Seed Satellite and Sancho, 'Mystery Year,' Launch Party
Thurs Oct 12th
7pm-3am
£3
The Rhythm Factory
16-18 Whitechapel Rd
London
E1

SANCHO
THEY CAME FROM THE STARS I SAW THEM
CLECKHUDDERSFAX
THE WEATHER UNDERGROUND
LE COUTEAU JAUNE

+ Glare-n-Dazzle DJ's

SANCHO

Are the headline band on this magnificent effervescent bill of a thousand deaths and another ensemble with more members than the Children of God and Romania put together and multiplied by a jihad. On hearing their demo, originally constructed by one man and a carrot in Dorset and a twelve track originally used by Black Flag, Seed Records reputedly sold all their assets including a helicopter they were going to bequeath to the Blue Cross and Matkore in order to stump up the crazy advance the lead singer wanted and his name wasn’t even Sancho. But, on gathering all the cash a mighty wind came along and blew it out of their hands. When Sancho was told of this, he wept for a good few minutes, then declared, ‘Money was never the reason I got into music. Paedophilia was. I’ll let you release the record if I can use your future children for my pleasure at a later date.’ We all agreed. It was a deal well done. So good in fact Goldman Sachs use it as a model for all there structured product deals and IPO’s.
Tonight, is the launch of his album, ‘Mystery Year,’ a shimmering concoction of progressive krautrock, folk and electronica that’ll have the butterflies resting on their heads within the blink of an eye.
In short, this music is more beautiful than Vanessa Paradis singing Joe Le Taxi on TOTP on the 25th February 1988.

http://www.myspace.com/sanchomusic

THEY CAME FROM THE STARS I SAW THEM

The name says it all really, a whole horde of men and women masturbating frantically as they swing on a variety suns, not seen since the dream sequence in the original Thunder Birds film.
Their music is a glorious fusion of all things pop and preposterous from singing hybrid parakeet monkey children last spotted feasting on the rickety old bones of Dr Moureau to terminally ill skydiving instructors taking part in a Bikram Yoga class swathed in cloaks made of seal fat and Grotbag’s amniotic sac.
Anything goes in the all new TCFTSIST show as members swap instruments like Panini football stickers in war torn Scottish playgrounds, guests appear and disappear stage left, right, up, down and via the fourth dimension.
Hell, even the late Steve Irwin once commented that if he wasn’t waving his kid in front of the gaping mouth of a croc he’d be exchanging cool comments with the band on myspace, that, and sucking on his lovely wife’s baps.
A brock of badger impersonating Basil Brushes held to ransom with Mel Gibson’s crucifix.

http://www.myspace.com/theycamefromthestarsisawthem

CLECKHUDDERSFAX

Less Crash, Bang, Wallop wot a picture and more Uuhhhh Ahhhhhh, but not in the Jeff Wayne sense of the sound, Cleckshuddersfax are a four man psychedelic new wave washing machine of a sound that’s a million times more bizarre and invigorating than their name suggests and just plain weird to boot.
These witches sons sure know how to shake a crowd up with their happy, uplifting compositions and on stage antics which include burning effigies of kiddies TV presenters, tossing CS gas canisters into the hypnotised punters and more live pissing than a German sex vid.
Pure fun arcs overhead in a bi-plane made of rainbows.

http://www.myspace.com/cleckhuddersfax

THE WEATHER UNDERGROUND

The Weather Underground are musicians par excellence and a right healthy bunch of social misfits in to the bargain. Rising to each and every occasion that befalls them like Stephen Hawking in his wildest dreams, they can turn their hands to the must uppity of self produced punk that spills from their instruments like a ruptured sewer, to serenading an excited crowd with what else.. than a cover version of Tony’s Theme from Scarface, before shaking the Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio out of you and returning to their air conditioned bat caves to drink tea and make business calls to Kim Jong-il.
Super charged golf buggies running people down in plus fours as the sun burns overhead.

http://www.myspace.com/theweatherunderground

LE COUTEAU JAUNE

Imagine the gloved hand of a beast as dark as sin itself suffocating you in the middle of the night as you lie in a bed in a cottage in the middle of some Eastern European back woods miles from any form of civilisation, the rest of your friends and family mutilated and pasted across the walls downstairs.
LCJ are the sound of your nightmares licking at your exposed legs, before they jerk you out of a paranoid state and into the reality of hell itself. This is the face of the thing you dread.
A live spoken word/noise and performance group specialising in the macabre, they are as intensive as a hot poker to the urethra.
Watch out! Beadle’s hand is about.

http://www.myspace.com/lecouteaujaune

Glare-n-Dazzle DJ’s and DJ Goblin Cock will provide you with a startling array of music in between set fires, lightening strikes and floods.
As the floating bloated corpses of a million humans swash and backwash through an absolutely riveted crowd, exclusive mixes of Trash Fashion’s forth coming debut record on the G-n-D boutique label will play, whilst DJ Goblin Cock keeps the not so neo-rave punters happier than an acid man smiley face with fresh mixes of Berlin’s ‘Take My Breath Away,’ as Kelly McGillis and Tom Cruise look-alikes strip off in fighter jets made from jelly and KFC boxes.
Truly a sight to behold.

All this for £3, f*cking ridiculous!!