I have extensive experience as a music critic, dating back to the mid-late 1990s (writing for Nottingham-based listings magazine, The Pulse). After a hiatus, I began writing about music again in 2007, starting with the complete history of the original ‘indie’ record label, New Hormones (Buzzcocks “Spiral Scratch”, etc) – extracts from this were published by FACT magazine, BBC online and as the sleeve note to the LTM CD Auteur Labels: New Hormones. The full history of New Hormones can be read online at

Here is a selection of comments I have received about my label history:

This just in: someone somewhere has stolen my memories – must have, ‘cos this exemplary site seems to have them. Thanks, ‘cos I’m not sure I’ve enough room on the aging biodrive.” – Richard Boon, founder and label head, New Hormones Records / ex-manager, Buzzcocks

“Really impressive” – Simon Reynolds, music critic (author of the books Rip it Up, Energy Flash, Blissed Out, The Sex Revolts [with Joy Press] and Bring the Noise)

“The site is great. Very useful” – Jon Savage, music critic (author of the books England’s Dreaming, Time Travel and Teenage)

“Comprehensive” – The Wire magazine, April 2008

“Impressively exhaustive” – Chris Long, BBC Manchester

“Beautifully and meticulously done, well worth a read” – Julia Adamson, Manchester musician (member of The Fall 1995-2001) and recording engineer

“What an incredible labour of love this site is! Respect is due.” – Irk the Purists blog

Since 2007, I have written for a number of internationally renowned music publications: including SPIN (SPIN Earth), Vice magazine (Vice Belgium) and, most frequently, FACT magazine in London. A small selection of this writing can be read below.


For anyone who took a serious interest in electronic music in the ’90s, the name Oval evokes memories of playful, groundbreaking, at times beautiful music underpinned by a theoretical discourse and a determine to expose the means of production unseen since the salad days of Scritti Politti. After nine years away from the scene, it is heartening to know that Oval (otherwise known as Markus Popp) maintains his capacity to challenge and surprise, both in his recordings (is that a guitar and drums I hear?) and in his interaction with the mass media.

In this illuminating interview, he discusses the genesis of both his new EP “o(h)” and the forthcoming double CD o.

Why the nine-year hiatus between releases?

I see the  “oh” EP and the subsequent double album simply as the beginning of the next chapter in my ongoing critical dialogue with music. And while oval tracks from the Systemisch-days were engaging with music on a pretty basic and unsophisticated (yet effective) level, the “o(h)” releases can now confidently challenge music on its’ own turf – a much better position to be in.

Of course engaging with music in such a constructive, yet critical manner is easy to claim – being able to actually pull it off was what took me all this time.  But after I had all the tech aspect down, things went pretty quickly from there. From here on out, a lot of exciting stuff is possible. And yet, my work is all about introducing new distinctions into music – just as it always was. Only this time, everything happens inside the music container.

The press release for the EP, ‘oh’, goes into considerable detail about the new recording setup and working methods you have employed for these latest tracks. What led you to this new approach and when did you start work on the recordings?

My goal was to bring out / bring back the “music” in “electronic music”. Therefore, the production of “o(h)” was often all about ending up with the best possible take. You know, that one recording that is worth practicing an entire day for, the one that can convey a certain elegance & sophistication beyond all that tech involved.  But of course I had to keep it contemporary – no musical revisionism or falling back behind what oval had already accomplished – so don’t expect an album with cover versions any time soon.

Mind you, the “o(h)” releases are NOT my love letter to music. To me, joining the music game is more a pragmatic decision: it means to establish myself as a producer, widen the frame of reference and to ask for a fair chance to show what my music can really do in the real world.

Now, I would not want to go as far as saying that the oval from the “Systemisch”-era ended up the way it did – e.g. the refusal to engage with music and instead discussing workflow & productivity – all out of sheer RESPECT for music…but then again, I am definitely not an “anti-musician” and have never been one.

The press release also says that “scales, harmonics and melody are the foundation of this music instead of theory and meta-discourse”. Can one assume then that you are no longer interested in – to quote the title of an old Oval track – ‘The politics of digital audio’?

Well, engaging in a critical dialogue with music simply means to start dealing with scales, harmonics and melody – no more, no less. The real challenge is to end up with music that can build an alternative semantic on top of those formal aspects and deliver striking, “just listen!”-type of music that can really move people.

Well, and I guess “o(h)” would not be an oval record without some sort of twist, be it in the form of something you can never can quite put your finger on or in the form of some performative self-contradiction. Here’s an example: today, it’s widely agreed that the “Systemisch”-era oval delivered involving, touching music *despite* all that extra meta-discourse and my constant claims that all this “was not about music”.  This was one of the elements that kept people guessing: on the one hand, early oval was a deliberately limited, direct artefact of the generative methods used and yet, it was full of finely crafted, organic textures and haunting tunes.

Fast forward to 2010. This time around, that inexplicable last bit / self-contradicting part of the “new” oval sound might be its’ “trompe l’oeil”-aspect, who knows? Just give your guitar- (or piano-) playing friend some drum-free MP3s off the “o(h)” EP’s B-side (or better, the interludes off o‘s CD1) and ask him/her to play a cover version… I think the “o(h)” releases are capable of surprising anyone on almost any level. These two new releases may not have “WATERSHED MOMENT” written all over them, but this new material has the power to lock you in an intense staring contest for a long time.

The “politics of digital audio” were a typical oval stance from the mid-90s, when the handling of digital musical productivity tools was more like a vast collective beta test, an adaptation process to those then genuinely new workflows. To hint at the mere eventuality that – what most producers at the time mainly celebrated as sheer “creative possibilities” – could have in fact have any political implications whatsoever, was one of the foundations (and, if may I say so, achievements) of the early oval programmatic.

And even though the entire game has of course substantially changed since 1992, I still consider myself first observer, then artist/musician. But then again, you can always read “political” implications into pretty much anything…

If not Capitalism & Schizophrenia, what writings – or other art forms – have been a source of inspiration for these new recordings? I note, for instance, that the cover image for the EP was designed by Céleste Boursier-Mougenot. What is its significance?

That irresistibly cute photo of those birds on that Les Paul was in fact very significant, but I am almost ashamed to say that quite possibly for all the wrong reasons, namely first and foremost for its spot-on atmosphere. And of course there’s this certain vague (and wacky) metaphorical subtext that seems to hint at (or mock?) the new oval sound. I definitely would love to see and hear that sound installation in real life one day. Until then, this installation definitely seems to inspire many interview questions, but those always put me in a slightly awkward position. But it was nice to hear that almost everyone thought these birds were 3D renderings, whereas I liked the authentic “snapshot” appeal of that photo.

The only other artform with a huge influence on “o(h)” was music itself – precisely, listening to tons of music of all kinds. Not to emulate music by the book, but to understand “how music works” and to figure out what my own contribution to music could be. The rest was practice, practice, practice.

In a radical departure there are what sound like guitars and drums on a number of the tracks. How were these sounds produced and how conscious were you during recording of not wanting to sound like your previous output?

Yes, radical departure was absolutely the mission, on all levels: technically, musically, aesthetically. To go beyond my previous output (instrumentation etc) was also essential – in order to put things newly in perspective and to see how it felt after changing sides.  And why not bring along some of the most unlikely candidates for instrumentation along for this journey, namely guitars & drums? But seriously, I actually wanted to use guitar-y textures/dynamics in my music for a long time – and the drums  were also a long-overdue addition.

What strikes me as a bit odd, though, is that some of the initial reactions to my new sound seem to stop at the mere fact that there apparently are now “instruments”, when it in fact should be clear that the mere presence of an instrument says nothing about the quality of the result. I mean, everyone who can tell his favorite music(ian) from the also-rans will immediately remember that it always made a world of a difference HOW parts/instruments are performed and that we always look for “that certain something” which makes all the difference.

Anyway, this “certain something” is what I spent all that time on:  to be able to generate these phrases, make them happen exactly in this way with my own hands, whereas disruption of music/tech from a perpetual “outsider’s perspective” only gets you this far.

So why not just hire a live band? Because I wanted to experience the entire process myself in order to be able to tell the full story afterwards. Also, it was more fun to engage in this exercise of emulating & performing live music dynamics than to front a “real” band – at least for now.

When was the last time you listened to Systemisch and what did you think? How do you feel about the fact that a disruptive way of using music playback technology with strong anti-capitalist intentions has become (just) a(nother) genre: glitch? Are you pleased or saddened by the latest attempt to relaunch Mille Plateaux the label?

Systemisch was a clear-cut & basic, yet very focused (if a bit demonstrative) endeavor, very aware of its strengths and limitations – in one word: effective. It was exactly what I wanted it to be at the time. But revisiting it today, totally out of context, works too.  In a way, Systemisch was a prototype  which brought along its own context…

Well, “anti-capitalist” is a strong (and loaded) term to describe my standpoints at the time. Of course there was a lot of enthusiasm and determination to prove something – for example, to point to problematic factors in those “creative possibilities”. But it was also clear at any moment that ultimately, any disruption of the status quo would inevitably only optimize the status quo. This was exactly the “systemic” character of this whole endeavor: there was no outside of the system. Plus, after all, Systemisch was never distributed for free, but it was just another standard retail CD/LP on store shelves – so much for anti-capitalism.

A lot of the tracks on “O(h)” are very short, and only the opening track, ‘Hey’ exceeds three minutes. Is the EP in some sense a preparatory sketch for the forthcoming double album, and can we expect to hear longer works on that? Will there be anything on there as long as ‘Do While’?

With this new material, I was aiming at giving each track its most convincing musical form, regardless of a lot of factors, including total track length. That’s why some tracks ended up as “miniatures” (side B), while others are formatted as “songs” (side A). My main concern was to give each track a chance to truly shine. Pardon the comparison, but who would complain that some of Ligeti’s etudes for piano were “alright, but maybe a bit on the short side”?

In addition to that, some tracks using certain phrases/motifs would in fact waste or even completely lose all of their momentum when adding variations – or adding any other sounds for that matter. That’s exactly why all tracks on side B of the “o(h)” EP (same goes for CD2 of the upcoming album) are these pure, simple miniatures – what you hear is the essence of each track to get across the maximum emotion. On a technical level, extending the length of a track – either by looping the track around all the way at the end or by copy/pasting parts – is neither a technical achievement nor a very convincing strategy and it probably never was.

That epic version of ‘Do While’ (on the 94Diskont album) was more a document than a deliberate “extended version” of the regular cut. The shorter edit (also on that album and used for the music video) was the original version, while the 24-minute-version was the 1-1 edit for an early oval multichannel/128-speaker sound installation. The original FOSTEX R8 8-track reel-to-reel tapes this installation ran on, had a maximum playtime of 24 minutes each.

What else can you tell us about the album?

o will expand and supersede the EP considerably, hopefully on all levels. In fact, the decision to issue a limited-edition EP was made after the overall trajectory of the album had already been decided…therefore, many tracks from the “misc” folder ended up on that EP.

The album will be a double CD with a total playing time of more than 2 hours. CD1 will feature  10 songs + 10 shorter interludes (plus 6 vinyl-exclusive bonus tracks for the LP version = 3 long + 3 short ones), while CD2 will be a “sketchbook” with 50 miniatures, which follow the same minimal “hi emo impact” idea, but are much catchier than what you hear on side B of the EP.

Regarding those songs on CD1: of course there are many different approaches to write a song , but I gave it my best shot, even though I ended up more like scratching the surface of what I initially wanted to do. Regarding those 10 interludes off CD1, I would go as far as saying it will be very hard to not be moved. The miniatures on CD2  are a “best of”-selection of what once started as the “ringtone project” (I use the term ringtone with regard to formatting, not qualitatively). Again, I was trying to pick the most gripping and most “visual” tracks for the album. At some point, working titles for that CD2 were “Project Evergreen” and  “Hey, visual creator!”.

What plans do you have to perform live as Oval?

No concrete plans / dates yet. It will happen, though.

(Originally published by FACT magazine, June 2010).


Ben Frost – By The Throat [Bedroom Community]

The Iceland-based Australian Ben Frost has been operating at the nexus of minimalism, post-rock, nu metal, ambient and 80s alt.rock for the best part of a decade, most notably on the widely acclaimed 2006 release, Theory of Machines.

His latest album By The Throat adds a wider instrumental pallet – brass, strings, piano, koto – and a range of environmental sounds to the template established on its fearsome predecessor.

In a recent interview with the milk factory, Frost stated that the new album is representative of his recent listening habits: The Cure’s Seventeen Seconds, Penderecki’s Third Symphony and Chris Watson’s recordings of the natural world.

The Cure influence is there in the guitar and the general sense of gloom that pervades the album, Penderecki in the romanticism, dissonance and tone clusters (and in the track ‘Hibakusja’, whose title refers to the Japanese name for survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki – a deliberate nod to the Polish composer’s Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima?)

The Watson influence is the most subtle, but gives rise to two of the standout moments of this excellent LP. First on ‘O God Protect Me’, where the sound of someone on a life support machine forms the rhythm track and then later, the recording of wolves howling that brings the beautiful ‘Leo Needs a New Pair of Shoes’ to a close.

The wolves also make a brief appearance in the course of the two-part epic ‘Peter Venkman’. The namecheck for Venkman (Bill Murray’s character in Ghostbusters) gives a hint of the overall picture: By The Throat is soundtrack music searching for a movie. That much is evident from the opening ‘Killshot’, which marries Eraserhead-esque sound design with a Barry Adamson-style neo-noir tune, right through to the closing trilogy of tracks describing the trajectory of a bullet, ‘Through The Glass of the Roof’/’Through The Roof of Your Mouth’/’Through The Mouth of Your Eye’. However, unlike Adamson, and other purveyors of “imaginary soundtracks”, Frost says he wants to present ideas, but not how the listener feels about them: “How you construct a narrative, if at all, is not in my control”.

Yet, this is a music-maker very much in control of his materials: every note, every tempo change, every effect seems carefully calculated to provide the maximum impact. ‘Hibakusja’ is exemplary in this regard, like a fight between melody and noise, where first one then the other is on top, but neither can gain complete supremacy, the listener watching from the sidelines transfixed by the desperate poetry of their movements.

I started to write that Ben Frost is a worthy heir to the likes of Glenn Branca, Rhys Chatham and Mick Harris. Scratch that: there is nothing in any of their bodies of work to match the music on By The Throat. In a word, stunning.


(Originally published by FACT magazine, January 2010).


In April 1980, a collective of friends based around the offices of New Hormones records in Manchester launched a new club night in the city. The group included Richard Boon (New Hormones label chief and Buzzcocks manager), Eric Random (then a member of Pete Shelley’s side project, The Tiller Boys), Sue Cooper (accountant for Buzzcocks and New Hormones), Lindsay Wilson (Tony Wilson’s ex-wife – now Lindsay Reade) and Suzanne O’Hara (Martin Hannett’s girlfriend). Held each Tuesday (“there may have been some exceptions”, says Boon), The Beach Club would showcase “cult, weird films with cult, weird bands,” he explains.

“Although Lindsay Reade might dispute this, I think I found the venue for the Beach Club,” says Liz Naylor, who together with partner Cath Carroll, published City Fun fanzine, put together from a desk at the New Hormones HQ at 50 Newton Street. Oozits, formerly known as the Picador, “used to be a really disreputable, scuzzy gay club,” recalls Naylor. “It was completely horrid. It was a complete firetrap. And it had a sort of seedy ambience that was perfect.”

Oozits was situated on Newgate Street in Shudehill, close to Manchester Victoria railway station. “It was a very seedy area,” recalls Manchester music historian and ex-Alberto y Lost Trios Paranoias frontman, CP Lee. “There were dreadful hardcore porn shops that had wooden windows because they were always being set on fire or kicked in.”

“At the Beach Club, you’d walk in, go up a really nasty, rickety flight of stairs, pass a really horrible toilet, go up some more stairs and there was the room where they showed the films. On the top floor, you had the bands,” recalls Naylor. “It could have out-seeded the club in Blue Velvet,” reckons Dislocation Dance drummer, Dick Harrison.

The club’s name was inspired both by the Situationist slogan, ‘under the pavement: the beach,’ and by a poster belonging to Richard Boon’s friend Jon Savage for a 1960s exploitation movie called Horror on Party Beach. “It was a kind of rock’n’roll/Annette Funicello film, but with atomic creatures coming out of the sea and ripping teenagers to shreds,” explains Ken Hollings of Biting Tongues, one of the groups who played the club.

Not everyone got or cared about the references, recounts Naylor. “At the time we just thought, ‘oh, The Beach Club: let’s go there.’ We were 20 years old or whatever – it’s just somewhere you go and get drunk.”

The club’s founders had much more ambitious and idealistic motives, however. “When I asked Richard why he set up the club, he talked quite a lot about really needing to carry on the impetus of the Factory, about creating a space,” says Naylor. “There was nowhere which had that sense which the Factory at the PSV did, of a community,” says Boon. [Tony Wilson and Alan Erasmus’s Factory at the PSV (aka the Russell Club, Hulme) ran from May 1978 to September 1979].

For Eric Random, “One of the reasons for starting the Beach Club was to do things like Certain Random Cabaret [a joint performance with members of A Certain Ratio and Cabaret Voltaire] – entertaining with the films, but also mixing the groups together. Different combinations of people would play at certain times. They were all just little experiments really. Nothing was focused to anything in the future. They were one-off things.”

Sue Cooper’s father ran film distribution company, Contemporary Films, as well as London’s Phoenix Cinema. “Through her family connections she could track down which distributor had what and she knew what to say,” explains Boon. “Don’t know where we got the projector: probably from the Manchester Film and Video Workshop, which was basically a guy called Bob Jones.”

“We had to become a registered film club,” says Random. Members paid 25p to join. “It was such a small space that it was quite limited musically as to what we could put on. I enjoyed putting the films on more than anything,” he recalls.

Screenings included art house staples such as Kenneth Anger’s Scorpio Rising, Cocteau’s Orphee and Tod Browning’s Freaks. “In the days before video there wasn’t much of an outlet for this kind of film,” says Cath Carroll. “Admittedly, there was the Aaben in Hulme, which was excellent, but it tended to show much drier fare,” she adds.

Bands were allowed to pick the films that appeared the night they played. “Or I’d give them a choice of so many films,” says Random. “Eraserhead was our choice of movie,” recalls Ian Runacres of Dislocation Dance. “We had an argument about whether it should be Pepe le Moko or Orphee,” says Dick Witts of The Passage.

“It was like a sandwich – film, band, film, band – it just went on for hours,” says Fraser Reich (aka Fraser Diagram of The Diagram Brothers). “The Beach Club was fantastic: very original.”

CP Lee played the Beach Club with an Albertos offshoot, (“probably The George Sugden XI”). “I remember thinking, Richard’s doing what we used to do in the 1960s – put a band on with a film showing at the same time; dancers; just weird shit. It was great!”

“Watching the films there felt rather illicit and underground,” recollects Carroll. “There was a bit of a frisson when they showed A Clockwork Orange because it was still banned,” confirms Fraser Diagram. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Ai-No-Corrida also found their way to the Beach Club’s screen.

“People wanted to see them, you know. It seems ridiculous now you can watch them on TV,” says Random.

“All the Factory crew came down the Beach Club,” remembers Peter Wright, who managed Dislocation Dance and later helped Boon out with the running of New Hormones. “A lot of the bands that played at the Beach Club were Factory bands,” adds Random. New Order played their first ever gig at the club on July 29, 1980, disguised as The Names. They wanted a sympathetic crowd for their debut. “I think everyone in the audience knew them,” says Random.  “I just remember them being terrible and shambolic,” says Naylor. “They sounded like Popol Vuh,” reckons Boon.

The roll call of Beach Club veterans stretches from the Diagram Brothers and Kevin Hewick to the Mudhutters and Royal Family and the Poor. “I remember seeing Section 25 and having to walk out of the room because they were so loud,” says Naylor. One surprising and very well-known name also chalked up at a gig at the Beach Club, as Eric Random recalls: “I remember we tried to book Blurt and the agent said if you’re having Blurt will you have this other band that we’ve got. I said ‘alright, we’ll have them as support’. So we get there and there’s this huge artic – you couldn’t even get it in the same street. The band had endless equipment. Blurt saw this and left in the end. It was a complete disaster… So U2 ended up playing there, but I left, I didn’t watch them.”

The Beach Club didn’t last long. “It seemed to go on forever, but I think it only lasted six weeks or so,” says Carroll. “We were running out of music to put on,” recalls Random. The precise date of the final Beach Club is unclear, although a Melody Maker article from February 28, 1981, refers to the club as having closed down “when attendance began to drop.”

“The flyer for the last night was the last page of Horror on Party Beach, a detourned page from the comic of the film,” recalls Boon. “The last panel was a speech bubble saying ‘There’s nothing go on here but the recordings. Let’s Fuck. The End’.”

Eric Random says that, “Afterwards, somebody sneaked in and carried on the name for about a year.”

Despite its short lifespan, The Beach Club has left its mark.

“It was as important in changing clubbing in Manchester as the Hacienda,” reckons Graham Massey (Biting Tongues, 808 State). “It was the first time Manchester focused in that arts way, because it had cinema and everything as well. It had that feel.” For Biting Tongues drummer, Eddie Sherwood,  “It was more than just a club where you went and got drunk and watched a band.”

“Looking back it was probably the best club night in Manchester at the time,” says Andy Diagram. “[The Hacienda] took the idea of the Beach Club and made it bigger, “ believes Naylor. “We didn’t give it a catalogue number, possibly a mistake,” muses Boon.

The former site of the club was razed several years ago and a car park built over it. But the memories and influence live on. Under the pavement…

(Originally published in February 2008 as part of Indie Originals: The New Hormones Story –


OSA zijn vier knappe gasten uit Londen, die vorige week op Les Nuits Botanique speelden, make-up dragen en liedjes zingen over de BBC. Allemaal heel leuk, maar natuurlijk moesten we daar een paar vragen over stellen en over hun debuutalbum Understanding Electricity, vooraleer we het over de belangrijke dingen konden hebben. Je weet wel: schoenen, kraaien, grieten en appelblauwzeegroene testikels.

Vice: is het nummer Girl From the BBC geschreven met een welbepaald meisje in gedachten?

Tom: Het is eigenlijk een fantasie over alles wat je wil dat er in je leven gebeurt. We hebben wel een grappige reactie gekregen van de BBC over die titel. Telkens we met iemand van de BBC spraken vroegen ze ons: ’Now, who is this girl?’ Ook alle vrouwelijke radio-omroepsters vroegen dat.

Michael: Alle stagiaires stonden te trillen of waren overenthousiast over het feit dat we een nummer hadden geschreven …

[kijkt naar benden en merkt de schoenen van Lawrence op]: Hey, je draagt ‘spats’?!

Lawrence: Ja.

Tom: Ik zou zeggen dat we zeker en vast een ‘spats’ band zijn.

De grootste ‘spats’ band sinds Kid Creole and the Coconuts.

Lawrence: Jep.

(vraagt iets saai over de groepsnaam…)

Tom: Een paar dagen geleden heb ik een kerel van rond de zestig leren kennen in een pub. Hij maakte vroeger deel uit van een prog band met de naam ‘Turquoise Testicle’, totaal krankzinnig. Toen hij me vertelde wat de naam van zijn band was, zei hij er nog bij: ‘Je moet begrijpen dat die naam in die tijd cool klonk. Over veertig jaar zal je ook denken dat Official Secrets Act onnozel klinkt.

Op jullie myspace staat iets over een kraai met de naam Edgar. Wat is daar de bedoeling van?

Alexander: Ik heb een kraai.

Als huisdier?

Alexander: Min of meer, ja.

Is dat wel legaal?

Tom: We hebben in ons busje een tak gezet waarop hij naar voor en naar achter wiegt.

Lawrence: Eerlijk gezegd, denk ik dat er wel meer groepen zijn die een kraai kunnen gebruiken. Er zijn teveel groepen met lelijk haar en te weinig groepen met kraaien.?Tom: We zijn aan het sparen voor een echte kraai. Dat is ons doel.

Een kauw?

Tom: Waarom geen roek?

Michael: Je zou natuurlijk ook een stapje verder kunnen gaan en een raaf nemen.

Tom: We zouden een hele vloot vogels in een volière kunnen hebben.

Lawrence: En als we in Amerika touren dan kunnen we een arend meenemen.

Tom: Ik weet het niet man, ik wil het Amerikaanse nationalisme nog niet meer aanwakkeren.

Lawrence: Dat is waar. We nemen wel een duif mee. Keep it real, keep it English.

Je kan er een meepakken van Trafalger Square.

Tom: Zeker en vast.

(stelt een saaie vraag over het album….)

Lawrence: [praat over het album]… en dat lijk me veel interessanter dan op te scheppen door te zeggen dat je op tournee bent geweest, je gezopen hebt, wat vrouwen ontmoet hebt en dat je Fender versterkers hebt. We hebben ook Fender versterkers en die zijn fantastisch, maar …

En jullie hebben vrouwen ontmoet, daar ben ik zeker van.

Lawrence: We hebben vrouwen ontmoet, we hebben kraaien ontmoet, we hebben alles ontmoet.

Tom: We hebben zelfs een heks ontmoet. We mochten in haar prachtige huis slapen.

Michael: In Inverness, Schotland.

Is er nog iets dat jullie kwijt willen?

Lawrence: Is dit voor iets Belgisch?


Tom: Metal up your ass!

Lawrence: New Wave up your ass!


(Originally published by Vice Belgium – – April 2009).

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