-Josh Vanek-Wantage USA
Undercover of the Knight:
The eventide was failing, and the setting sun cast a wan light on the parapets of Castle Volumen, beneath which three knights sat regarding, with grim solemnity, the two chairs left forlorn and empty round the round(ish) table at which they were to have spent a jolly dinnertime regaling each other with reminiscences of heroic deeds. It was Sir Shane who spoke first.
â€œPrithee tell, Sir Douglas,â€ he said, â€œWhat doth thou suppose that Sirs Bob and Bacon are up to? Were they not to have supped with us this night?â€
â€œBy my faith, good Sir Shane, Ã¢â‚¬Ëœtis true,â€ replied a distraught Sir Douglas. â€œSurely they tread a path bestrewn with grave peril, for Ã¢â‚¬Ëœtis hard to imagine Sir Bob missing supper for aught but the very gravest. What thinkest thou, Sir Bubbles?â€
But Sir Bubbles emptied his mead-horn at a draught and said nothing. His troubled gaze fixed briefly on the last shaft of sunset wreathing Sir Shaneâ€™s resplendent mullet. Dare he tell them of the vision that had cloven his slumber like a broadsword? Of the forked road and the magic spring where even now, he feared, Sir Bob and Sir Bacon had plunged off the path and into a Volumen side project?
And long indeed had they tarried, our truant knights, at the enchanted pool revealed to Sir Bubbles in chimerical visions, a tarn of frothy orange fed by an inexhaustible freshet of gladdening elixir and ringed by the glittering foliage of a most curious herb. As the sated knights sat rubbing their orange-stained lips at the poolâ€™s edge, Sir Bob heaved a contented sigh and mused,
â€œFor some time now, good Sir Bacon, I have essayed to program some sick beats into my drum machine and craft blasphemous pricksongs on my wicked axe. What sayest thou to Ã¢â‚¬Ëœjammingâ€™ with me one of these nights after Volumen practice once our stout brethren have set down their lutes and dulcimers and retired to their goodly women and warm hearthsides?â€
â€œBy the gorgonâ€™s girdle,â€ swore Sir Bacon, â€œVerily, Sir Bob, for I am down with that.â€
And there you have it folks: the long-lost first canto of the Bacon and Egg saga, etched in gryphonâ€™s blood on a goatskin scroll and recently unearthed in a Cornish burial mound. It goes on for a bit, with the helpful â€œwee folkâ€ and the Charm of Making and the significance of the gilded crustaceans (not to mention the heroic deeds), but you pretty much get the idea. Some time in 2002, Bob Marshall and Chris Bacon (drums and keyboards, respectively, for Missoula rock protectors Volumen), slipped away into Bobâ€™s private dungeon and started cooking up the album of electrified madrigals you are admiring right now. Volumen bassist Sir Bubbles even takes the mic on a few tracks. Recording sage and fellow guitar wizard Tim Green (FUCKING CHAMPS) set it down for posterity in October, 2004 at his Louder Studios in San Francisco; Missoula record guilds Motron and WÃ¤ntage USA joined forces to make it available at a medieval craft faire near you. Each disc, Iâ€™m told, has been forged from swords melted in the kingdomâ€™s finest smithy, and if you look closely youâ€™ll find each cover is woven from the eyelashes of countless wild boars on a loom tended by thirteen unspoiled maidens. The ink is just regular ink.
So is there room in your cluttered rock tower for Bacon and Egg? Methinks youâ€™ll find it, rock varlet. Just listen to this crazy crap! The axes are perilous and the beats tireless, driving heinie-whuppers like â€œFormerly D 11â€ and â€œStains on the Window Paneâ€ home with shield-splitting fury. But you can also dance to it Itâ€™s like the Fucking Champs meets the Pointer Sisters, and thatâ€™s the beat that rocks the house, yo.
--Andronicus Smetankacus, scribe
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1. Track 2
2. My mind keeps thinking of the thoughts in my mind
3. Formerly D-11
4. Monsters of Rock
5. Bling Bling in a Lincoln Continental
6. Straight up Jam Party
7. Stains on the window pane (that's the beat that rocks the house)
8. Scent of Ben Gay
9. Suburban Hustler
10. Ajax Hole
12. Sun on Thundar
13. Totally Epic