Tasha Fights Tigers

There's a table. And some chairs. Battered amps and organs to the left and right. An ashtray. Brimming. Cannibalised casios bleep and bubble of their own accord. In front of you there's the Infamous T thrashing nine shades of shit out of his (soon to be electro-hybrid) drumkit. Next to him bounces Gid, providing more funk and fuzz bass than an electro-dirt band usually should be serving you with. Bill screams and thrashes, falling into anything within a ten foot radius. And those twisted images projected on to a centre-stage mannequin, they're the work of Garvey. Welcome to Tasha Fights Tigers.