| BbyB Album in the pipeline Single comin' soon I Don't Care - the forthcoming album from new project 'BbyB' featuring a plethora of undersung talent performing in a twister of genre-busting multi-emotional madness. Mr. Lockwood features in his inimitable manner, blistering and confounding. A treat to anticipate. Return to this page in March 2004 to hear the incontrovertible truth. ''I'm BbyB and speaking the blast. I got the multiple juices so pick up a glass. I'm a whip on the loose and I lick it out fast. We're all here to shake ass so let's kick it!'' Listen to BbyB Click below Yes, these tracks do contain Harmonica!! Biography BbyB started singing with an Edinburgh Scottish jazz funk band called High Street. Then worked with some members of futurist ska rockers V-Disk. Then spent a year busking pop, reggae, & ska in the London Underground. With the raw experience of playing these styles in an acoustic form in the London Tubes for a living, BbyB then moved to Cambridge with Neil Harris (guitarist) to join a particularly tight and passionate rhythm section (Richie Dickson & Mark Russell drumming, Sagar Ngom percussing, Chris Hopkins bassing,) all specialists in various of the ska, funk & reggae aspects. Loz Speyer on trumpet and Stuart Atkins' sax brought intimations of jazz and classical minimalism. This became the band 'Your Dinner'. They added a smattering of hard driving early garage punk, and the recipe confounded those who then said such a mixing of styles was a mistake and unworkable. The extent of this short - sightedness has been borne out (by the now widely varied tastes of the music buying public) - but then this was the early eighties. Throughout this same time, BbyB was mining the coalface of wilful bastardisation with an obnoxious sex obsessed unit (RVB (aka DJ Harvey), Titch English, BbyB) called 'Felcher Club'. Their choice of assault was a heavily beat and collage driven, improvisational, industrial, soundscape - cheap, sacreligious, ugly, and moving...............Say no more. Needless to say the exploration of all sound textures, (and any technique to produce them) was high on the agenda. Following with this, BbyB took a strange challenge in minimalism by working solely with a bodhrain player, Andy Ross (who also played pipes, flutes and sang) as a regular live playing, writing team. In it's small way this speck rolled on and snowballed until they could no longer resist the urge to expand and became....................... 'Pluck This!' combined drumkit minus the snare (to avoid the bracketing as 'Folk rock') with Celtic and Afro-Latin percussions. This rhythm section (Paul Darking, Andy Ross and Davy Graham playing Drums & Guitar simultaneously (!)) underpinned Clive Lawson's furious, beautiful fiddle (playing Celtic, Cajun, Bluegrass, French and 'Pluck This!' penned tunes) while BbyB brought pointed melodic social commentary, wild wailing tales from the underbelly, rap, and human-beatbox to the blend. To those who found them, they were a priceless precursor to many of the further blendings, which dragged folk from the purists, kicking and screaming, into the arena of globally aware dance music. Throughout this, from the mid eighties BbyB DJ'd often with 'Pluck This!' percussionist, Paul Darking. From the early stirrings of hip-hop, through the growth of house music via the exploding acid scene he continued to introduce the knowledge from his broad musical savourings into the increasingly molten pot that dance culture was to become. 'Your Dinner had meanwhile evolved into grind and thrash funkers 'ApeSinControl' (Stuart Atkins, Titch English, Chris Hopkins, Mark Russell, which later became simply 'Apes'. BbyB continued to provide vocal session work for various 12" projects, and to develop more as a magpie collaborator than a fixed band member. He recorded over the following years until the BbyB project emerged from the morass as an irrepressible, force for development with experimentation...... .......a determined inventive, with a love for the dancefloor. No longer able to resist the pressure to return from purely recording to performance, BbyB finally found a solid base from which to launch a shit-blistering catalogue of throwdowns, homages, beautiful collaborations, enraged acidic urban nightmares, jazzes hauled spiral through unique BbyBeatscapes, and deceptively simple renditions of underplayed classics. Which brings us to here. BbyB has continued to collaborate with a still wider array of talent. Keeping an eye out for the the players with the same unruly disregard for genre confinement, has led BbyB to embark on a variety of projects. Shining out from among these ventures, his work with harmonica luminary, Steve Lockwood has produced some joyously baffling reinterpretations of the harmonica's role in music of the cutting edge. With a culture to kill for, a wilful disregard for the rulebook, the finesse to succeed where most fear to tread, the swine is irrepressible Containment is no longer possible. The unstoppable force of BbyB is unleashing! Without whom…. Tim Ward, Makka Studios, Ian Relish, Stav, Clive Lawson, Lucy Delap, Stuart Atkins, Hutty, Dave Challis, Mike Akkerman, Jenny Hopkins, Gina Dive, Steve Jones, 100 houses, Frank Rowsell, Martin & Owen Green, & Joules Kyle. Mark Russell, Chris Hopkins, Titch English, Steve Lockwood, Phil Barton, Bones, Davy Graham, Mossy, Lawrence Harvey, Brian Nauseous, Harvey Bassett, Andy Ross, Paul Darking, Chris Mann, Nick Winnington, Vig, Martin Green, Sarah Roberts, Andy Quayle, Neil Harris, Rob Muir, Gayle Thomasen, Elliot Kinder, Ashley Gray, Eddie Moon, Rev, No.6, Dog Faced Hermans, Callum McColl, Hazel Fairbairn, Archbishop Kebab, Tim ‘Love’ Lea, Tom Bullock, Marky Mark (S.F.), Richard Nightingale, Graham ‘Badboy’ , Louie ‘Blown Mad’ , Owen ‘(F.T.H.O.)’Simpson, Jimmy Gallaugher, Derek , Hats off to….. Lee Perry, Can, King Tubby, the Residents, Kool & the Gang, Mantronix, Meat Beat Manifesto, Captain Beefheart, Nina Simone, Cos they’re in here, and Holger Czukay, Jah Wobble, Miles Davis, John Lydon, Billie Holliday, Prince Jammy, Hukta Nawose, Scientist, Astor Piazzola, General Echo, Xose Manuel Bodinho, Stan Kenton, Transmat / Rhythm is Rythm, Charlie Mingus, Rufus & Chaka Khan, Taraf de Haidouks, Aphex Twin, and (awh fukit!) the list is endless. Cos they’re not, and ALL musicians & singers around the world. Cos they deserve more respect than they get. Dedicated to Maya, Joules, Zeke, Gemma, & Chris. Lyrics  City Air For years the fossil fuel lobby nuclear fool has run the world keeping cruel financial rule conning all the baabaa people to become the stoolies in the trick of getting poisoned now. How easy we coughed all the moolah up like the fumes we puff into the atmosphere. Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale the city air. Inhale the city air. Exhaust fumes spewed from the travel machines, went up into the air and made it unclean. The ozone layer there to protect everyone isn't filtering the harmful effects of the sun. You wash your hair everyday from the skindust blown in the tubes. Your clothes rancified by the smoke, you choke at the knowledge you've lost behind the TV screen. The scenes you see are real. You can't relate to future shocks - the games to keep you blind, sublime and out of mind. Blind, sublime and out of mind. Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale the city air. Inhale the city air. To the poison industry we drink our glasses dry with the pressured farmer fools who just can't relate, to the killing of the land and world starvation. Relate the jungle to the burger and the death of the nation, to the rainforest falling all around our feet for a piece of furniture to make a boardroom look neat while the chainsaws roar out a human defeat all that we can manage is a chorus of bleats. Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale the city air. Inhale the city air. In the cities of the world where we're herded to breathe in the air of confusion put there to deceive us the people carry on living normal lives, i.e. Heads in the sand, arses in beehives. True love of the earth is lost in our minds. We spend money poisoning our planet kind. The world is rent apart like a fruit and we pick at it, peer at it, chew and spit out the immortal stone of life, the immortal stone of life, spit out, spit out, spit out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale the city air. Inhale the city air. See what you're missing baby. Take a ride in my big car. Let my guns impress you. I'll maybe let you suck my cigar. Let me take you to my world. You don't even have to think. You just inhale.....Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale the city air. Inhale the city air. This planet is a toy. We're leaving soon but first we'll destroy. We'll make a hell on earth, a jumping point for heaven, the incentive used to help us die for those who control our lives via the games we play just like monopoly to make the money that it takes to make my future fantasy. Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale the city air. Inhale the city air. My fantasy...here it comes. We go to future where the polar ice caps have melted in the rays of the sun. The sea evaporates and steams across the sky up above. The clouds are thick and dark and lightning forks and dances quick jigs. The rain is now so acid to go out you'd need to wear a lead wig. Fifty seconds there, I hop back here and let you see how I look. You don't believe the radiation sores you think I'm a spook. You see I bring a taste of our projected future stew, the wicked recipe you're helping make to destroy you. Aow let's take a deep breath....Inhale the city air. Inhale the city air Breathe in. Breathe out. |