Satans Cock

We were all doing this nasty job clearing out burnt junk from the Arson-ravaged Hartleys Jam Factory in Bermondsey. It went on for months. We would each trash a pair of overalls in less than fortnight and it was impossible to get the smell of burnt plastic out of our hair. Anyway, at some point during this living-hell we decided to become a band and Satan's Cock seemed like an appropriate name. Originally conceived as an experiment in regressive-rock our sound has since drifted into a more english-vernacular idiom. Wistful, homespun post-skiffle with an undertow of monolithic brown-core, you might say.