BAD MOON

After many months of waiting, our demo is finally out. It is no masterpiece. But I must give my thanks to Reece Hayden, who produced the entire thing in his bedroom. And did a god damn good job of it too. The songs that are presented are songs written by myself and my dear friend Dr Lovewar. We have written many more and plan to play our first cluster of shows in the new year.

https://soundcloud.com/badmoon

The demo can be heard in the link above.
Please give any feedback on our facebook page or whatever.

ppppppp.

Well by while i mean a few days. Iv been busy, iv just come out the ass end of a three hour train journey. It went faster than first thought.

These days I really felt like the spectator of my own self sabotage. Letting life run free with all my own decisions. Judgment never really came in to it. When it came to money, Judgement never really came in to it at all. Impulsive acts have gotten me so far, so i figure they'd get me a little further. On the way home I sat on the bottom floor of the 126. Making the transfer between wolverhampton and home. I was almost home, ready to take a piss I had been waiting to do for about one hour and twenty minutes. My bladder was no true friend in the war against reality on this melancholy trip.

for me, money became valuable at only one time. When there was severe lack of it. I am the universes most warped financier. You could even argue that i was worse than George Osbourne, no actually. No you could not. However I have no dept perception and my overdraft is a table cloth. I knew where money should be kept though, I never lost it in a physical sense. A homeless man chased me for some change he heard jangling in my pockets in the subway earlier. Hell id probably have stopped and given him some if he didn't wear a look on his face that said I will piss on kids for whiskey.

The roads near my home were glazed in ice. This was a terrible ordeal when your only wearing brown leather boots with no grip whatsoever. The air was born of ice and december had made its firm grip on my psyche. Cold shit.

University.

So far, i have to confess. I have not enjoyed university as much as i thought i would have. I think this is because i probably dont live in halls here. All the people in halls have their own niche, cant blame the poor bastards they have had to make friends. All of us home dwellers are the social outsiders in our own town. The place is no where near as social as i would think. People here really are not as diverse or forthcoming as first thought. This place reminds me of college more than anything minus the pot. 

   This is defiantly a place of learning. Not social interaction. It should be though. Or maybe its just me, iv always had the dark suspicion i am socially sideways. People dont generally take to me, iv never been a popular character. But in a place like this i imagined it to be more of a

place where the notion of popularity was readily eradicated. In fact no,

I am wrong. Popularity is not the problem here, it seems to be a lack of desire to meet anyone you haven't  met already. Peculiar. Sociability has made its swift exit. 

Court

ko u   r t

Last night i dreamt that I was appearing in court. I was a witness to a boy called jordan who had ran down two girls in a jeep. I was riding with this character in the passenger seat. The hearing was not in a court though, more like a court yard. All the people involved in hearing were circling the courtyard like un-organized cattle. A voice shouted out "anyone who's fingerprints were involved in the crime please come forward". 

I felt this was somewhat me, as I walked briskly to the counter where the suited man was standing. He said nothing, stared at me frantically with a look of 'why'? Blistering confusion came over me. Why was I here? Was I even ment to be here? The man finally broke his silence and asked "please put out your hand"

I put out my hand with some hope I would be able to leave his glare. He simply painted my index finger nail with red nail varnish. And pointed me in some direction. I wondered off, finding myself in a silver room. A woman sat at the table, she was also in a suit. "Hello, I am your attorney. I think you should sit down. get a drink if you like" 

I went to the soft drink dispenser in the corner of the room. It puzzled me as to why a soft drink dispenser would find itself in an establishment as formal as this one. It has only one nozzle. Labelled 'green fanta'. The green fanta was delicious. It tasted refreshing, it went down with a fruity fizz. But what fruit was this? who knew, I know I didnt. 

I took a seat with my attorney. Why did I have an attorney? i was a witness not the defendant or was I? the room began to expand. Turning from a cube to an elongated rectangle. Obtuse in every way. Breathing, like proximity around me had a pulse. At this point I awoke.

puzzled.

WE REALLY REALLY NEEDED 16' INCHES OF MEATBALLZ. SORRY.

Music industry is finally over.

what a weight torn swiftly from my shoulders. The module was not what i was expecting or was it? Maybe i should have expected it all. The industry even from the outside looks like one fucking hell of an ache in the balls. But fuck it, its over. Done. Finished. I feel free, well almost. I now have to embark on assignment two.  A post modern analysis of fear and loathing in las vegas. By theory an easy task, but not when you have to reference the fuck out of every claim you make.

welcome to bcu.

You can never have the wrong heroes. 

'B    -  T O W N'

Now this new influx of music from birmingham is intense. The growth of new bands, new sounds and new moves is a concept circled with excitement. My band are also releasing some demo's in the coming month. fucking finally. Now as far as a scene goes, iv floated through a few. Hardcore first of all, a scene I loved simply for the energy, weather you like the rolling stomping riffs and shouts of a generation ... pissed. Theres no denying the pure energy, its music that delivers a straight up feeling. So much so it heards human beings in to manic machines of flailing arm movement and crab like floating. I liked that, music that the crowd feeds off. 

One thing that worries me about this scene is that I hope it has some substance. And is not just a flimsy silhouette dressed and heavily stylised. I say this because not long  ago me and lovewar went to see a band called WIDE EYED. Two things, their drummer aaron singh is 18 men in one. He got fired from his job because he smelt of vodka, he once stole his own dads car and he licked a bag of cocaine 10 minutes before he went on stage. He is also a valued friend and comrade in the war against reality. Secondly the band are brilliant, the music is hypnotic and engulfs who ever listens to it in what i can only describe as an obtuse purple funk.

The music suited the high. The room was dark, lit perfectly. 

The room was quite rammed, not overly so. But the tallest bastards got the front so visually i saw the occasional flight of dark hair from one or so of the band members. However the atmosphere did not appear to be complete. This crowd was a drone. A giant fucking drone. All these people looked like they had been forced to come here. arms folded. No nods, no grooves. Just standing drones. The sounds are beautiful, the crowd are empty. As me and friends move slightly, we just get shoved and looked at. I hope the 'b' in b-town doesnt stand for boring or.. bastards or .. bollocks. 

I went to see youth man a good while ago too. They smashed out a nirvana cover. Me and the sterling gentlemen from bad apes decided to forget it was a cover and this really was 1993. And afterwards a girl said 'you need to calm down, how much do you love nirvana'. Dont come to shows, burn all your records and permanently live in your tent you got pitched in COW you fucking swine.

who knows, maybe im wrong.

im gonna go to the jaws single release. see how people fuck there.

I didnt go to the jaws release. Burn me at the stake. However i just got tickets for peace & jaws on the 22nd. I plan to get drunk.

Traveling          read.

On my way to the back of the bus I had acquired a copy of the metro.  A free travel newspaper, it was always saville the bastard. As sick as the guy was or whatever, he's dead. He now no longer exists on the planet or in the universe. No one can get fixed by jim any longer. Journalists had begun to get lazy and so had editors. I had some good feeling that british media would play this one out for as long as possible. Everyones eyes are off the real issues. 

The next story that strangled by glare was 'trick or treaters given cocaine for their goodie bags' how fucking brilliant. Finally someones wising up. Dont give the bastards sugar, give them hard shit. Fuck maybe its what they need. They might just end up in school.

Britain = Ludicrous.

THIS NIGHT HAD BEEN A MESSY GANG OF HOURS.

I awoke from some kind of sick nightmare at one in the morning. I saw a girl in the crowd and as I put out my hand to shake hers, her eyes turned black and wide. With the drastically vile image I awoke.

As i drifted back in to the unconscious I fell sideways in to another peculiar dream. I met a family who I got to know over a period of time. The daughter and I became the best of friends, I remember riding around on some kind of boat with her talking about the difference between bottled water and tap water (how dull for such a colourful trip in to sickness). Me and this family sat and watched their house being burgled from a distance. After watching the burglary for a while. We chased the robber and caught her. She was a gaunt woman. Who at the time looked addled with crack and disease.

My alarm rings, I am pulled savagely from this picture. Its eight, the decision to sleep in and ditch university arrives quickly. To my shock as I go back to sleep, the dream for once in my life reoccurs. I was in a car, I drove to the family house and instead of the house lay lumps of mud and greenery. I hear the girl shouting and as I drive towards the voice. I come to a walkway by the shore of the sea. For some reason I drive up the walkway and off it. submerging myself and the car. By the time my mind had processed the fact I was about to die, i got out of the car. On my way the surface, I see the girl floating around, with her legs folded like buddah and her eyes wide open. I then wake up.

A cataclysm of brain fucked confusion. Had I danced with demons?

What an earth happened to good television?

Short.

I am currently writing a short film.
When it is done, I will post a link for it here.

I intend to make more than one. Keep em open.

namdacgerg

G R
E G
C A
A D
M            A             N

Greg is this guy, who I met in my industry class at university. Greg has a fantastic facial hair deal. Jesus took it upon himself to make greg a soul reaped from wires. In the best of ways, hell I mean id kill for a carpet of curls raping the outskirts of my jugular but no. Greg is brilliant.

He once told me his heart was empty and his soul was black.
Gregs smiling capacity lead me to believe the truth in his findings. However one time, I was talking to greg across a table. And for some obscure reason I had a mental image that invaded my mind. Greg, waking alone in the dimly lit student union bar. Alone and wondering, asking and pleading as to why he was only in his pants. Hallucinating and falling deeper and deeper in to a frenzy fuelled by acid. Shouting and running around the place. Screaming for any kind of explanation.

After explaining this sick yet light hearted thought. Greg smiled and laughed. Taking the mental image in the way i had hoped.

Greg cadman, may the trip be with you. Keep the smile and keep the beard.