various sized penises with a little bit of sperm coming out

I returned to my hotel room and reflected on the day. I was in the ‘studio’ of mONKEYs fOREHEAd and had listened to them create. I could have been sat in the room of a future anthem. It was my JFK moment as they say. Although in saying that people would be saying ‘where were you when you first saw mONKEYs fOREHEAd play der der der?’ so that doesn’t work. No wait it does. They could say ‘where were you when you first heard der der der?’ in which case I can say ‘I was there for the creation’. In fact I can imagine even if they didn’t ask I would steer the conversation that way.

I looked down at my note pad that had no notes on it, so I suppose it was just a pad. Anyway, it did have a splattering of doodles on it. None of which were mine. Bertie must have gotten hold of my pad and used it as a sounding board for ideas and inspirations. If this is the case, it looks as though the next single will called something along the lines of ‘various sized penises with a little bit of sperm coming out’. Personally I think ‘something along the lines of’ has a ring to it, I will write this down. Well I will if I can find space amongst all these penises.

Well I decided that I would wind down with a reflection of the day, as I said and look at the positives and where I see the rest of this interview going. I need to justify being around this band and having something to show for it. I have sat on the bed of potentially one of greatest musicians of our dance era. I have watched hands create. My ears have soaked up note perfection. And if all else fails, I have some doodles I can sell. Next time, I am going to explore the love lives of mONKEYs fOREHEAd.

reaching a harmonious orgasm

…and the beat went on…and on…and on. A few clicks later and finally the beat had an accompaniment. A throbbing bass line filled the room and sent vibrations that to be honest, made me want a poo. There was no way I was going to miss a second of this musical progression so I used my hands to lift me around two centimetres from the bed, which is not easy on a duvet and sheet covered mattress. But it worked so I listened. The band was rocking even more now as huge grins formed across their faces. I could tell something great was forming. The mood in the room lifted, the clicking got faster as the beats pumped out the speakers. The beats gelled together and coated the walls like Lifeguard Toilet Duck coats a toilet only less piney.

The dial on the stereo was adjusted and bass got harder. I increased the two centimetre gap but it was no good, I had to stand up as I not most defiantly had one in the chamber. I would rather shit myself than miss this moment. The pitch wheel was turned to bend the tune round the room on a veritable helter-skelter. I could literally picture the crowds of customers in a night club lifting their hands in the air reaching a harmonious orgasm. Thousands of people packed to the front of a stage jumping in unison absorbed in a drug free high. The hairs on the back of my neck stuck up followed closely by the hairs on my arms. They had arrived. I was witnessing the beginning of something great. In the moment Bertie rose to his feet, he raised his hands in the air. He was absorbed in the moment, the musical had lifted him from his seat, he sucked up the beats from the room…or so I thought.

Bertie finished his stretch and yawn and reached for his coat ‘anyway I’ve gotta fuck off. See yer dafter’. And with that he left. I had just witnessed the beginning of something great that never started.

and if you call it squash I’m throwing you through that f***ing window

I was determined not to have my illusions shattered so instead closed my eyes and absorbed the musical waves. I didn’t realised how engrossed I had become in the drum loop (you see, already I am picking up the hi-tech terms) but my trance like state was broken with I can only describe as a ‘flick of the nuts’ by Bertie.

‘Are you alright there mate, tuned out a bit there. Listen if you pass out your own yer own mate’. Bertie looked me up and down.

‘In saying that’ he added ‘if you are gonna pass out, let me know. I’ll sample it and use it. Make sure you hit that table for maximum bass effect’. I decided to sit back down on the bed.

The same loop has been playing now for nearly 15 minutes. This was my first understanding of not having a talent for sample based music as to me, in all honesty, it was becoming quite annoying. mONKEYs fOREHEAd however, rocked along whilst blowing plumes of smoke.

Skinny Boy left momentarily and returned with two pints of what looked like diluted orange squash. I acknowledged that there was only two and before I could say anything Bertie spoke up ‘and if you call it squash I’m throwing you through that fucking window’. I kept quite and instead ate a mint from my pocket.

stroke me magnet with your fanny whacker

And then it happened. Skinny Boy sat by the PC, Bertie pulled up a chair next to him. I held my breath and listened to the clicking of the mouse and the tapping of the keys of the keyboard. I did not dare say a word. I did not dare tempt fate. But I did inhale sharply having realised I was still holding my breath. Luckily the music creation was about to start. Nothing could break the concentration of this greatness.

The CD tray opened and a carefully selected sample CD was added and gently pushed to close. A pause. Then more clicking of the mouse. Skinny Boy reached over to the large black amp (looking like something from the eighties but I’m no amp expert) and turned a dial. “Stroke me magnet with your fanny whacker” boomed out of the speakers. Skinny Boy reached over and turned the volume dial down. ‘Me neighbours will go spare, they bang on the wall if I play stuff too loud’.

‘So bang back, or turn it right up, I would’. Bertie the diplomat would appear to have fewer ties to this house than his co-creator.

I gingerly stood up from the bed to grab a glimpse at the screen. To me it was a hodge podge of small screens, virtual dials and waveforms. To them it is like a second language, a dialect only a select few have the vast experience to understand the verbal communication of musical greats. Bertie turned to me ‘we have no idea what all these dials do. Play a sample with the dial turned right up, play it again with the dial turned right down and listen for the difference. If there is one, we use the dial’.

to order fish and chips on any other day than a Friday is just plain being flash

As tempting as the wares were, I did struggle to make my choice. However, what I soon realised was that unless it was a pie it was going to be battered. When I looked in the glass of the food display area (which was marked – HOT, do not touch, so I did) to help make my choice I soon realised that everything looks the same when it’s covered in batter. So I opted for the classic, fish and chips. When I placed my order I soon realised I had made a social faux par. To order fish and chips on any other day than a Friday is just plain being flash. This error of my ways was highlighted by Bertie who suggested that I was “being a flash get”. The thing is, following mONKEYs fOREHEAd is hungry work. So I stuck with my order as I extended my order by adding two chip butties with garlic sauce. I paid and left. Without any thanks.

We returned to Skinny Boy’s house and unpacked our foods. Whilst I withheld my feeling of being an unlucky loser in a game of pass the parcel, the boy’s tucked in like they had never been fed. The choice of ‘tunes’ was the Prodigy’s ‘Fat of the Land’ album. The lads took great pleasure in dancing to Firestarter by nodding their heads violently in time with the baseline only pausing to push their glasses back onto their faces. Quite a spectacle you could say, but I won’t. I decided not to ask anymore questions as the look I received from Bertie when I asked if their food was nice suggested that it is socially acceptable in the world of mONKEYs fOREHEAd to dance during eating but not to talk. For the next few tracks we ate and they danced.

No one in sandals is gonna cook my chips

The invite was greatly appreciated. However, I was unsure whether my anticipation of this Northern delight was stronger than Bertie’s acceptance of ‘anything to shift this fucking hangover’. So the PC was powered down, the cigarettes and phones were picked up and the house was vacated. I was going on the road with mONKEYs fOREHEAd.

Bertie called shotgun and took the drivers seat. Skinny Boy’s argument was that if I was to die then it would be up to Bertie to take over the driving as he was in the co-pilots seat. He said that he was happy to be cargo in the back. I decided to absorb the ambiance and push for some comments about their life on the road. However, this was not easy over Bertie’s insistence of ‘picking the tunes’. This became a dialogue of shit, shit, no way, hate him, shit, classiccccc…but not in the mood, shit, isn’t that…shit, hate him HATE THESE, fucking adverts. And then we arrived.

I could smell the fat before we turned the corner. Bertie looked in the window that allowed the not so attractive rear view of the proprietors cooking said culinary pleasures. I noticed that he was not in fact checking their wares like Charlie Bucket at the sweet shop window but instead was looking at floor. So I explored this with him.

‘No one in sandals is gonna cook my chips…dirty bastards’. I felt this did not require any further exploration. Instead, I opted to enter chip shop.

The doors swung open and afford me the hot blast experience of alighting an aeroplane in a hot foreign country only this time had the distinct smell of fish. I perused the glass menu of general food stuffs that was attached to the back wall. The pictures had clearly been taken in the seventies with the only change being that a new white sticker would replace the current one with a thick black marker price written on it. I now had the difficult choice of making my choice for dinner.

Chip Butties with Garlic Sauce

‘Let me show you what I mean’ Skinny Boy stubs his cigarette out and clears his throat. ‘Now have you heard of Orbital? Well they did this song that goes did did doo dooooo diddle id doooo. Do you know the one I mean?’ I had no idea what he was talking about but who was I to challenge greatness? So I just agreed. At this point Skinny Boy opened a draw to get what I could only imagine was to be a pen and paper. Then it struck me, maybe I am about to see their work. The jottings that one day could be worth thousands. I paused in anticipation. Then Skinny Boys phone rang.

‘now then mate, yeah…yeah…yeah…no he is still here…yeah…yeah…purple then went black…yeah…yeah…about 10 minutes…nice one’. I interrupted to suggest that Skinny Boy request the discs and thus my campaign to push mONKEYs fOREHEAd back into the business. ‘He’s gone’ was the reply. A moment missed but with 10 minutes before Bertie arrives I open my questions.

‘So what are your musical influences?’ Skinny Boy is now sat on his chair staring at his computer screen.

‘I don’t like musicals to be honest’. As I was about to explain I realised that I had again been had.

‘German Electronica is probably my biggest…’ at this point Skinny Boy burst out laughing at something on the screen. A screen that was placed in such a way that I could not see what it displayed. I had to find out. I need a new angle. I will shout for chip butties with garlic sauce for dinner. What is the point in having an expenses account if I can’t use it!

in and out of insirpation

 Within a few seconds he was sat poised and ready until ‘Bastard, Bertie’s got all me sample disks, fucking hell. I don’t think he’s even touched the fucking things. Shit.’ I knew it was to good be true. For one precious moment I thought I was going to be the one to start mONKEYs fOREHEAd back into the music business. So what about the inspiration, where did it all begin? How long has it been going on? Maybe now as Skinny Boy is talking he might be able to elaborate.

‘The inspiration, well that’s been with us since we met, sort of what we had in common. As we hung around more the musical inspiration developed with loads of ideas only we weren’t writing any of it down. Just saying we should. Then as the music was getting too much of a balls ache we started on the writing. The thing is neither of us can write or even read music. So what we would do is write it down in durs, dums, and ahhs, that sort of thing. The only thing is we have forgotten more than we have written’. Imagine that, twice if not more music has passed between the two and gone forever. Added to that, I have just discovered their unique writing style. Maybe I am making progress. Could this be the faint glimmer of hope I have been looking for? I am on a roll, I cannot stop now. So I push on.

s s s s s samples

Skinny Boy continues with his tale of mONKEYs fOREHEAd’s first, and would appear only, purchase of musical hardware.

‘At the time he had an Amiga and on the way home we talked of using the pitch wheel, that’s the cool on the edge guys we are. Anyway when we got it back it had no power supply. So we went back out to get some battery’s, powered it up and not only did the pitch wheel not work but you could only play on about quarter of the keys. And a few days later Bertie found the bloody power supply at the bottom of the box.’ At last one of mONKEYs fOREHEAd is starting to talk more. With this I thought I would push my luck and continue the flow of conversation. ‘Where is the keyboard now?’ I ask inquisitively.

‘On top of me wardrobe, it’s been there for ages now’. So what do they use to make music now?

I ask him ‘so what do you use to make music now?’  Skinny boy who is now sat yawning answers ‘now we use samples and crack, err software. It’s a hell of a lot easier’ he gets up and moves over to his computer and powers up. ‘I’ll show you’. Wow I thought, wow. Just like that Skinny Boy is going to produce a single as I sit watching.

hardtimes for Hardware

 It’s Saturday afternoon. Two o’clock to be exact and I have just pulled up at Skinny Boys house. I appears that all though Skinny Boy is up and has been for almost five hours Bertie is still at home in bed. After a phone call he says he will be round in about half an hour. This gives me a chance to talk to Skinny Boy one to one. I ask about the music and its origin.

‘Well it started with a programme we got with the keyboard we bought. As it happens I think that is the only piece of hardware we have. You know when we first bought it we paid for next day delivery and it never showed. We waited a few days before calling to find out what had happened, it turned out Bertie had told them one address and they had wrote down the wrong one, so he says anyway, he always panics on the phone. He sits there with all his stuff organized in front of him but rest assured he forgets something then all goes to pot when he sits back down’. Skinny Boy looks quite animated at this point. ‘So anyway it was delivered a few doors down from where he lived. The useless bastard has only lived in the same house all his life and doesn’t know his own bloody address. That’s not all; we went down to get it, and the house it was delivered to have sent it back to the post office. So we had to find the sorting office, by the way they, the house we were at, they lent us an A to Z. so we finally found it and brought back to Bertie’s. That’s the keyboard not the A to Z. I think Bertie took it back. Well he told me he did’. Skinny Boy picks up his cigarettes and goes to a nearby draw to find, I can only assume a cigarette lighter. As he opens the draw his eyes widen, followed by the abrupt slamming of the draw, a red face and a not too obvious attempt to see if I had noticed his actions. I have to find out what is in that draw.