the idea that I'm a stowaway - there's nothing romantic about being loaded into the back of a knackered Transit by an overweight roadie in an undersized Doobie Brothers t-shirt (or worse than that, a drummer). No, I'm doing this 'cause it's AVANT-GARDE and I'm stupid - what's more, I'm only three-foot tall when I'm bent double... Any moment now the stage will be awash with an ocean of psychedelic lights and we'll all start choking on the dank fog of dry-ice... no expense has been spared to make tonight a TOTAL EXPERIENCE... Ladies and gentlemen, the... (urrggh! I've just sucked in a cobweb! Why don't bands hoover out their speaker cabinets once in a while? aaaggghhh! there's a spider in here! eeeuuuurrrgghh! let me out! oh gawd! I hate spiders!)... The Loud Farmer were a brilliant, it says here, funk rock band from the Portsmouth area (aaargghh! it's on my face! urgghh! I can't handle this, where's me torch? Ouch! Damn! Oh no, I'm bleeding now, oh no! I'm going to be eaten, I know it! I can see its fangs, sharper than daggers! It's furry - must be a Mexican Red-kneed Spider... Ah, me torch is working! I can see the beast... it's got two humps - is that a dromedary or a bactrian? Shit, I'm stuck in a speaker cabinet with a camel! Pardon? Who? And Lawrence of Arabia? How? What? Why? What? You want to introduce the band? okay! Chicago's answer to the Dagenham Girl's Pipefish?

And so to summarise... the band consists of someone on lead guitar, leaping around and ugliness, someone else on vocals (counter-tenor... or two fivers will do) and ugliness, someone who also plays guitar, achieves "Height" and is ugly, a bass guitarist who is into being hairy and extremely ugly and a drummer who doubles on ugliness, going "Haaaah!" and percussion (Come to think of it, they are so ugly, we'd better not print a photo of them for fear of frightening the sheep... it's probably best if you just see for yourself). This particular band has played hundreds of gigs and got some of them right, got through six drummers, jammed with Jimmy Page no less than one time, written at least six songs (one for each drummer), bought one wrist-band, stolen twenty-two emus as a failed publicity stunt, shagged zero groupies, eaten thirty-six packs of sandwiches prepared by their mums, seen "This Is Spinal Tap" eleven times at the last count, borrowed thirteen plectrums or plectra, worn out three Amon Duul albums and changed names abundantly.

The modern day composer refuses to dye his hair: A HANDYISH DISCOGRAPHY
Not all these releases will be currently available. If in doubt, consult your local gramophone salesman.
HOEDOWN PANINKEE ALOHA - Sweaty Songs For Swooning Sweeties (AKA Hooray! It's Dave's Party!)... YOUNG, GIFTED, ETH & NICK - Surreally Yours/One More For The Toad... FRUG-A-NUG-NUG - Rattlesnake Woman/Cranky Tupperware/Play It Loud, We're Daft And Proud/Meaty, Beaty, Big And Lousy/Bring On The Heavy Hearses/Unchained Remedy (AKA Chunes'N'Chains) THE NINKEES - Hey, Hey We're The Ninkees/Yokels'N'Vocals/A Caustic Acoustic (The Ninkees Unplugged)/Taken By The Ninkees...and So Young!/Okey Fun Okey!... COMBIEN'ARVESTER - Rural Britannia/Play Akoo Sticks.
The following items are available on ELLIS RECORDS, Greenland's only independent label and purveyors of Eskimo music and poetry...
THE ANGMAGSSALIK WHALE VOICE CHOIR - Strawberry Mukluk... I-GLOO (Greenland's top reggae artist)... BLIZZARD TROPICALE (Various Artists Compilation, featuring The Ice Cubists, The Blubbers, The North Pole Vaulters, The Frozen Pees etc.)... ICE BREATH - Stiff Rhino/Ice Pick (Poetry compilation)... FREEZIN' RED IVANHOE - D-I-Sirs... THE FIVE UMIAKS - Blue Rondo A La Kayak/Snow Trouble... TED NORTH & THE GREAT WHITES - Tribute To Yah Strak Sonderstrohm.

Jump live at the Salutation, Portsmouth 06/02/85
"Salutation Jumps - Portsmouth sleeps on!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, we bring you... DIRTY SODRAPHENIA!" Blank looks from the punters, who were looking a bit sheepish, in a human sort of way. They obviously believed in the old adage "there's safety in numbers" and as there were so few of them at the start, they were afraid to react in case members of the band started pointing at them.

Jump leapt into action, producing lumps of funk suitable for DARGON THE LORD OF THE WHITE SWORD to talk over. Rabbithole - sorry! I mean DARGON lanked around wearing a white doctor's coat and 12” Cliff Richard disco sunglasses. He explained to the audience that he was about to exorcise the lead guitarist of Jump. At this point, the punters looked more egg-bound rather than spellbound. According to Dargon, who knows about these things, mild mannered guitar hero Dirk Thrust was suffering from an acute alter-ego problem, by the name of MERVYN PURVISS. Mervyn was a typical British bigot with a fascination for the last bit of a baboon you see when it is running away.

Dirk, on the other hand, certainly looked the epitome of the all-American rock star, posing with his instrument and gyrating in his Dyno-Rod designer overalls. To prove his status as an electro-demi-god, Dirk launched into a frenetic bonce-bouncing bit of guitarotechnics, sending heavy echoed riffs scudding across the pub.

Pleasantries over, Jump hurtled into their first number proper, called "Anymore For Anymore". Mr LEON HAYMAN thrapped out a funky riddum on his electrified basso-profundo guitar, strings courtesy of his mum's washing line. Leo is certainly quite a sartorial wit, dressed in pyjama trousers and last year's vest/cleaning rag. That shattered vest had obviously cut quite a few dashes in its lifetime, in fact there wasn't much left to cut.

PAUL SINCLAIR (is that his real name?) bonked about on the drums looking like a resprayed John McEnroe.

The chune ended in a sort of sleeping ovation from the punters. It was uncanny, you could have heard a bit of cotton snoring.

Time for the next funny sketch - The Soho Pimple and THE LLAMA & THE VIKING. I laughed, and so did Mint, but most folk just supped beer. Vikings romping around with South American mammals just aren't very big in Pompey at the moment. Mervyn becomes Dirk once more and Jump does another number, called "Debbie". "Are there any ladies in the audience called Debbie?" asked the bearded Thrust. No answer. He might as well have asked if there were any men in the audience called Debbie. The tune ends and Pompey says no to a sketch about Bingo. That's how things went for round one of 'Jump Live At The Sally', then. The music wasn't bad, but the panto was having a hard time.

During the interval, as we towelled off Dargon and brobatted his gum-shield, we suggested that he should go totally OVER THE TOP in the second half.

Thudakka thudakka pish!! The band erupted once more into Funkarooneysville. Feet tapped, peanut coladas trembled in their glasses, a car door slammed. Dargon goose-stepped and the dog howled. Things were hotting up. Dirk thrashed at his instrument like a vulture that had just given up dieting. Leon operated his bass guitar with the cool efficiency of a post-teenage missile aimer. The crowd, now numbering at least twenty, seemed to like the music. Between numbers with such evocative titles as "Reagan Roll" and "TV By Tears", I witnessed the phenomenon known as applause. The punters had been whipped like cream into a state of mass hysteria, stoked up by Dargon, the bulldozer of fun.

After "America The Free", we all hooted with laughter as we witnessed the MR. APATHY CONTEST, the winner receiving his sash and albums in a moving ceremony. A fitting end to a Wednesday night in DAYN-TAYN Fratton.

To wind up the show, Dargon introduced the band, each member party-piecing for a few seconds. Notable was Mr Sinclair's admirably brief drum solo - BONK... THUD... PISH! nice one.

The five tons of lighting gear were supplied by Mr VIRGIL C. O'CONUT of Rowner. Virgil will be vocalist for Jump very soon now. He should look really funny crooning away and holding his tri-colour torch at the same time.

The punters yelled for an encore. So they got one. And then we went home. And drank Horlicks.

The Jump mob are worth going to see and I predict they will be bigger than Hapshash & The Coloured Coat... (I'm not saying that just because Dirk repaired my VW)... (Yes, you are!) ... (No really, if the band get the endings of their numbers sorted out, they could be Solent City's answer to U2)... (Who wants to be a German submarine anyway?) - Gypsy Rose Shelf (Can I have some payola now?)

Jump live at The Salutation, Portsmouth 13/05/85
"Jump - THE hip hop"
"Jump versus The Salutation - The Return Match"

Yes folks, it's part two of the exciting serial DIRK THRUST & HIS HORDES OF CHORDS! In the last issue, we left up-and-coming Dirk, Paul and Leon playing three-a-side funkball against the Salutation's crack audience squad. This month, we have the replay, with the team bringing on new centre-forward vocalist VIRGIL C. TUNOCOC, and strum-half RABBITHOLE (Fergy) SAM to augment the line-up. The five lovable mopeds mopheads from South Hampshire had a new gimmick for this gig, namely Asiatic Mucine Fever, or FLU!

Like the 3.15.out of Paddington, Jump thundered through the set and the crowd loved it! Honestly, I'm not kidding! Sally or not, grown punters were seen whooping and baying like excited wildebeest at a stock-car race. The band were tight strumming and/or hitting their instruments with almost fender precision. With Coco on vocals, Dirk had more time to indulge in his very elastic style of guitar playing. The management will be scraping minims off the ceiling for weeks.

Rabbithole appeared from his warren occasionally and did things to his instrument. He pulls some very funny faces, which could be worthy of further study. When he plucks a high note, he screws up his face like a used tissue... and when he hits a mean bassy note, he sort of bends forward and opens his mouth to add extra resonance.

It is my theory that Mr. O'Conut inflates himself with helium before every gig. He sort of boings from plimmy to plimmy with the grace of a Goodyear airship.

The Salutation management had offered this re-booking on the condition that the band put a sock on the 'pantomime' bit, so there would be no 'Dirty Sodraphenia' tonight. However, the satirical nature of the lyrics was still able to shine through, ably assisted by the not-inconsiderable vocal talents of Virgil the Coconut of coconuts. (Unfortunately, no one shouted for 'Sun Cows' or 'I Am Your Uncle'... Ed.)

The show WAS occasionally punctuated by light-hearted jocularity amongst the members of the orchestra, the band seemingly enjoying themselves as much as the congregation, assembled to witness this PHENOMENON OF PHUN!

The evening was indeed going with a swing, it was good to be a hyper-critical rock journalist with a sense of fun, beer, cigarettes and foot-tappin' cha cha cha!

Before you could say "Nutbourne City Limits", it was band introduction time. Rabbithole resumed his now familiar role of Master-Of-Ceremonies, wrenched the mic from Coco's sweaty mitt and proceeded to tell lies about Dirk Thrust alias Mervyn Purviss alias Gareth 'Centre Lathe' Turner. If Dirk used to be in a heavy metal band, then my name's Harry the Hyrax! Dirk thrusted into "Smoke On The Water" - Crikey! perhaps he WAS in The Strawbs after all!

Next it was the turn of Paul 'C5' Sinclair alias Twasintha Midbleak-Winter, who appeared to be wrestling with an invisible gerbil. Sensational!

'Sierra' Leon Hayman frapped in with a bass solo, then proceeded to sing a few lines of something that even Simon LeBon's own mother wouldn't recognize.

Coconut reminded us that cabaret is still alive and kicking and stuck like a leech to his tonsils. As he sang 'Moon River' his microphone actually swooned. It took a rip-snorting rendition of "Shakin' Al Loafer" to revive that particular piece of chrome-plated apparatus. The punters like it too.

Everyone shouted either for a Pink Floyd soundtrack album or an obscure and overweight, third division heavy metal band (think about it!). Jump jumped back to play a reprise of one of their greatest hits from the set; I'm blowed if I can remember which one, but it involved guitars, bass, vocals and drums, if that's any help to you.

Our advice to the public is: Get their autographs NOW, before they all buy trout farms on the Isle of Bute. If you don't go to see them soon, you're a sissy...

AND SOME OTHER ODDS AND SODS (from the HAHT GASSUP pages of "The Gridler")

The Jump gig on April 25th was, of course, stunning. But then this review business is getting out of hand, so just take it as read...

Bruised Banana affiliates JUMP have changed their name, due to 'a number of other bands and biscuits masquerading under that name'. The new name TV BY TEARS has been taken from one of their song titles. The band has gone from strength to strength, as anyone who witnessed their recent gigs at The Craigstone and The Salutation will tell you. And it seems that the band were the biggest thing to hit Liss in a long time.

The CLASHING 2 MOBILE has been recording all the recent TV BY TEARS gigs for future compilation into some sort of live album.

If you get a chance to see the video of the Ferneham Hall “LIVE AID” charity gig, do so! Our chums TV BY TEARS put in a sparkling performance (with Coconut bouncing in fine form) and Wild Willy Barrett's set has to be seen to be believed. Whether you were at the gig or not, the video will provide hours of entertainment (even if only to play the "Spot The Gridler In The Background" game).

Taking Gridling To The Masses Dept.: Mint can currently be seen playing highly-suspect trumpet and percussion under the pseudonym "MILES DEVIANT" during TV BY TEARS wacky stage shows.

Hot beat combo TV BY TEARS are still wowing them in the aisles at every conceivable opportunity in the local musical alehouses. Look out for them soon at The Craigstone (Denmead), The Joiner's Arms (Southampton), The Onslow (also in Southampton) and The Royal Oak (Winchester), all fairly regular gigs. Yet another new song has been added to their already extensive repertoire, with another in the rehearsal pipeline, provisionally entitled *“Bombay Mix”; a return to the more theatrical/satirical kinda t'ing, *written in cahoots with the Peppermint Wordsmith of this parish, who is also treading the boards as MILES DEVIANT, ace mutant jazzer and practitioner of the atonal.

* Anyone remember this? I don't!