Maintain Radio Silence

Avatare of the Earwickre

(A true story, or as true as such things may be)

After walkinge many an houre through the faire fields of Oxfordshire duringe highe midsummere a few years past, I tooke it upon myself to spende the nighte in a copse, many of which are scatterede throughout the lande, in fact throughout merry olde Englande itself. Upon entereing this little woode, I had a chance encountre with some badgres; real badgres they were, as of the Earwickre avatare. How they surprised me, walking along in the darke as I was, with their biggre than expected syze and theire qwyte ferociouse growlle. Ye woulde not fuck with the badgres, lemme tellye. Bit I digresse.

In the woode, I found for myselfe a fine spotte and sat downe to drinke of my watre and rolle my splyffe. I shall not qualifye what I am about to tell ye, I shall just tell ye.

Above me on the branches of the tree I sat beneath were two or perhaps three small sirs. Cheekye faces had they, and they viewed me with amusemente, for I was notte of theire kynde, by which I mean notte that I was notte a woodlande sprite, but that I was not of the Oxfordshire country kynde, and this they did knowe. With myrthe did they considre this strangre from Old London Towne, who had taken it upon hymselfe to wander the fields of a lande he knew notte aftre attending a wylde squatte partye out in the myddle of naywhare, at whych was imbibed much ecstacia, ketamyne and other such powdyrs and potiones. And the parytye was the nyte before this one, and the travellre which was myselfe had wandredde a full day arounde and arounde the countryside, stoppinge occasionallye to roll up duibys and hyde from the helycoptere that scoured the skye, for quite paranoide was I of bothe coppes and wierde Oxfordshire nazis from the neighbouring vyllage of Hungerforde, a nationalist stronghold, don’cha knowe. And it had been very sunnye, so I had quite cookd my brayne.

I conversede withe these folke on the branches above my heade, for I felt like a strangere in their midst, but I was buggerede if I was goinge anywhere, I was fuckde. I askede them if they woulde mynde if I spente the night in their woodlande, for come the morrowe I woulde be uppe and on my merry waye backe oute of the woodlande and backe to the cittie, and woulde be gratefule if they would indulge me some sheltre in theire wyldwoode for the nyte. I took it they complyde with my requeste, for I was left alone for a peacefulle evening’s reste.

Peacefulle it was, but oh,my friends, so strange it was. Little can stirre the soulle more thane a nighte in a dark woode. Notte, howevre, in a scarye wayye; no. In a beautifulle, wondrous waye, for the movemente of lightte from the moonne is so subtle the wayye it changes the surroundinges, t’was verily lyke as to being surrounded by silente cars, their headlightse gentlye beaming arounde over the trees and foliage arounde me. But I was far from any roade. T’was but the moonlightte. And ovre the way, perhaps tenne foot from where I satte, did open up on a wide tree trunke the faice of a manne, but he was notte present with me as had been the cheekye green sprites of the forest; no. This was the imprinte of a long deade ownere of this lande, a mediavale Baronne. His faice and heade appeared large and wide upon the tree, I sawe his faice and heade and haire, and I sweare that before me his face changed right thenne and there to a skulle, his eyes sinking into his faice. He was the ownre of the landde, by ryte of conqueste, for warlyke was his appearance. He was the Baronne, and this was the case whethere he be deade, which he was, or he be living, which he was notte. A skulle he became, albeit a strong one. And I tell ye I felt no feare, for I had already agreed my staye in the foreste with the forest dwellers, whose home this was, and I was just being tolde who to give respecte to, beyonde the little folke who dwelte withine the greenwoode. And so respect I did give.

Behinde these trees whereupon the faice now receded was a great flatte stone walle; I could see with mine eyes the top of the walle, behinde the trees, rysinge into the darknesse. It had not occured to me that I had made my reste in a copse beside a castle, but nowe it semed I had indeede. And the comings and goings of the lightte as I have descrybde became to my mynde the comings and goings of traffick to and from the castle, for perhaps some laite nyte ball or somesuch evente of the rych and powerful noblemenne was tayking place therein. And feeling not as far away from anyone nor anythynge that we would calle Earthly as in fact I actually was, I passed away into a blissfulle rest. I have oftene wondered what creatures of the nyte might have come to snyffe at mye partyde out wrecke of a bodye that nyte.

And so to a beautifulle dawne did I awake, and crawlede out of the copse, and sit did I beside it on the edge of a brown fielde, with a red sun eyeinge me from lowe in the morning skye. And as you maye have guessed, there was no castle. The copse was indeede alone and surrounded by nothynge but fieldes, wherein did live some aggressive badgres.

But what is in deed need not be so by nite, should a travellere fynde himselfe sunstrucke and stonede out of his gourde, and in the companye of the mischevious folke of the woodlandes of merry olde Englande. For do not the wyse men of the east telle, that what is realle and what dwells in the imagininge mynde are indistincte? One and the same, in deed. The folke I mette and things I encountred that faytefull nite were notte in this worlde, perhaps. But only in so much as we can say that, my friends, neither was I.

Ten reasons why Yob are the best thing that ever happened.

There is only one guitarist / vocalist, but he plays like he's three people and sings like he's ten people.

There's a deep, sincere pursuit of self-actualisation evident in everything they do. That's it's purpose.

They are seven albums in, and there isn't a moment wasted on any of them. Pick any song off any album. It will be awesome, because they all are. And they keep getting better.

When the big, all consuming, soul crushing riffs come, they're always as full and musical as possible. It's not just heavy for heavy's sake. They will take you somewhere.

There's always more going on than you think. However long the song, attention has been given to the key signature of every element; there's nothing unnecessary, but there's a constant firing off of finely honed and exquisitively mapped-out weird little honks, tweets and farts (and that's not just the diverticulitis). Any listen to them online or downloaded is not going to do justice to that. You need it all.

They are so much more than the category they get put in; they're not a doom band. Okay, some of it is doomy, but there's a depth charged positivity through all of it. It's uplifting. You go through the heavy to get brought into the light again - that's the purpose of the heavy.

Mike Scheidt's name is Mike Scheidt. That is more punk rock than your name.

He's a really inspiring person. Watch any interview with him. He goes to the heart of it every time. He's an honest person and his music reflects that.

When they write a belter, it's a fucking belter. See 'Prepare The Ground', 'Nothing To Win', or the majestic 'Quantum Mystic'.

Mike nearly died this year. His intestines decided they'd had enough of messing around. But he didn't die, he got better, and Yob live. Be thankful you share the world with this band.