Ludicrous Lollipops come to Rhyl

Spent the day prepping video stuff shooting footage around town then got ready to play at Rhyl with the Ludicrous Lollipops and the Psycho Sexual Sex Terrestrials. About 130 people showed up, which was pretty decent. Gotta say, this was our best performance so far—got a brilliant response from the crowd. Wayne was filming the whole thing, so hopefully we’ve got some good footage.

Our set went down well: LIAR, BEIRUT IN RHYL, JOHNNY BARNES, PERSONAL WARS, KENNEDY, POWERFUL PETE, £2.17, LIFE GOES ON, STUART, FATAL ATTRACTION, then finished with KENNEDY again. Felt tight and energetic, the kind of night where everything just clicks.

The Ludicrous Lollipops were great too. For anyone who doesn’t know, they’re a Nottingham band — tight, melodic indie stuff with a solid fanbase. Their set was really well done and well supported by the crowd. Only hiccup was when Paul’s “lady of the moment” got on stage and shouted that the Lollipops were shit, telling them to get off so PSST could play. The vocalist handled it brilliantly though — he told everyone, “This is my mum, she always does this. Fuck off mum.” The crowd loved that.

Later on, Paul gave Chunky a hard time for buying a Lollipops T-shirt, insults were traded including “Scouse cunt” and “roll on the 3rd Reich”. Just shows how petty band politics can get, and Chunky's not even in the band!

After the gig, I headed up to the Bistro for some beers to get away from all the drama. Nice to chill and enjoy the buzz from a great night of music.

Full PSST set here

Psycho Sexual Sex Terrestrials live at Rhyl Bus Station (Outdoor)

Woke to the sound of rain hammering the window and figured there was no way Paul and the rest would go through with an outdoor gig in this weather. But sure enough, by 2pm the Psycho boys were set up opposite Rhyl bus station—my 75th performance—standing in the cold February drizzle with the wind cutting through us.

We were basically outside The Mermaid pub, plugged into the mains courtesy of their socket, and facing the bus station proper. Buses trundled in and out, passengers gawping through steamed-up windows at the sight of a band belting out three-chord rubbish to a crowd of about 50 hardy souls. Rain or not, it was great fun—exactly the kind of daft, one-off spectacle you don’t see every day… or any day, come to that.

Aubyn couldn’t make it, so we ploughed through the set: Liar / Happy as Larry / Beirut in Rhyl / Kennedy / Powerful Pete / £2.17 / Fatal Attraction / Man’s Best Enemy, then, because why not, ran most of them again—Liar / Happy as Larry / Beirut in Rhyl / Kennedy / Powerful Pete.

Among the sodden but smiling faces were Anna, Wayne, Robin, Adam, and Cumi’s Jane, plus forty-odd curious locals who stuck around instead of catching the next bus. The sound was surprisingly good considering the conditions, and by the end everyone seemed impressed—perhaps by our music, perhaps by our sheer lunacy.

To top it off, Bob Kelly offered to cover £125 of our £250 bill for a 24-track studio session, which he’s booking for the end of March. Not bad for an afternoon spent getting soaked and entertaining Rhyl’s public transport clientele.

Psycho Sexual Sex Terrestrials / Jon Bon 10p at Wrexham Cartrefle College

Between three battered cars, every scrap of PSST gear was wedged in with human cargo, and the convoy rolled east to Wrexham. Along for the ride were Chunky, Rob Snapshot, and Scott (who was way OTT tonight). Back at the House of Crud, Wayne and Robin stayed behind painting until Anna and Sian swung by to collect them at 8pm.

Soundcheck was the usual scramble of wires, amps, and expletives. Iwan from the Student Union had us written-off before a note was played—handing over our massive £15 “expenses” as if to say, that’s all you’re worth, lads. The place was dead (well, it was a Sunday night), so Dean, Tommy, and the roadies went prowling the campus like door-to-door lunatics, dragging in anyone who’d listen. Somehow, they swelled the numbers to about forty.

Time to thaw the room. Cue Jon Bon 10p—me and Robin’s comedy double act, which exists purely to take the piss. A million miles from our more serious psyche-punk project Sons of Selina, we launched into a shambolic Floral Dance / Imagine / Last Dance medley, ad-libbing through the parts we’d forgotten and cracking ourselves up in the process.

PSST’s actual set got off to a wobbly start—not musically, but in spirit. The first three songs landed flat with the crowd, our stage energy about as electric as a wet towel. Then Robin and Chunky whipped out their big ‘CLAP’ and ‘LAUGH’ signs, Dean and I started bouncing off each other with quick-fire quips, and the room loosened. Suddenly it was a gig:

Liar / Happy as Larry / Beirut in Rhyl / Man’s Best Enemy / Kennedy / Powerful Pete / £2.17 / Life Goes On / Fatal Attraction / Kennedy (yes, twice).

By the end, they wanted more—so much so that we got invited back for rag week in a fortnight. Not bad for a night that started like a wake.

Not everything was smooth sailing. I lost my rag at Dean for taking the piss out of a Rasta by calling him “Bob.” He got defensive, I got angrier, and that was that—point made.

Anna drove Sian, Wayne, Robin, and me home. I flogged 15 copies of Crud #7 along the way—proving once again that a gig’s worth isn’t just measured in applause, but in how many fanzines you can shift before the amps are back in the van well, cars.

Sons of Selina – Mixing “Anxiety” in the Summerhouse

 

Six hours straight in Robin’s summerhouse-studio in Colwyn Bay, and we emerged battered, knackered but victorious. The “studio” was really the converted summerhouse at the back of his parents’ garden — a space barely big enough for a desk, a bed, a rack of gear, and the tangle of leads that seemed to grow overnight. Robin also lived there, so the smell of instant coffee, cigarettes and stale chip-shop wrappers hung in the air alongside the hum of synths.

We were mixing Anxiety for our burgeoning Sons Of Selina project, and it was heavy going on a Tascam 4-track. The recording was a dense sonic jigsaw that needed constant 'bouncing down' to make space to record more: two rhythm guitars, a slide guitar, bass, sequenced drums, organ, a string pad, mono synth solo, and enough vocal trickery to keep any engineer sweating. Delay on every vocal line’s end, reverse cymbals with a seven-second delay opening the song, reverse reverb on the first three cymbal crashes (with a sneaky extra delay on the third), dry vocals for verse three, a subtle guitar delay on the final note, chorus on the solo backing vocals, double vocals to close verse three, triple vocals for the final chorus run, and a few extra cymbals hammering the first four beats for good measure.

The summerhouse would shake each time we pushed the faders. Robin hunched over the desk in his wool jumper, cigarette dangling, muttering about “getting the stereo image just right.” I perched by the tiny heater, notebook in hand, making sure each mad production decision was locked in before fatigue wiped our memories.

By the time we bounced the final mix, it felt like we’d built a small sonic cathedral in that cramped garden room. Outside, the January cold bit hard — inside, the air was thick, warm, and buzzing with the hum of cables and the satisfaction of a job well done.

(In other news, the Rhyl Journal had a PSST photo running that week, advertising for a new drummer — Jon had buggered off to Canada with my ex-girlfriend. I guess bands, like songs, are always in a state of remix and mixing girlfriends eh!.)

Psycho Sexual Sex Terrestrials – Live at Mold Sureways

 

My 72nd gig

After nearly eighteen months away from a full live set, stepping back onto the stage at Mold Sureways felt both alien and familiar. The Psycho Sexual Sex Terrestrials were never about complexity—three or four chords, often in the same order—but about attitude, noise, and the peculiar thrill of being in a band. The setlist was a blast through the core of PSST’s repertoire: Liar, Beirut in Rhyl, Life Goes On, Kennedy, Fatal Attraction, £2.17, Death on the Motorway, Scared, the instrumental Happy as Larry (with Paul on bass), and Melanie-Jane.

Off-stage, the mood was less harmonious—Jon’s prattish antics during soundcheck and Paul’s subsequent sulking stirred memories of difficult 4Q gigs. Yet when the lights dimmed and the first chords rang out, the frustrations fell away. The room, crammed with what felt like hundred bodies, vibrated with the raw energy of a band leaning into its own ragged edges. It wasn’t perfect, it was a bit shit, but was good fun (I think)