Thomas Bangaltar’s Bang Altar: Part 2

Good Day

I return. My name is Mister Thomas Bangaltar. I like to investigate religions. It give me a break from making the music. Some times when I play the music my bottom get sore from sitting down so I have to get up and investigate subjects.

My favourite subject at school was religious studies. I had a teacher with brown eyes and curly hair. He was short and thin. He was about 45 years old. His name was Monseiur Active. He was my friend. He said I did good. I like religion since. Monsieur Active he used to meet us in the sixth form block at break times. He used to be at the bars where we would go to. He would talk to us and purchase us Absinthe and Pernod. He said he was our friend.

Here is the Religion I have been invetigating: Jewism

Jews like god. They no like what he did recently though. They only like his old stuff. They say his recent stuff was not as good so they no read it. It a bit like when Frasier got a bit merde.

Jew god, he no like bald men. He is a vengeful god. He punish bald people by making them wear doily for putting the glasses on the table. He say bald men’s head reflect his face in unfavourable way from up in the sky. Like when you look in spoon when your mum give you your petit filou once you have finished your croque-madame. God no like this. He also no like artificial lighting, so he make all jew houses have lots of mood lighting in the form of candelabras. God like to be seen in flattering light. He no like superbowl lights.

That is all I have found out. Good day to you.

Respectful wishes


Leeds Fest 2010

I was lucky enough to get a free ‘production’ pass to Leeds fest, thanks to doing some shady practices with some shady characters that left me with a bad taste in my life and a fruit bowl full of bookies pens. Due to work commitments and a friend’s reception ceremony I spent Friday night and Saturday day and night at the festival. On saturday night I slept in my clothes to hasten a quick getaway on Sunday morning. That’s how much festival ‘fun’ I was ‘enjoying’.

 Now, camping and festivalling are not my natual habitats, truth be told. I’m like a Nigerian Scammer without capital letters in these environs, but with a free (and backstage) pass, only Victor Obogu or Walter Dorman would pass up the chance. Let me tell you some conclusions I have arrived at from coming home from the festival.

1. Festivals are for the young and tall.If I was some kind of perv who got erotically charged by the backs of sweaty heads, than I would have been in snoop dogg floating cloud sensual seduction heaven. Sadly, when I go to a festival or gig, I like to see the band I’m getting crushed to death to see. Sure, I can see the big screen, but I might as well be at home watching TV. At least I wouldn’t have to put vicks vaporub up my nose to visit the toilet at home. So I pretty much spent the whole weekend looking at the backs of people’s heads.
2. Festival goers use the word ‘literally’ about three times in one sentence.

Yeah, man, I was like, literally standing there, and this dude literally said to me “are you coming for a beer” and he’d literally just come back from getting one”.

Oh festival goer, I can see the word ‘literally’ is a friend of yours. But why so? Do people tend to take you metaphorically all the time? So, if you say you were standing there, everyone presumes you were standing in a metaphorical way,  like making a stand? Or if a guy said something to you, do people presume he ‘said’ it with his eyes? Perhaps you should find a different crowd to literally spend some time with.  
3. People in bands dress like Russell Brand.  I don’t know who they are, but thanks to the handy Russell Brand uniform, I know I ought to know them.
4. Festival accoutrements are COMPULSORY: flower head bands, face painting, writing on each others bodies, henna tattoos. If you are in your thirties, face paints and flower head bands just make you look sad and pathetic, so you have to stick to a hat and sunglasses. Some people wear sunglasses at night in the dance tent. It must be great being them, eh shedders?
5. Remortgage your house to eat.  Think of the cheapest food to make. Yeah? Egg noodles with some fresh chillies and onion in it? How much does it cost to make? Probably about 40p? Right. Let’s charge these face painted dickheads £7 for it. Literally.
6. The Comedy Tent.  Saying the word ‘legend’ after a well known celebrity’s name does not constitute a joke. e.g. “Rod Hull-legend”.

We saw some great comics on the alternative stage. Angelos Epithemiou and Dan Nightingale were notable talents. Only marred by dickheads constantly shouting shit heckles at them and attention seekers shouting over the jokes (“Angelos, can I give you a blowie?”). However there was one guy who was notable in his shitness. Inel someone or other. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sick of black-people-do-this-and-white-people-do-it-in-a-nerdy-shit-way-jokes. They are tiresome and it’s been done to death. Inel TRADED in these jokes. He tore the arse out of them like a pair of primark trousers. I’m guessing everyone else is tired of these gags too as no one laughed. Inel got a bit baity and blamed the audience for not laughing. He said they were obviously “going over out heads”. Firstly, who’s responsibility is it to make us laugh, Inel? We didn’t seem to have a probelm with Dan before you, or Angelos after you? If we don’t understand a joke (which we did) then you didn’t scaffold it well enough for us to understand. Secondly, the audience did not laugh cos your joke was shit, not because it “went over their heads” as you say. Getting palpably annoyed at them for this and saying “that went right over your heads didn’t it” will not engender warm feelings towards your ‘material’ if I can loosely call it that.
Race jokes are shit. I hate them. Richard Prior did it and some fuckers are still doing it. I hate it so much. “black people are like this, eh, yeah? White people are like this eh? What’s with that?”. It usually constitutes that white people are shit and geeky and uptight and black people are cool and street. That’s as maybe, but it’s a tired concept, overdone, past its time and BORING.
7. Let’s celebrate drugs!!  Cypress Hill sparking up a huge spliff on stage now seems a bit sad to my thirty something eyes. It’s a 45 year old man smoking a spliff, who’s now a bit portly. Cue lots of teens and twentysomethings raving about how he is a ‘legend’ (naturally) for sparking up a spliff. I roll my eyes and will them to think of something worthwhile to respect rather than a preponderance to eat doritos, never leave home, red rimmed eyes, and ripping the corner off magazine covers.

The end. Your responses are valued and welcomed.

edited to say: there were loads of great things about the festival, but I’m choosing to moan about it here.

My Junk

Hello Shedders,

That young lassie, Ke$ha, has a song out, called ‘Tick Tock’ in which she says

I’m talking everyone getting crunk

Boys tryna touch my junk

I really can empathise. This is a really tricky issue. I know I’m constantly being bothered by young lads interfering with the burnt out pram in the front garden, the part of an electricity pylon,  and the twsited frame of a Raleigh Burner. Not a week goes by, shed fans, when a stong young man doesn’t try to reach out and touch my oriental fishing boat .  God, I try to chase them away, but they run too fast and I really can’t make a chase when I’m smoking my Regal Kingsize. I may drop it for starters.

Ke$ha. I feel your pain. Why won’t they just touch our arses instead?

123 Bumming! Puce Tape

Some of you may remember that I’ve been championing Carlisle Supergroup 123 Bumming!  You can learn more about 123 Bumming! on these links:

A recent earthquake in the Tuba Monster Quadrant of Carlisle, dislodged an early 123 Bumming! demo known simply as ‘the Puce Tape’.  On this tape was 123 Bummings! first ever recordings where they performed a little known song ‘Gentleman’s Arena’, a tender song about and the expression of sweet, deep love by touching someone’s ‘arena’. We can hear on this early, raw track, Iona Tombola on rhythm guitar and vocals, Igor Biggun on another, er, rhythm guitar, and Hans Fiddling on blues harp.  The puce tape has been carbon dated to the Future, as their concept is so ahead of it’s time.  Scientists at the Angel Institute have verified, that there may have been some alcohol involved in this live recording. And lots of wood.

So listen and enjoy ‘Gentleman’s Arena’ here and the Shirokuma corporation remix, which is very good.

123 Bumming! met in a munitions factory during the second world war.  They were attracted to each other due to their mutual love of holding budgies and laughing at how stupid they looked.  123 Bumming like hats.  A lot.  They refuse to listen to radiators as they tell lies.  Damn dirty lies. 

Anyway, enjoy ‘the Puce Tape’ and look forward to next week where 123 Bumming’s Iona Tombola releases her solo single ‘DVLA: Straight Outta Swansea’. Until then, guard your Hoover Chamber and continue to be vigilant against high levels of sexiness.

The Wait is over! The Crap Pixies Movie is Here!

I know, mes petits champignons, the wait has been agonising.  It’s only been finished today due to a gargantuan hangover, of biblical pestilence proportions. 

As some of you may know, my love of the band The Pixies, runs pretty deep, like the river of slime in Ghostbusters 2 (A classic), so I pursued my girlish dream by trekking up to Glasgow to see them. 

I boarded the Glasgow bound train at exotic Wigan where my excitement and anticipation built.  I listened to them on my i-pod pretty much all the way there.  I won’t bore you with the journey details, or how basic the Campanile hotel is for fricking 90 odd quid a night (it’s like an Ibis!) and fast forward to the show.

I was  staying opposite the SECC in Glasgow, but the walk there was an agony of ecstasy (yes really).  Round that way in Glasgow is pretty amazing.  It’s like a raw, brutal version of the Quayside in Newcastle.  It’s a stark, industrial scene punctuated with the beautiful Armadillo and ‘squinty bridge’. A domineering black crane, a reminder of the shipping industry in Glasgow (if you’ve ever been to the shipyard of Govan, it’s quite spectacular).  But I didn’t care about this, other than it was on the way, so I don’t know why I’m telling you this.

On entering the SECC, I made a beeline to the tour merchandise.  I pretty much threw my money at a poor woman on the stall there

“Give me a t-shirt with  a monkey on it”

I demanded.  She complied, largely because I appeared mad. 

“Oh my god. BADGES. Give me those BADGES!!!”

Again, the scared stall assistant obeyed.  I admit, if she hadn’t, I would have laid waste to her.

So I had my badges and t-shirt and was beaming at everyone.  I noted that some people I was surprised that they were Pixies  fans.  They were pretty muscled beef cakes, in tight lycra and sportswear. I happened upon one woman who had the biggest blond hair and fake tits encased in nowt but a waistcoat that gave the most alarming cleavage.  This is a pixies fan?  Surely not? 

She wasn’t.  There was also a weight lifting, steroid shake-a-thon thang going on in another room in the SECC.

It was an amazing show, despite nearly losing my life by being on the periphery of the dangerous ‘mosh pit’.  I was forced to move to the back due to the level of moshing, and also the godawful smell of greasy hair been thrown too near my nose that it sent my olfactory receptors into ‘spasm’.  The likes that I have not known until day 3 at the Wickerman festival (please people, take some baby wipes with you to festivals, and a squirt of ‘Batiste’ wouldn’t go amiss).  Given that I am only a tiny 5 foot 2 it was hard to see the show for my diminutive proportions, but I did ‘jump jump'( in the words of pretend Irishmen House of Pain) in order to capture a glimpse of my heroes.  Kim, Black Francis, My pal Joe and David did not disappoint.  The show took my breath away, and this was the first time I’d seen the pixies avec visuals.  They opened the show with the Dali film ‘un chien andalou’, naturally, as this was the Doolittle tour. The pixies were quite silent, much like last time I saw them, in terms of banter with the crowd.  Kim talked to us, but the others did not utter a word.  This made me wonder whether they weren’t enjoying it, if that makes sense? 

Above the stage where four great Ikea paper lanterns, that were connected and moved about.  I’m pretty sure that these were to symbolise the members of ‘take that’ after Robbie’Rude Box’ Williams  left, or maybe even to symbolise Jordan’s children.  I hope you can make them out on my terrible video.

Music wise, and atmosphere wise, it was just phenomenal.  The band started with B sides: Dance the  Mantaray, Wierd at My School, Bailey’s walk and Mantaray before starting the Dootlittle album in its entireity. The visuals were captivating. Using old movie clips, animated dot-matrix style hearts for ‘la la love you’ as well as goofy footage of band members that played behind each one of them during ‘here comes your man’ (if my recollection is correct) which I really liked and connected the band with the crowd.

A particular high point for me was ‘Hey’. I really love this song, it’s so beautiful.  Behind the band, the screen went black and big white lyrics flashed up, which  took my breath away, with the vocal solo, and the bass falling in. You can make this out on the video.

After the whole of Doolittle album had been played we had 3 encores!  The band played some more B sides such as Wave of Mutilation (UK Surf) and  Into the White before going on to play some of my favourite tracks from Surfer Rosa, such as Broken Face, Holiday Song, Nimrod’s Son and Vamos and of course, Where is my Mind? 

After the gig, everyone piled out and I hung around the stage, as I could see the crew throwing things into the audience.  It looked like coins, but I’m sure the crew wouldn’t do that, so I can only presume they were plectrums or something.  As I edged nearer, like a scavenger, the crew started handing out the set lists.  There was one left.  I thought I might have to murder someone.  Luckily, the other die hard fans were sweaty men, and the crew were sweaty men, and being the only thing vaguely resembling a woman, the gods smiled upon me and I got the last set list.  I was in pixie heaven. 

Here is my crap video of the gig.

The Institute for Grinding and Bogling



“You crazy babe, Bathsheba, I want ya.  You’re suffocating, you need, a good shed” sang Black Francis.  And don’t we all agree with that sentiment? Of course.  Anyone would. That’s why WoS is the 5th most popular shed based blog after

1. Right Says Shed

2. Beds in Sheds

3.  Sheds in Beds

4.  Lord Rhomboid and his Shed Division

5.  World of sheds
In other matters, I have a proposal.  What we need in this country is an Institute of Grinding and Bogling.  This Instiute will fly in action should anyone be wrongly accused of ‘grinding’ and/or ‘bogling’ or any illegal grinding acts can be addressed by the proper channels. 
If someone is incorrectly accused of Grinding (haven’t we all been?  I know I have on at least 100 seperate occasions, each one more extravangant than the last) an application can be made to the Insitute to investigate.  This will be done by interviewing several sources (usually, Cardinal Mazarin, Cardinal Richelieu, le Dauphin and le Roi de Soleil) and reviewing video footage of alleged grinding.If allegations are largely insubstantiated, and injunction and legal proceedings will follow.  The slanderer will be dealt the punishment of watching MTV’s ‘The Grind’ until they can correctly idenitfy all 68 components of a ‘grind’.  They will then be forced to pull out all their eyelashes and categorise them into either ‘fluttery’ or ‘spindly’. 
I put it to you that such an insitute will save so much heartache and wrong doing in society.  Soon we shall all be able to roam the streets without fear of facing an illegal bogle.  no longer shall we fear being in a nightclub where some inebriated young chap decides to lock you in a ‘reverse unsolicited grind’ (this is a move where a gentleman approaches you from behind, so you can’t run, and puts his arms around you and then gyrates suggestively into your back).  Won’t the world be a better place? Won’t it make us all cry out “P’Tang Yang Kipperbang”.
and now I rest.  I feel all flushed now, and only essence of radiator water can restore my senses.
Until the next time, stay safe
Your pal in all ‘dance’ matters

123 Bumming! Do it Again

Those of you who regularly read this blog will have become transfixed by my tales of the band 123 Bumming! Of course you are.  Only a fool with some kind of mental problems wouldn’t. Many of you have sent me death threats demanding that I upload more tracks from their popular album ‘It’s all about hats and self publicity’.   Well, the wait is over Bumming! Fans for here is their latest song. ‘(I got) Wood’.


As you’d expect, 123 Bumming play their instruments with panache and precision, like that of some kind of foppish neurosurgeon and no hint of drunkness. However, this song is somewhat of a departure from their usual style. (I got) Wood is a crossover betwixt gangsta rap, hip hop and blues with a touch of Viz crudity. The result in not unlike NERD or someone else really good like that. Or even somone you can think of who is better.

(I got) Wood also sees Bumming! drop drums in favour of more random percussive elements like tambourine and woodblock. The result is a tune that you might use to woo a lover into your boudoir to watch you grate off the hard skin on your feet with your Ped-Egg.

Without further ado, I bring you (I got) Wood.

(I got) Wood
Words: Hans Fiddling
Musical concept: Iona Tombola
Rhythm Guitar/tambourine: Iona Tombola
Lead Vocals/blues harp: Hans Fiddling
Lead Guitar/Bass: Igor Biggun
Percussion/Backing Vocals: Bunty Snatch (new member!)
Percussion/Backing Vocals: Eva Gotalittlesomethingforya

What the press say about 123 Bumming!

Cast your mind far, far, back, a bit further, no, a bit further…jesus can’t you remember past yesterday…to last week when I shared with you the celestial music of the heavenly orbs, also known as the band ‘123 Bumming’.  Learn more about them here

Since then, the press have predictably jumped on the Bumming Bandwagon and listened to their album ‘It’s all about hats and self publicity’ and reviewed it in the popular muzak press.  Here are just a limited selection as to what they are saying:

They smell like gas and they ratch through bins, but what I wouldn’t give for one night of passion with these guys.”
– Trumpet Arm, Pole Dancing for Pervs

“Listening to their tracks make me want to go through Stefan Dennis’ bins and then punch the air in salutation whilst crying out into the void “Don’t it make you feel good!””
– Yabbie Creek, Erinsborough News

“I love this band so much, I find myself having to text them three times in a row without a reply. This makes me the cunt. Everyone knows ‘three times makes me the cunt’.”
– Mr. Eager Beaver, Eager Texting and Sabotage

“Is it so wrong to be consumed with a love that burns like a surface of the sun for this band? No, and I’ll fight anyone with my bare hands who says it is.”
– Mr. Bon Tempi, Hammond Organs for You
“Now that I play 123 Bumming during every waking moment, my wife won’t leave me alone. Thanks 123 Bumming!”
– Ebeneezer Goode, Holding Budgies for Profit
When I first heard this band, I had to cough into a packet of bourbons. This inadvertently resulted in the Death of East 17’s drummer. ”
– Walkley Netto, Mr. T Weekly
“123 Bumming are so wrong, it’s right. They made me divorce my wife and marry a sea urchin! The sexy fucks! I lost my house and my car, but I just got the fuck on with it!”
– The Noble Gases, ZX Spectrum Fanciers Almanac (Apr 04, 8947)

“I feel so sexual when I listen to this band. Like I might punch a bouncer or anull a marriage!”
– Pac-a-mac, The Sleeping Bag Tribunal (Mar 03, 1754)

“Fuck Me!”
– Spinning Jenny, Crop Rotation Monthly (Feb 02, 1821)

“123 bumming make me howl with delight”
– Cardinal Richelieu, Copper Sulphate Monthly (Jan 01, 1591)
And so, there you have it.  However, Shedders, don’t take thier word for it, make up your own mind.  Tomorrow may bring more music from 123 Bumming! so stay tuned (not literally, you aren’t a radio or a CB system. I mean metaphorically.  Apologies if you are a radio system)

Angel Muzak

I am an artist in many ways.  Even just simple the way I breathe or pick up a pot noodle oozes ‘art’.  Some might say my very existence is art.  I express this art in many ways.  Sometimes I write short plays about cops, copping off, and copse, other times I write music.  Some of you may know that I am part of the infamous quartet ‘123 Bumming’ where I write tender love songs and perform them in many mystical ways too complex for you to fully conceive. 

Today I am giving you the opportunity to at least try to understand my ‘art’.  Today I bring you one of my most celebrated songs called ‘Muy Caliente’.

Muy Caliente is a tender love song based mainly on the effects of potent physical attraction.  Listen to it, and make it the theme for your life.  Upload it it your i-pod device and play it before the object of your affections comes around for a swinging party. Y’know, the girl you’ve had your eye on from the Abattoir. Yeah, the one with the lazy eye.


Another song

Hola, pungent shed fanciers.
Today I was off work sick.  The central heating broke and I was head hunted for a firm of Industrial Machinery, under the guise of the ‘Angel 2000 series GTi’.  Whilst lamenting my sick status and lack of heat in Angel Towers I was on the msn messenger device talking to my friend Bri.  He asked me what we were going to do this weekend.  So I told him we were going to write a song about chickenpox/shingles ( I have all the best ideas).  He protested for all of 2 seconds and then penned the lines
Baby, it’s you who makes me tingle
I’m on fire cos you got shingles
I can see it on your forehead
and I don’t care how far it’s spread
and my response was
Baby, I hope it’s over your thighs
so i can rub in caaaalamiiiine
and now here, I develop this sweet love song of disease
you got the pox I got the pox
gonna love you up and down ’til the itching stops
I got the pox we got the pox
I want you so bad, cos you’re a scabby fox
I got one scab, and it’s making you hot
I got two scabs and it’s making you rock
three scabs itch and my skins on fire
I can see in your watery eyes, that you’re full of desire
I got the pox and it’s your temperature that’s high
my baby’s down the chemist buying that calamine
who could have thought illness could be so emotionally charged?
hand me that lucozade cos I’m feeling parched
I got the duvet on the sofa, come under and spend some time
and we can be watched by Jeremy Kyle
he’s shouting at some dole-ys and in this moment, it’s the best
oh baby, let’s witness the results of the DNA test
baby baby, scratch that itch
but careful not to knock the head of the scabs, cos then you’ll end up with a dent like that kid from my class had in the middle of his head.