Juddering Your Eardrums.

While my wife was out earning a living today, I was at home, recording these.



This is what I do with my time. This is what I laughingly call a career. Other people save lives, fight wars and cure diseases; I make noises. It’s not for me to decide which is of most use to society (it’s clearly the first three).

What can I say? I spent my day harmonising with myself. I’m like a one-man Bee Gee (though the same could now be said of Barry Gibb.)

The reason for my strange mantra-like repetitions of four words in a variety of styles is for them to act as jingles for mine and Glyn’s radio show ‘Doggett & Ephgrave: In Your Inner Ear’, which starts this Sunday. We wanted our stings to be slightly surreal and purposely crap, to give us something to bounce off, and then deconstruct on air. These should do the job. There’s no point in us using anything that’s too slick or too cheesy, as it wouldn’t sit comfortably with what we do.

That’s not to say that the show will be a shambles; that’s the last thing we want. But it has to be reflective of our style for it to work. We’re not Steve Wright: Steve Wright is.

It’s my neighbours I feel sorry for. They have to put up with me recording this shit. My cat gave me a disdainful look while I did it, but that’s cats for you.

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