The film - 4080 Peru – is aired in Bangor featuring a soundtrack composed by Mank.
4080 Peru is an experimental multimedia project created by James Ray, the industrial-rock pioneer known for his work with The Sisters of Mercy and James Ray’s Gangwar. Far from a traditional cinematic release, the project is an avant-garde soundtrack film designed to be an immersive, sensory-heavy experience rather than a narrative story. Ray famously envisioned the work as the "soundtrack to the best horror movie you’ve never seen," creating a haunting, atmospheric loop that clocks in at approximately 52 minutes. The film serves as a visual canvas for a dense "wall of sound," utilizing black-and-white, dreamlike imagery that leans heavily into dark ambient and industrial aesthetics. It features surreal motifs, most notably slow-motion footage of koi carp, ethereal ghost-like figures, and abstract nature scenes intended to evoke a sense of dread and mystery.
The musical score for the project marks a significant departure from Ray’s typical hard-edged rock roots, favouring drone-heavy, trancelike compositions built from deep electronic soundscapes and layered samples. 4080 Peru first gained notoriety through live performances in the mid-2000s, specifically at The Garage in London in February 2005, where Ray performed the music live against a massive projection to create an overwhelming auditory and physical environment. The project resurfaced years later at the Industrial #18 Festival in Cannes in 2014 and through collaborations with the 25men collective (which where Mank came in). While a physical DVD titled Empty Hearts Break was produced in limited quantities featuring the film with multiple audio tracks, it remains an extremely rare collector's item. Today, the work survives as a cult piece of underground history, with fragments and visual loops occasionally appearing on Ray's official digital channels or fan-run archives.
The debut EP by Braxton Hicks is out now on Secrets of Sound Records…
Featuring 4 tracks – Never Kill Yourself / Get Outta My Head / Government To Be / Macho Man.
Available on iTunes on Thursday 6th December
or for a CD copy for £2.50 (inc p+p) [NOTE - CD now sold out]
I curse my car for not being big enough, had no intention of being in a
band again, Joe caught me at a weak moment when he posted online that he
was looking for like minded people to form an unambitious punk band. I
approached Gwion cos he’s a good drummer and works with Sarah and you
could say Braxton Hicks are a manufactured band! But,
that aside, I should’ve got a bigger car to lug the gear round instead
of driving with a hi-hat stand sticking in my ear.
This is only our fourth gig, and yet I feel like a veteran and not
someone who’s been without a band for over 12 years – but it is good,
Joe writes the songs and me ‘n’ Gwion play ‘em – simple, and it feels
good. When it stops feeling good you should stop doing it. And if you
wanna do it for the money and chuck any potential cred you may have down
the swanny then learn Sex On Fire, Purple Haze and all the other shit, or be in a tribute band.
I did have this argument online yesterday, and my opponent said he got
paid more for being in a tribute band than he ever did for playing in a
‘proper band’ and said he owed rock ‘n’ roll nothing. Point taken… There
again, some of us are born a rocker and will die a rocker…
As Braxton Hicks (pic above by Huw Williams) we did toy with Warhead, Fuck You, California Uber Alles (UK Subs, DOA, DKs)
when we first got together, but quickly learned (after one rehearsal)
that the holy ground should be left untouched and, as angels we should
dare not tread upon it. If covers are to be covered they should be the
unobvious, or the obvious done in an unobvious way; as Vices did with R.Kelly later on.
‘You’re not famous anymore!’ Was shouted at me last time I played here,
and although I never was famous, the contrast of having played
continental festivals and Radio One live sessions to finding yourself in
a backroom of a pub in Rhyl may have a detrimental affect upon some
souls – and yet I was uplifted. I was buzzing (again). I dunno how Jimmy
Case felt playing for lowly Brighton & Hove Albion having relished
the European Cup glory days at Anfield, but I guess he did it because he
enjoyed it.
I enjoyed it – every second of it. Every note, every beat, every
screamed lyric, every bead of sweat that stung my eyes, the cramp in my
hands, the nervous glances when we fucked up, the muted applause from
the people not too sure what to expect from us and the nodded
appreciation from those who did.
We added three new songs to the set tonight; Depression, This Song Was Never Written and Poison By Rancid
(not a cover) – and the duration was still only 20 minutes (with 5
minutes of added ad lib banter). Maybe the heady days of people coming
out in their droves to see unknown bands play live are gone forever, so I
guess it’s our job to remove the un from unknown.
LINE UP: UK Subs, Last Gang in Town, Braxton Hicks
The floodgates opened and the dogs of
war unleashed the wrath of god upon us. Basically, it fucking pissed it
down all day. So much that I got a call at 3pm to say the A55, A5 and
North Wales coast train line were closed due to flooding, and our
drummer, Gwion was the wrong side of the water with no paddle. Fuck!
Main-man, Joe and myself are sat in the Marine [sic] in Old Colwyn; it’s
my birthday and were drowning [sic - again] our sorrows with a pint of
Kronenberg. I can’t go home to Bangor as the roads are closed. We can’t
do the gig as Gwion is marooned. We asked ex-Sons of Selina drummer,
Cumi if he’d stand in, but he doesn’t know the songs. What a downer…
The decision was made to go to Buckley anyway and enjoy the gig. We may
as well leave now as to ensure we got in as a ‘band’ rather than a
punter.
The journey was pretty silent… Yeah we wanted to see the Subs, but we were supposed to be supporting them too… Last Gang in Town and UK Subs were
milling around backstage when Joe and myself turned up; bits of drum kit
were being set up and amps were being rolled in. I saw soundman (he is a
sound man), Chris White and told him our bad news and he said, ‘There’s
plenty of drummers knocking about, see if Last Gang’s will stand in for
you.’ It’s not that simple though as our songs are not that
simple. We met up with Subs mainstay Charlie Harper and relived tales of
yore. He was telling us they played on the south coast last night and
spent all day travelling up here and then a long journey to Glasgow
tomorrow, he was concerned as the weather may have prevented them from
getting here today. We said how gutted we were that Gwion was stranded
and we couldn’t do the show. Charlie quipped, ‘Ask Jamie, he’ll do it.
He’s a great drummer.’
Joe and me were still dubious, no one can learn your songs in an hour and we didn’t want to make cunts of ourselves.
The UK Subs did their soundcheck, and we thought, ‘Fuck it, let’s ask
him,’ and approached Jamie with Charlie’s suggestion. ‘Yeah, of course
I’ll do it! Get me a copy of the songs and I’ll learn them.’ (!!!)
With 4 of our tracks on Soundcloud, Jamie sat in the dressing room
nursing a hangover and taking in our songs as we tucked into curry and
rice. Last Gang sound-checked and their bassist and guitarist are
probably the two friendliest band-persons I’ve ever met, letting us use
their amps, helping us get the right sound, even tuning our guitars!
Jamie came down and we soundchecked Get Outta My Head – fuck
me! He’s nailed that song in 5 minutes, the beat, the stops, the
changes!! – he said he’ll have the other 3 learnt with the half hour
that we’re due on stage.
He wasn’t messing – a makeshift Braxton Hicks got on and slammed Never Kill Yourself, Macho Man, Gone Fishin’ and Get Outta My Head in ten minutes; not a beat misplaced! Plenty of bass notes all over the place though ha ha – but it was a great buzz.
Last Gang in Town, to be fair to them are the right band in the wrong place. They’re a covers band, a punk tribute band, which is fine if you’re at a party, or a wedding, but not at a punk gig where a real band could be playing. Despite this they belted out New Rose, Holidays In The Sun, Pretty Vacant, California Uber Alles, Alternative Ulster, If The Kids Are United etc etc, to much aplomb.
UK Subs are masters of their game. Was chatting with loudethanwar.com writer Phil Newall, and we both agreed they’re not just a punk band; there’s a lot of blues under-currents in those songs, which have been accentuated since early 80s bassist, Alvin Gibbs rejoined the ranks. The set is shorter than when I last saw them (at Rebellion – see review), but they are relentless and tight as fuck, only occasionally pausing for breath.
Braxton Hicks new drummer Jamie Oliver (heh-heh!) took on an added interest, and you are sometimes distracted from the man at the back when you’ve got legends like Charlie Harper and Alvin Gibbs upfront, flanked by the tireless and slick as fuck guitarist Jet. Yet Jamie is a machine and smashed that kit into the podium. Top class.
UK Subs tour relentlessly, from small back street clubs to huge arenas and festivals worldwide, and the one main thing about them is they keep it punk rock. There was/is no primadonna, holier-than-thou or an ounce of pretention about the UK Subs – you’re born a rocker, you die a rocker, you live on the road, you play your punk rock, you live your punk rock… I’m green with envy.
I was earlier reminding Charlie that I once put a gig on for them in Colwyn Bay in 1987 and the ‘guaranteed accommodation’ I offered was actually my living room floor! He raked his memory banks and quipped, ‘Was it at a bikers club?’ – He was almost right, I actually had the local Hells Angels do the security at the gig! Not a bad recollection when you consider he’s probably done something in excess of 5000 gigs since then. Here’s to the next 5000…
Dead simple video for a dead simple, but very catchy song - Never Kill Yourself (the video) took about an hour to record. We cleared a space in my works warehouse, locked off a section, lined the floor where we could play within shot and set the camera up to be in one position.
We filmed ourselves playing the song 4 times with the idea of cutting back and forth to make a simple vid.
(review n pix by philip milton) – Up next are the recently formed Braxton Hicks featuring local legend Joe Hovis on lead vocals and guitar, alongside the infamous former 4Q
/ Sons of Selina member Neil Crud playing bass and Vladimir Fuxleep
Nightshade on drums. The first thing that came across upon hearing them
was that they were bucking the more conventional trend of hardcore
styles by playing fast but clean. By this I mean Joe was rocking a clean
twanging guitar sound and vocals that are determined to be heard to the
last syllable. And Crud who played a fast but melodic style of bass
that you just couldn’t help bobbing your head to. The next thing was how
together they were as a group, ok all three of them have been in bands
and the crowd wasn’t huge, but the easy candour, jokes (normally aimed
at Vladimir’s super fast paced playing) and the tightness at which they
played for a group that only formed in July this came as a true
surprise, and with only one gig the Friday before under their belt it
shows promise that they’ll be a force to be reckoned with for a great
time to come.
Now to the music; they still have only a short set list but it is of
their own material, it’s a fast paced social commentary of the things
around them that they find disappointing. Whether it’s the government (Government To Be), a former love (a lot less romantic than I think they thought) (Get Outta My Head) or the loss of a dear friend still sorely missed (Gone Fishin’),
each song is played full on with an intent to be felt and understood.
The playing style reminds me of the Dickies and a little of their
influences being Bad Religion and the Dead Kennedys (for more
information on these influences go to their website).
Of the vocal stylings I’d definitely agree with them that they’re in
the same vain as the Subhumans and the Inner Terrestrials, but with Joe
as their front man they do have a practised biting vocal styling that is
all of their own. I’m going to enjoy watching this band evolve and
expand their material, and whole heartedly recommend to people that are
looking for something slightly off the wall and original to check them
out.
(blog by neil crud - pics and vid courtesy of paul hammond)
OK - it's pretty hard to review your own gig and a bit shit to do so and use my own website link2wales as a platform for my new band - but what I can do is give you a blog account of the evening.
Not been to Rhyl for a couple of years (apart from visiting family), faces/people change - except Steve Rastin, that labourer of love who seems to live for live music. Unfortunately Arcade Avenue had to pull out and Aire (from Prestatyn) simply didn't show up. Having played over 120 gigs over the years and been to thousands, I anticipated this situation and made sure we brought the whole kit rather than just the breakables, as I envisaged scooting around town looking for drum parts, spare microphones and hard drugs.
Spent the day at Rockcliffe Studios in Llandudno and recorded these songs 'live' - Never Kill Yourself, Government To Be, Gone Fishin', Get Outta My Head, Macho Man, Crack The Safe. Some, or all of these will end up on our debut EP.
Peruvian Mistake, the debut LP from Holyhead’s Holy Coves, is a confident blend of Britpop swagger, psych-tinged atmosphere, and emotionally charged indie rock. Frontman Scott Marsden leads the charge with cool vocals and a knack for crafting driving, melodic hooks.
From the opening stomp of Let’s Go to the swirling melancholy of Droner—a standout track of supreme quality—the album balances anthemic ambition with raw edge. There are definite nods to Oasis and Kasabian, but Holy Coves carve out their own space with introspective lyrics and consistently strong songwriting.
Peruvian Mistake was recently hailed by Louder Than War as having the strength of a “greatest hits” collection, and yeah, I wholly agree. It's an album packed with riffs, emotional weight, and the restless energy of a band ready to break out.
The Access All Eirias festival featured a diverse lineup of Welsh talent, celebrating the rich musical heritage of the region. The event was headlined by Only Boys Aloud, a Welsh male choir that gained national attention for their performances. Supporting acts included Mike Peters, frontman of The Alarm, and Pocket Venus, an indie rock band from Conwy. Other performers were Sophie Evans, a Welsh singer known for her appearance on Over the Rainbow, Côr Glanaethwy, a Welsh choir, and Sioned Terry, a Welsh singer-songwriter.
It took me a good year to get into Stone Roses - had heard them in their pre-famous days courtesy of John Peel. Once the hype came along and the luvvies did their loving I simply switched off. After hearing the singles being continually played at The Bistro in Rhyl, I actually sat down and listened to that debut album, like most people people, I was blown away.
So, with my sisters, we went to Heaton Park. The Roses were OK, a lot of the crowd were complete bag-head wankers.
This is their debut album - You Belong to Dax Darling, Cardiff trio Houdini Dax channel classic British pop through a modern indie lens, delivering a record bursting with energy, charm, and retro flair. Echoes of The Beatles and Supergrass ring out across fuzzy guitars, catchy hooks, and off-kilter melodies that never take themselves too seriously.
From the vibrant stomp of Robin You Lie to the whimsical bounce of Fizzy Moon, the band mix psychedelic playfulness with sharp songwriting. Their youthful confidence is matched by tight musicianship, making for a debut that feels both nostalgic and fresh.
While a few tracks veer more into mood than memorability, the album’s infectious spirit and creativity carry it through. You Belong to Dax Darling is a fizzing, feel-good ride from one of Wales’ most promising indie outfits.
I hate Facebook – it’s trashed the net for anorak saddoes like me. The herding mentality of humans even happens online and we all devoutly follow the ‘leaders’ without thought, or the need for thought.
Let’s take the guy who lives in a town a thousand years ago, and he’s fed up of the Jones’ next door forever trying to keep up with him, so he ups sticks and heads for the country and builds a little house and happily settles down there. When he’s a bit lonely or needs supplies he’ll pop back into the town for a pint and a gossip. His family and friends see that his lifestyle is the type they want, and they one by one move out into the country and build houses next to our guy. Before long his house in the country is part of a village, which becomes a town, then a city, and someone gets fed up and moves out to the country, and so on. It’s our tribal mentality.
The internet is similar… They call it social networking… So few people or bands have their own websites these days, or if they do, so few people visit them… Facebook has taken over… It’s a government conspiracy to keep us all glued to our PCs… Jello Biafra was right all along..!
I don’t really give a toss if Sharon is now single, or if Kevin has had chocolate hob-nobs with his coffee, and neither is it really your business if I’m pissed off at work today. Yes it is and can be entertaining watch someone’s relationship crumble in public as they hang their dirty washing out for all and sundry to gloat and see, but my gripe is that it’s killed the music network. Or more significantly myspace.
Myspace was a reasonable platform for bands, but nowadays it’s like someone who spotwelds washing machines on a production line… you may as well be dead. Myspace is dead.. No one uses it anymore… Bands don’t update their pages and most don’t have their own websites.
Twitter is in instant time, you get info for ‘the now’ and it’s gone within minutes. Facebook is one down from there, the info is up for a day before being drowned in a sea of nonsensicality.
Ok let’s say I wanna see what a hard working band like Bastions are up to… I’ll go to their Facebook page, I ‘Like’ them already so I’m in with over 1600 other followers. I see they’re playing in Lincoln on May 9th, I can click a link and find some music, got some photos too, nice one. But that’s because they do it properly – and it is still hard work.
‘Like’ a few more bands and your own Facebook ‘main page’ becomes crammed with Notifications, Events, Announcements and emails as every band, promoter, venue, folk singer and their dog competes for your attention. All their hard work is swept away in a tsunamic wave of nonsensical information.
Myspace was (I say was, it’s still there, but it’s slow and cumbersome these days) at least orientated for bands and people who like bands, Facebook is like a band playing in a restaurant, some people will go there to eat and are not interested in watching a band, so as a band you are basically competing with Sharon’s splintering relationship and Kevin’s craving for biscuits.
Maybe bands will start breaking free and once again annex the internet – there’s vast open spaces out there now that everyone has herded into one domain. Bands need to claim back their www.domains – yes Facebook is a superb platform for publicity, but that is what it should be – a platform to your own website where you control what people see. www.yourband.com should be your main page and emblazoned all over your Facebook page to encourage Kev and Sharon to stray away from the flock and rock.
Found this gem of a video of Bangor lounge band Heldinky playing at Cob Records on Record Store Day, with a great version of Nine Inch Nails' Piggy (Nothing Can Stop Me Now)
There aren’t many things Adam Walton and I agree on. He insists on being “Dad” whenever we play House, and makes me sleep on the couch after a drink because my snoring keeps him awake. But one thing we do agree on: Liverpool have had better seasons… and Battle of the Bands competitions suck.
So how the hell did I end up sat on a judging panel, sneering like a bald Simon Cowell at a parade of hopefuls all vying for the coveted “Best Band” crown? Who am I to decide whether one band is better than another? Sure, some are — but it’s all down to taste. One man’s Stuntface is another woman’s JLS.
Why Battles of the Bands Suck
I’ve never entered one myself, though when I managed Pocket Venus I did once sign them up for a competition in Ellesmere Port. I encouraged them to trash the brand-new drum kit provided for the evening. Cue chaos: fists flying, finger-pointing, boos, jeers… and, unsurprisingly, no victory. But that’s the point — these nights aren’t about the music, they’re about how many mates you can bus in to scream the loudest.
Do I blame bands for entering? Not really. The organisers dangle carrots: a slot at Glastonbury, opening a muddy Tuesday morning tent to a couple of bemused dairy cows; a day in a “recording studio” canteen; maybe a month’s supply of Big Macs. Who wouldn’t be tempted?
The Llandudno Experience
So when Cumi phoned asking if I’d judge one of these things at Venue Cymru in Llandudno, I reluctantly said yes. To be fair, there are positives. The bands get to play on a big stage with pro sound and lights in front of 650 people — for many, a first taste of the big league and an unforgettable buzz.
But the cons? The judging panel. Alongside me sat: the venue manager, a police superintendent, a BBC weather girl, a 70-year-old drum tutor, and his mother — the mayoress of Llandudno. Apart from the drum guy (and maybe the BBC girl), what the hell did any of them know about music? After our deliberations, it turned out: absolutely nothing.
And the Winner Is… Bemusement
For the record, Bad Dog won. The announcement came after Courteous Thief played a 20-minute set, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. Then:
“And the winner is… Bad Dog.”
Cue silence.
No offence to Bad Dog, but the judges were dazzled by a Guns N’ Roses cover. A cover! In my book, that’s zero points for originality. Why not just rename it “Battle of the Karaoke Queens”? For the record, Bad Dog are a really hard rocking band and are above shit like BoTBs. There are some artists who habitually enter these 'competitions' for reasons only they will be able to answer.
Still, I can’t be too bitter. I got to watch ten bands play their three best songs (minus the covers), which saved me traipsing around North Wales sitting through full sets. A couple of standouts even emerged: Jed is Dead and Y Cer. I already knew about Zebedy and Kixxstart Kitty. Future Perfect were quirky, Rumour and Longshot were decent, Whiskey & Lace were disturbing in all the wrong ways.
Final Thoughts
Would I judge another Battle of the Bands? No chance. But then again, who am I to pass judgement?
(by Adam Walton - taken from BBC website as they alway take stuff from mine)
The delicate carousels of the guitar in the Enlli EP's lead track, Cur, hung on a firmament of piano notes as clear as stars in a cloudless sky, pick me up and elevate me out of the smouldering back garden, lifting me above the treetops so gently I hardly notice the lawn I was supposed to have mown yesterday evening. I can feel a breeze on my face, but it's not coming from the weather: it's the breaths of the choir that splendidly billows out the sails of the first two tracks on this EP... somewhere in amongst the ice sparkles of glockenspiel and Dilwyn's lonely voice. Dilwyn is Mr Yucatan, if Roger Hargreaves had ever thought to write a book about a humble sonic explorer.
And I swear to you: I feel cool, liberated, blown far away from the inconsequential chaff by the beautiful visions landscaped to perfection on this EP.
If it doesn't remind you of Sigur Rós' atmospherics you're being deliberately contrary. Sigur Ros' music is inspired by the Icelandic land and skyscapes. Over recent years their music has lost some of its evocative power because TV producers have bled their albums dry to bring celestial beauty and drama to snake oil TV shows that are as mysterious as con men fleecing pensioners. And Sigur Rós' unwitting (and, I believe, unwilling) omnipresence on Saturday evening ITV has weighed these once otherwordly tracks down with humdrum associations.
It's a great shame.
Back to Yucatan. In exactly the same way that the strange landscapes of Iceland permeate Sigur Rós' music, so does the dramatic geography and meteorology of Wales shape Enlli. Particularly, this EP is inspired by the 'evocative mystique' of Ynys Enlli, off the West coast peninsula of Pen Llyn.
And although the approach is similar, in some respects, to Sigur Rós: minimal orchestration, echoey grandeur, a sound to fill a night sky with bright wonders, this EP is as unique as the landscape that inspired it: no more similar to Sigur Rós than a photo of Ynys Enlli is to a photo of some weird volcanic moonscape on Iceland.
In particular, Dilwyn's voice is more grounded, less ethereal than Jonsi's. He sounds like a man awed by what he sees around him - which is resonant to me as a listener because throughout this EP I'm awed by what I'm hearing.
It's breathtaking, emotive and suffused with enough magic to turn a bad afternoon into one illuminated by marvels.
I was chatting with Mike Peters, as I often do, when he casually dropped the sort of line that only Mike can:
“Sara Sugarman’s in town, casting for her new film Vinyl at the Pavilion in Rhyl – think Marni might want a part?”
My daughter Marni, was both star-struck and fearless, she ended up spending a full day on set as one of a group of teenage fans chasing a young band. My niece and nephew, Erin and Rhys, were also in on it, cast as extras in a funeral scene. For a film about music, youth, and reinvention, it felt only right that the family got involved.
Then Mike looked at me and grinned.
“You’ve got to be in it too – just turn up. Tell them I sent you.”
And so I did.
Mike also had the idea of a band playing in the Pavilion foyer during auditions and did I have any suggestions: Carpet! I cajoled local grunge legends Carpet into playing. Picture it: a raw, fuzzy wall of filthy guitars bouncing off the glass walls, bemused auditionees queueing for their moment while a live band tore it up just meters away. It was surreal. It was brilliant. It was Keeping it Rhyl.
When I turned up to audition, the room was full of hopefuls. I sat, waited, watched the low budgetness unfold. Then I was called in.
Inside was Sara Sugarman, flanked by two others. She looked up, curious. I explained – probably a bit sheepishly – that I wasn’t here to audition per se, but that Mike had told me to come down, that I was meant to have a cameo.
Sara’s eyes lit up.
“I’ve got just the part for you,” she said.
“Come back next week.”
Tuesday, 17 August 2010, I arrived back at the Pavilion with my young son Declan in tow. He was a little shy but well-behaved – a miracle considering how long we waited. They even offered him a part, but he politely declined. We ended up spending hours with a motley crew of film extras: mostly local doormen from Rhyl, including one standout character called Lordy, who kept spirits high with relentless banter and mischief.
Time dragged. We’d been there since 11:30am. By 3pm, we hadn’t filmed a frame. Then something happened that jolted the day alive: Keith Allen walked in.
Yes, that Keith Allen – renegade, rock-and-roll wild card, and bona fide screen legend. Watching him was something else. One minute we were chatting casually about Lily (yes, that Lily Allen) and Twin Town, the next minute Sara called “Rolling!” and he snapped into character like flipping a switch. One second he’s your funny mate from down the pub, the next he’s full-throttle intensity. It was mesmerising.
Oh, and Perry Benson and Phil Daniels were there too – yep, Quadrophenia, EastEnders, Parklife Phil Daniels. Just hanging about like it was the most normal thing in the world.
The Big Moment (All 3 Seconds of It)
When I finally got called, I was dressed in a security guard’s outfit and given my cue:
“Manhandle Keith Allen into the dark room and tell him to calm down.”
That was it. My film debut.
Three seconds of camera time.
One slightly forceful shove.
And a line delivered with all the calm authority I could muster while trying not to fanboy all over Keith Allen’s coat.
It might not sound like much, but it was ace. I had a front-row seat into the world and theatre of filmmaking.
Vinyl: A Love Letter to Music and Mischief
If you’re not familiar with Vinyl, it’s a comedy inspired by a real-life stunt pulled by Mike Peters and his band The Alarm. In 2004, frustrated by music industry ageism, they released a single 45 RPM under the name of a fake young band—and watched it climb the charts. Vinyl takes that story and runs with it, adding laughs, characters, and charm.
Director, Sara Sugarman was born in Rhyl in October 1962 and began her career as a punk‑rock teenager fronting a band called The Fractures, managed by Mike Peters. Their early connection in Rhyl's music scene later brought her to direct Vinyl and film it in their shared hometown. Sugarman later trained at RADA and appeared in films like Sid & Nancy before transitioning to directing (Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen, Very Annie Mary, and eventually Vinyl).
That day – long, disorganised, hilarious, inspiring – was everything that Vinyl stands for. It was about giving people a shot, about the absurd beauty of performance, about the unfiltered fun of doing something purely for the love of it.
It didn’t matter that my screen time was brief or that Declan didn’t end up in the final cut. The film was OK, no one was gonna get an Oscar, but it had a certain nostalgic charm to it, and of course it was filmed in Rhyl where it all began, the scrappy, butt of many a joke North Wales town that raised so many of us.
In the summer of 2010, I made the long trip up from North Wales to Carlisle to catch The Damned at the Brickyard – and it was worth every mile. Thankfully, friends put me up for the night, making it a proper little adventure rather than just a fleeting dash across the country.
That's my big bald bonce at the front!
The venue had a sweaty, close-quarters energy – just right to see a band like The Damned, who thrive off the crowd’s enthusiasm. Captain Sensible was absolutely on form throughout the set, ripping through the classics with that signature mix of buffoonery and charm. Even better, he was mingling with us both before and after the show – no rockstar aloofness here, just a genuine connection with the fans.
The set leaned into their punk roots with big hitters like New Rose, Love Song, and Smash It Up, while also pulling out deeper cuts like A Nation Fit for Heroes. The crowd lapped it up, and so did I – one of those gigs where you come away feeling like you were part of something a bit special, and very intimate.
A proper night to remember – Carlisle may not often be the centre of the punk nostalgia universe, but for one Wednesday night in August 2010, it absolutely was.
It's a new dawn, a new day, a new life.. etc etc... I used to like Muse until my 10-year-old son developed a neurosis about them. Such is his condition I have to hide my entire Muse collection for fear of myself going off them... Anyway I digress from the reason I'm writing... A new year.. New hopes, new beginnings and so on... I spent most of 2009 in a tent, or at least that's how it felt, with the bulk of the summer taken up by Festivals, drinking, travelling, drinking and, well, drinking. This had a detrimental effect not only on my liver, but also on my up-to-date knowledge of Welsh music (as in music from Wales in both languages). So praise the Lord for Adam Walton, and praise him even more for kindly collating his best of 2009 into an all killer no filler 3 hour radio show last week. Listening to it cost me £20 in online purchases, where on hearing certain bands I was instantly compelled to buy their stuff. Most of my Walton listening is done during the week on the BBC iPlayer; it's a case of home from work, Walton on, get the tea on and eat it while he witters away and plays exciting new music. That'll take about 40mins and I'll repeat the feat the next night and so on until I've heard the full 3 hours. On the Sunday evening occasions I do get to listen in live, it's a case of a bottle of red and PC at the ready and I'll update the link2wales website as I hear and learn of new stuff. Talking of new stuff; this week I have mostly been listening to The Docfeistr compilation album out now on Ankst Music, which is a bizarre concept album about a seaman-monster who terrorises and seduces the population, and although mainly hip-hop orientated, does feature the delights of Tew Shady a Cofi Bach, Mr Huw, MC Mabon, Stilletoes and Yr Ods. Also knocking on the door of my in-box are the much improved Leucine - who've regrouped, got their songwriting heads together, hit the studio and are about to hit your senses with a new EP. Stand out tracks are The Fuse is Lit (which has been knocking around for a while) and the excellent Hospital Driver Please. Now, I'm no fan of emo and find screamo a bit tiresome (it's my age!), but Leucine manage to find a decent balance in the never-never land between the two genres. Superbly recorded and crafted work that even had Steve Sync nodding in the car the other day! Oh, add Where is The Diamond to that list just for the sheer energy of the song.
Dockrad Records of Cardiff is having another burst of activity, releasing singles by Sweet Fontaine and Howl Griff this week... Amazingly I got hold of both copies by chance via an old address I lives in 7 years ago. Dai (he of Dockrad) is never one to act spontaneously, so when I told him over 7 years ago that I've moved house (5 times since then!), he hasn't quite got round to updating his records. By what I thought was strange coincidence; the new Klaus Kinski single also showed up at that address, sent to me by Ankst Music. I emailed Emyr Ankst and he told me he got the address off, yes, you've guessed it; Dai Dockrad. I digress... Sweet Fontaine's single Evermore is a punchy two minute 30 secs of US punk inspired TJs Newport stuff that wouldn't sound out of place on that label from South Wales that I can't for the life of me remember was called, but it used to release loads of obscure American punk albums. Howl Griff are no strangers to my CD player and the new single Crash & Burn is not quite like it's Manics namesake, but has a poppy and almost country feel to it. Unoffensive, nice use of brass and easy to hum after one listen. The flipside is Bluebirds, not sure if it's a reference to Cardiff City's quest for Premiership football, maybe, and again, lovely production and easy on the ear. Not out of place on Radio 2 or 6 and thankfully, it'll never make daytime Radio One cos Howl Griff haven't been on X-Factor. Jesus! I hate that station and that show; although how can I say I hate something I NEVER listen to or watch...? One thing you're guaranteed from Ankst is something different from the norm, be it the surplice clad bonkersness of Anne Matthews in the guise of Annalogue or those natives of the People's Republic of Rajasthan, Wendykurk. So if you put those two in a blender, added the diesel engine of a Vauxhall Chevette that had done over 150,ooo miles in reverse and then poured the lot down the pan, you may get an inkling of what Klaus Kinski sound like. Their new single Happiness Happiness is about sticking things in themselves and/or other beings; as are most of their songs. For this reason, I have a strange and definitely morbid fascination with all things Klaus Kinski, which is probably very unhealthy. The songs are as if the aforementioned contents of that blender have been splattered onto a wall in a Rhyl police cell on New Year's Day and then a class of 5 year old children have told to write about it... Believe me, this is probably true..!!
I’ve been writing the goddam thing for two years… yes, admittedly intermittantly! It seemed like a good idea at the time; collate all the info I have on all these bands that have breathed life (however briefly) into the music scene on the North Wales coast. Put it all into some semblance of order for your reading pleasure.What I didn’t realise was the amount of information I actually had, and the endless numbers of new avenues I opened up when I sought new info.The starting point was easy, and the bulk of significant events from 1976 to 2003 are done, edited and locked down - all 187 pages of it..!!! So I can guarantee you it’ll be a detailed, and hopefully good read.There have been a couple of notable absentees who have ignored requests for info or thoughts or contributions, so they may be misrepresented in the book; but I guess that’s perogative, and the vast majority of people have been extremely helpful as I tried to piece together their histories. This Patch of Land has a publishing deal in place and I’ve promised myself to finish it as soon as possible…Coming to an Amazon bookstore near you next spring…!!!!!Maybe…
(((Mother of Six))) were a heavy, stoner-doom band hailing from Wrexham, North Wales, known for their crushing riffs, cosmic atmosphere, and a fierce DIY ethic. Formed in the mid-2000s, the band carved out a cult following in the with a sound that fused slow, earth-rumbling doom with elements of psychedelic and space rock. Often billed as “Wrexham’s heaviest mothers,” the band became synonymous with raw volume and introspective heaviness.
Though they never pursued mainstream recognition, (((Mother of Six))) built a strong reputation on the live circuit, sharing stages with kindred spirits in the UK sludge and doom underground. Health issues and personal commitments eventually led to the band’s quiet winding down, with a farewell message posted on their social media over a decade after they began.
Members of (((Mother of Six))) would go on to form or contribute to other heavy projects — most notably Mammoth Weed Wizard Bastard, another Wrexham-based outfit that gained international acclaim in the doom/psych scene.
Wrexham stoner band on speed (((Mother Of Six))) single Castell - released 3rd August 2009
While their recorded legacy is modest, the impact of (((Mother of Six))) lives on in Wrexham’s thriving heavy music community — a true cult act for those tuned to the low end.
The weekend began for myself in my newly adopted home village of Trelawnyd; not really the epicentre of all things rock ‘n’ roll but quaint all the same. In fact, had I not been dragged kicking and screaming across this nation’s motorway network I’d have spent Saturday night across the road at my new neighbours’ house-warming party (I later learned they got through 150 burgers and 8lb of bacon..! Some party!). The Bethesda minibus picked me up, driven by a reluctant Tim who proceeded to cough swine flu over me throughout the 5 hour journey. A familiar whiff of earthly smoken goods reached my senses as the children in the back sparked up to make the journey a little more enjoyable, but I don’t need any of God’s gifts and soon found myself drifting beyond the ether.
With the A55, M56, M6 and M1 safely circumnavigated and the 8 of us carefully smuggled into the ‘family rooms’ at the Travelodge we made Dunstable a priority (for some reason) and sampled their finest Thai cuisine before hitting the town.
‘I think I really have got swine flu’ moaned Tim the next morning as he turned over onto his cold kebab.
Sonisphere 2009 - the first one. We arrived at Knebworth and realised our £70 tickets were completely redundant. Yep — we walked straight in through a hole in the fence. No security, no drama, just a big open invite for the cheapskate faithful.
It’s been a long summer and it’s only the first week of August. Sonisphere being the 7th maybe 8th Festival I’ve attended this year, and there’s still a couple more to do. Decided early on that 2009 would be one big festival, and why the hell not eh? What’s wrong with shaving 5 years off your life if that five years was going to be spent shitting your pants in an old people’s home?
Sonisphere wasn’t on my radar, Tim called me up in Prestatyn Football Club of all places and asked if I was up for it. 'Of course', I unwittingly replied, not really knowing what it was all about. Having sludged through the mud of Wakestock, some bright spark decided we would have the luxury of a hotel for this one, and the Travelodge on Junction 13 of the M1 Southbound was booked for 8 of us. Seemed a good idea at the time ’til we realised Knebworth was a £75 taxi ride away; at least there was safety in numbers!
We delighted in the trappings of downtown Dunstable for the first night, crashing back to the room at stupid o’clock and ensuring a stinking hangover would follow us around until we washed it away with a £3.80 pint of cider.
Let’s get something straght here, I don’t do all that ‘Let’s be fucking hearing you Knebworth’ and ‘Come on motherfuckers, let’s make some noise’ metal bollocks that these kids like, I’m just here for the crack.
Crystal Meth aside it’s the vibe I’ve got into rather than the music (this being my 3rd ‘rock’ festival of the year).
We wandered into the arena just in time to catch the dying strains of Buckcherry’s last song. Slightly gutting for Tim, but it was soon shaken off as the highlight, by a mile, was stumbling upon a group of outrageous Dutch buskers called Blaas of Glory — decked out like marching-band metal maniacs, blasting out heavy rock classics in a full-on oompah/cabaret/brass band style. Think Ace of Spades with trumpets and tuba swagger. They were hilarious, technically brilliant, and totally captivating. That performance alone made the trip worthwhile.
Me and Tim ditched the rest of the gang to go see Killing Joke, hoping for something raw and unpredictable. Unfortunately, they delivered a fairly disappointing greatest hits set — competent, but lacking the edge or intensity we’d hoped for.
The rest of the day was a blur of chatting to rock chicks, drifting between bands, soaking up the atmosphere, and people-watching — which was half the entertainment. Some great characters, some complete melts, but all part of the fabric. Saw Feeder (it was a good set, I knew many more song than I thought I did). Lamb Of God were ace, and a really scary moshpit! Also saw Machine Head and a bit of high school nostalgia from Saxon (Biff!).
We kept the drinking modest — not by choice, but because £3.80 a pint was absolute daylight robbery. That said, the music kept spirits high. Nine Inch Nails delivered a tight, industrially sharp set — Trent Reznor still has it. Then came the headliners: Metallica. Three hours of metal royalty. Impressive, yes, but three hours!! The crowd was so rammed we could not escape.
When it was all over, we just wanted to crash back at the Travelodge in Toddington — it was about 28 miles from Knebworth, but it might as well have been 200. No lifts, no buses, no one taking pity. We were properly stranded. In the end, we had to split a £72 taxi fare just to get back. Brutal.
Still, no regrets — not a bad way to blow a Sunday.
'...he's so fat he can't wipe his own arse!' Well, not quite but I have piled on a few pounds in the last few months, probably a culmination of eating too much, drinking too much, changing jobs and less stress! I haven't exactly gone up a dress size, but I guess at 42 I should be keeping an eye on what goes in my mouth (steady now!). We did Download Festival last week (we being the fellowship of divorcees - seven years for me now!) and on the third day we staggered through the dust in the hot sun, extremely hungover, and one of the boys asked the question, 'Why do we do this to ourselves?' And I quipped, 'Because we can!' Nothing else was needed to be said. We do it because we can. Download was on occasion a musical shock to the punk blood that throbs through my system, and I just about survived Def Leppard via means of a Jack Daniels drip. It was only fair to take Tim up on his suggestion that we accompanied him to this Rawk Festival, as he has endured many a thrashed out pure punk show over the years, which is no mean feat for a boy brought up on the likes of Whitesnake (yikes). So what has my waistline gotta do with this? Well, not a lot really, it's more my health that causes a tad of concern, only because when you hit my age you start getting a little paranoid and think that any over doing it could leave you lying on a cold slab. Perhaps 4 days and 4 nights of drunken debauchery, eating shit and sleeping 4 hours in 24 on hard ground, coupled with crowd surfing to Faith No More and baking in the midday sun is for those younger than ourselves. Ah fuck it - live fast, die tired....
