Presently, I find myself 'pon hands and knees, snuggled beneath a gorse bush. The bush that offers substantial shelter from the most harsh of elements.
It is the annual under-Twenty One's golf tournament, hosted at Hampton Court Palace, that spells the beginning of the explanation as to why I'm located thus.
James Peterson, Under-Twenty One's champion began his Eighteen-hole set when, suddenly, I was overcome with the urge to satiate myself with His Majesty's London Dry, conveniently located on my person.
What ensued, however, was the most unintended of consequences.
Mr Peterson, obviously not an object of particular interest in my prior state, began to take a marked dislike to my golfing hints and tips (to his loss, I believe).
Being quite insistent on the factual grounding of my advice, I retorted with.. language of which I forget the specific nature..
The consequence of this ill-judged advice is that I sought refuge from both physical harm and for the further consumption of London's finest.
Mysteriously, my purse and its contents seem to have become misplaced somewhere during this episode, along with the contents of my bladder into the ground around me.
Ever the chap to get the job done regardless, I can quite confidently brand Mr.Peterson's golfing performance as "Underwhelming" and cause for further consumption.
Sunday 15 May 2011
Behind The Magic
“An actual pet monkey!?” screamed Ross. It was like a wacky TV sitcom, whereby a far-out element is introduced to the otherwise pedestrian happenings, in order to cause upset to the situation and hopefully resulting in hilarity ensuing.
Lloyd walked into the room with a knowing grin on his face and the monkey (called Fred) plodded in afterwards, limbs swinging and weighted. Lloyd kicked the monkey and laughed. He kicked the monkey so as to illicit a reaction. A reaction from Ross or the monkey itself.
He immediately realised the futility of his actions. Not in a causal sense. I mean.. The monkey did howl one heck of a lot.. I just mean.. in an existential sense.. What was the fucking point of kicking the monkey so that it screamed so that Ross was shocked so that Lloyd was gratified?
Lloyd thought about this for a bit, then stopped kicking the monkey so hard.
Walking into the overgrown gardens of Rigdale Studios, Lloyd found a broken glass vase. He picked it up and eyed it. “Perhaps if my actions were being described in a faux-newspaper column, this would be mentioned, as a man picking up a broken glass vase in the overgrown gardens of a dilapidated recording studio would be quite profound to some people..”, thought Lloyd.
“But heck, those people are cunts..”. He threw the vase further into the overgrowth and forgot about it.
Ross was upstairs taking a piss when, after giving it much thought, he decided that today he would wash his hands. So, he washed them.
Reconvening downstairs, the two members of Panda Bear Jones sat on the old futon next to each other. They each looked down at the dead monkey and sighed. Pausing, they then glanced at each other. “Shall we record a song.?...” mused Ross lethargically. “May as well..” replied Lloyd.
A week later, the song 'Stuck In Eggbuckland' was written, recorded and put online. The rest is history.
Lloyd walked into the room with a knowing grin on his face and the monkey (called Fred) plodded in afterwards, limbs swinging and weighted. Lloyd kicked the monkey and laughed. He kicked the monkey so as to illicit a reaction. A reaction from Ross or the monkey itself.
He immediately realised the futility of his actions. Not in a causal sense. I mean.. The monkey did howl one heck of a lot.. I just mean.. in an existential sense.. What was the fucking point of kicking the monkey so that it screamed so that Ross was shocked so that Lloyd was gratified?
Lloyd thought about this for a bit, then stopped kicking the monkey so hard.
Walking into the overgrown gardens of Rigdale Studios, Lloyd found a broken glass vase. He picked it up and eyed it. “Perhaps if my actions were being described in a faux-newspaper column, this would be mentioned, as a man picking up a broken glass vase in the overgrown gardens of a dilapidated recording studio would be quite profound to some people..”, thought Lloyd.
“But heck, those people are cunts..”. He threw the vase further into the overgrowth and forgot about it.
Ross was upstairs taking a piss when, after giving it much thought, he decided that today he would wash his hands. So, he washed them.
Reconvening downstairs, the two members of Panda Bear Jones sat on the old futon next to each other. They each looked down at the dead monkey and sighed. Pausing, they then glanced at each other. “Shall we record a song.?...” mused Ross lethargically. “May as well..” replied Lloyd.
A week later, the song 'Stuck In Eggbuckland' was written, recorded and put online. The rest is history.
PBJ; For Now
Many low-grade bands have passed through Rigdale Studios in their time due to the convenient location, non-existent quality control and poor book-keeping for payments. Panda Bear Jones, recording their hit single “Christmas Announcement” were disturbed by one such band only the other week.
“The Clown” were recording their cover of 'Give Peace A Chance', for the Help For Heroes charity and in the process, littered the new Panda Bear Jones track with a series of foot-stomping clangs (they were recording in the room directly above) which cost the band a great deal of money for re-recordings, as well as a further potential touring partner severance.
It was a kick in the teeth for the band, to have such hard work metaphorically pooed on, but, ever determined, they hammered on.
Upon finishing the track, Panda Bear Jones set out to support their long-time friend and musical partner, The Schoolmaster in his short tour of Devon & Cornwall. What they'd failed to factor in, however, was that Lloyd had a pre-booked weekly back massage session (birthday present) that he'd “be a fool not to attend” (quote, Mother). The decision was hard, but, ultimately, the band opted not to partake in the 'Smile One Last Time, Christ, Life Is Awful' tour.
Being composed, as they were, of morally flaccid material, the band opted not to 'ring in sick' and instead simply did not turn up at any of the scheduled tour dates. Even to this day, months after that fateful event, The Schoolmaster refuses to address either members of the band by name, nor speak of their Facebook and Myspace pages.
As all trite stories go, it did turn out well however. Panda Bear Jones recorded “Stuck In Eggbuckland”, “Christmas Announcement” and another secret number that is (at the time of writing) unrevealed, as well as a second national radio appearance on Tom Robinson's BBC Radio 6 show (4th April 2011), with the track 'Evil Little Hands'.
It's also probably appropriate, right here, to announce that the band has captured a percussionist. The excellent Steve Brown has been successfully snared from the wild and made to hit his wooden box in exchange for oatmeal and semi-refuge from the elements (living in the outhouse of Rigdale Studios). Steve had to undergo a stringent recruitment and interview process, including gender, racial and sexual orientation vetting (NO MEN, NO WHITE MEN, NO STRAIGHT WHITE MEN) before being accepted by the band.
The band like him.
“The Clown” were recording their cover of 'Give Peace A Chance', for the Help For Heroes charity and in the process, littered the new Panda Bear Jones track with a series of foot-stomping clangs (they were recording in the room directly above) which cost the band a great deal of money for re-recordings, as well as a further potential touring partner severance.
It was a kick in the teeth for the band, to have such hard work metaphorically pooed on, but, ever determined, they hammered on.
Upon finishing the track, Panda Bear Jones set out to support their long-time friend and musical partner, The Schoolmaster in his short tour of Devon & Cornwall. What they'd failed to factor in, however, was that Lloyd had a pre-booked weekly back massage session (birthday present) that he'd “be a fool not to attend” (quote, Mother). The decision was hard, but, ultimately, the band opted not to partake in the 'Smile One Last Time, Christ, Life Is Awful' tour.
Being composed, as they were, of morally flaccid material, the band opted not to 'ring in sick' and instead simply did not turn up at any of the scheduled tour dates. Even to this day, months after that fateful event, The Schoolmaster refuses to address either members of the band by name, nor speak of their Facebook and Myspace pages.
As all trite stories go, it did turn out well however. Panda Bear Jones recorded “Stuck In Eggbuckland”, “Christmas Announcement” and another secret number that is (at the time of writing) unrevealed, as well as a second national radio appearance on Tom Robinson's BBC Radio 6 show (4th April 2011), with the track 'Evil Little Hands'.
It's also probably appropriate, right here, to announce that the band has captured a percussionist. The excellent Steve Brown has been successfully snared from the wild and made to hit his wooden box in exchange for oatmeal and semi-refuge from the elements (living in the outhouse of Rigdale Studios). Steve had to undergo a stringent recruitment and interview process, including gender, racial and sexual orientation vetting (NO MEN, NO WHITE MEN, NO STRAIGHT WHITE MEN) before being accepted by the band.
The band like him.
Under 21's Golfing News - 1
Consigned to the tedium of watching young master Tom Rowland play his game of golf again, I moped in the wagon, all windows drawn to shield me from the wind and rain, in a service station's parking area.
Thoughts of many vices began to manifest themselves whilst the hip-flask, warm and inviting, emptied.
“Young Tom”, I thought. For a bit. “Young Tom, with your life ahead of you.”; “Do you ever cry at night, Tom? Do you ever wish the sheer misery of existence would stop, just for a moment?”.
“Do you ever ponder the universe's matter-of-fact nature, late at night, and consider how insignificant we all are in this, Tom? How Mother Nature, cold and insentient, lies dormant whilst her instinctive mood swings are exacted upon us; her subjects?”. “Do you ever yearn for pure truth, pure beauty and pure reason to manifest themselves to you, revealing their secrets?”.....
Upon being roused by a Police Officer, I was appalled to discover that somebody had planted human faeces into my underwear and vomited over myself and the leather seating.
Upon reflection, I decided that the Police have far more important things to deal with; murders to solve, rapists to catch, instead of this incident, which is why I did not report it.
The Butler Attack
WOULD YOU LIKE MORE COFFEE, SIR? No. FUCK OFF.
After a litany of complaints to studio management about the absence of anything resembling hospitality services, Rigdale advertised for a butler. This was mainly to placate any 'artist' who managed to find their way to the lore-surrounded studios and make them feel justified in parting with so much for so little.
A man named Anton filled this role for just under two weeks:
Panda Bear Jones were recording in the now-historically-significant room #012 when, in accordance with his duties, Anton knocked twice to signify his presence and therefore the availability of light snacks and beverages.
Escaping Anton's limited cognitive perception was the fact that the room was not soundproofed in either direction (due to budgeting issues) whatsoever, and that the studio's last reel of tape was being recorded onto with Rigdale's resident string quintet.
Escaping Anton's limited cognitive perception was the fact that the room was not soundproofed in either direction (due to budgeting issues) whatsoever, and that the studio's last reel of tape was being recorded onto with Rigdale's resident string quintet.
Disastrously, Anton had unknowingly ruined Panda Bear Jones' last chance at capturing the swooping crescendo of their in-development foray into gaudery, the Richard Wagner tribute, “Father, No!”.
In an instant, what was (in another life) the perfect take of frenzied viola-grating and life-sized cannon-firing was immediately reduced to an unusable cacophony of 'door-handle-creaked-with-subservient-timidity' and concluded with a meek “Tea or coffee, anyone?.. Rich tea?..” cautiously mumbled by the inauspicious man-servant, Anton.
In an instant, what was (in another life) the perfect take of frenzied viola-grating and life-sized cannon-firing was immediately reduced to an unusable cacophony of 'door-handle-creaked-with-subservient-timidity' and concluded with a meek “Tea or coffee, anyone?.. Rich tea?..” cautiously mumbled by the inauspicious man-servant, Anton.
Almost binarily, Lloyd's past six months of effort; his embryonic masterpiece, his timeless and defining moment in the history of modern pop bands attempting that which is beyond them in classical music, was reduced to unsalvageable musical kindling.
His disappointment manifested itself as unshakeable rage. Unshakeable rage of which Anton was unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.
His disappointment manifested itself as unshakeable rage. Unshakeable rage of which Anton was unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.
The rest of the moment is marred by shame and pain; disproportionally divided between Anton and Lloyd.
In an out-of-court settlement, Anton was provided with a four-figure sum, in exchange for his silence on the matter of that infamous day.
“Father, No!” has never since seen the light of day; Lloyd citing intense emotional turmoil of the ruination of his egoist self-shrine.
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