Jonners Agnew is in the talkbox, once more regaling us all with his lifelong post-Gabriel Genesis and Phil Collins obsession, flummoxing his listeners with reams of useless information pertaining to the once all-conquering purveyors of pop-prog for Sunday golfers and upmarket car salesmen. Joining him is Archjook Geff'ry Boycs, ex-crickballist and pugilistic student of cutting edge avant garde progressive music. Back in the 14th century Duke Geff'ry legendarily held onto his wicket throughout the entire course of the Six Week War, scoring a mere 57 rounders in the time, until Sire Iron Broth lost his by then tenuous grip on patience, and had Boycs run over by a groundsman with a roller. No-one cared that this was strictly illegal as Boycs was mightily pissing off everyone, thus laying the ground for a career invoking unreasonable irritation in even the most mild-mannered of peasants up and down the land. As we know to our cost this continued after he retired from the game, with his ongoing and seemingly endless stint in the talkbox. These days Boycs maintains his knack of annoying those of a reasonable dispostion, as his grating natter is now into its 67th season, and shows no signs of stopping. Mind you, he knows his minimalist avant-funk, amongst other wilfully obscure musical ginnels.
Jonners: Good Morning to you Geff'ry, how are are you on this fine sunny day?
Boycs: Ah'm grand. Ma dad used to work six days a week down t'pit tha knows, so ah'm grand. And tha can stop thy blather about Genesis, they split up centuries ago. There's some reet proper music being made by folk who still function, and it's about time tha was educated.
Jonners: Whoever you are referring to are not popular, are they? They have not had megatastic hits of such splendiferousness as Invisible Crutch, or Cheesy Lover, or Ps-ps-pseudio, or...
Boycs: Oh do shut up Jonners. It's our job to put bums on seats, and ah knows you were one of those intolerant johnny-come-lately dolts throwing furniture at Devo at Knobwerth in 1978. Ah recommend the new album by that Colin Robinson fella. He's from ma neck o' t'woods, although ah'm none too sure about all those arty anarcho-hippy types who live up thar in 'Ebden Bridge, 'appen. Jumble Hole Clough is name o' t'band and Bela Lugosi's Dad is name o' t'album.
Jonners: Are they anything like Genesis, then?
Boycs: Aye, well, is David Steele like Viv Richards? They both played crickball. Imagine another band from God's Own County, them Gang of Four chaps, mek 'em stop being gloomy buggers and hide their trenchcoats and well-thumbed copies of Das Kapital, and you'd be absolutely nowhere near, as Jumble Hole Clough also dabble in fragile ambience inspired by their lovely locale.
Jonners: Gang of who?
Boycs: Ah'm sorry, but you av to tell it straight. That is simply not good enough. In ma day the captain would av you up against the lockers for ignorance like that. By 'eck you mek me feel reet old. Now then lad, this is going to take a while, let's start again.
Jonners: (Giggling) Did you know I've just bought a second home by the sea?
Boycs: How old are you? Twelve? Pay attention son, you might learn something. This Robinson chap must be some sort of socialist, he releases all his music for nowt. Not a bean. Now, tha knows me, ah'm no fan them socialist types. Only t'other day ah was moaning about why can't ah get my groceries delivered at two in the morning. If there's a market for it, it should be provided for, ah reckon. Ah'm sure some nice Polish fella'd be up for it. Anyway, this Robinson chap, he's very prolific, ah can't keep up with him. But while we're at lunch ah thought ah'd mention his new album as it's nay bad at all. Ah never realised...or ah forgot, ah'm not as young as thee...but Bela Lugosi's Dad has some proper songs. Aye, that means lyrics, and reet bloody surreal they are too:
"53 men, huddled in the hall
To all intents and purposes, there’s no-one there at all
Just a little up the road, that’s where it will end.
Forgotten men around the bend
Get the mucus moving"
Tha's from a snappily titled tune called A cardboard box containing my mother's hair.
Jonners: That makes no sense at all...
Boycs: Spot on...'appen that's the point son. It means whatever you want it to. You should see Sailing with me on the Zuider Zee. Insanely catchy and quite nonsensical, it'll get tha singing in the shower.
Boycs: Tha cheeky young whippersnapper. I'll have thee know ah was in t'school choir.
Jonners: I'll bet you unintentionally slowed the beat down. Or deliberately, come to think of it.
Boycs: Ah avn't come here to be insulted...
All: Oh yes you have, that's why we pay you!
1. I reached into the chimney and pulled out a sewing machine (25th October 1415) (5:03)
2. A cardboard box containing my mother's hair (3:20)
3. Abandoned Lunch Invokes State Of Nirvana (3:21)
4. Twilight of The Mods (3:23)
5. En prélude à une entorse au poignet (6:34)
6. Henry is still missing (4:21)
7. Ikarus preparing to leave the Great Synagogue (4:10)
8. Mother surrounded by silence (2:22)
9. Neglected Crazy Golf Course (3:51)
10. Rain / train / aeroplane (2:05)
11. Wedding car outside a chip shop in Halifax (3:04)
12. Sailing with me on the Zuider Zee (2:33)
All songs written, played, recorded and produced by Colin Robinson, with:
Richard Knutson - microKorg (track 1)
Liam Robinson - electric double bass and bass guitar (tracks 2,4 and 12)
Jumble Hole Clough Bandcamp