Aha! This is the exciting part of the procedure, when the individual members of the band get to parade their egos before your admiring gaze, and list all kinds of useless data, like their favourite cheese, or how many times they have scored a hole in one on the links at Lytham St Anne's. This page, however, is different, and we make no excuses for disappointing you with a total lack of insight into the bass player's preference for Focaccio over Stilton. The fact is that rather than a shapeless mass of notes independently generated by four individuals, Blyth Power is a result of the interactive dynamic of its members, which is designed to override expressions of self-indulgence and create a unified team-inspired effort devoid of loose cannons and the kind of pointless instrumentation which is at home only in the languid indifference of an early afternoon at an Austrian rock festival.
It's a bit like what Glen Miller did, though without trombones.
So, in an effort to preserve this purity of purpose, the powers that be have decided to eschew the traditional codswallop that bands like to surround themselves with, and ruthlessly quash any aspirations that the members of Blyth Power may feel they have towards personal aggrandisement. Thus, we regret, the biographies and family trees of band members past and present have been torn up and stamped on. Anyone who does want to know more about such matters as what our favorite color is, or what bands we were in before being conscripted by the Blyth corporation, are free to correspond, or to come and chat to us at live events. We like talking to people….
If you really do want to converse directly with both band members and other individuals who find the intricacies of Blyth Power's cheese-eating habits fascinating, there is a discussion to which you can subscribe. See links for details.
Still, in an effort to provide some of that crucial information which people clearly crave, we proudly present a little personal history of the band's instruments. After all, they are the important bits. Any fool can play them.
The Guitar Family
There
are great uncharted tracts of this country in which only the boldest of
men dare tread, and it was from the Eastern wastes of one such place that
the guitar found its way into the light. So the story goes, it was born
into an agricultural community, initially as part of the flatbed of an
old farm trailer. Its timbers were salvaged from this vehicle by a nameless
young gentleman whose sole ambition was to follow in his father's footsteps
and raise herds of sugar beet in the flatlands around the princely town
of Lodden. Exactly how or why this young man came to create such an instrument
out of the flotsam of a rundown smallholding is unclear. Suffice it to
say that he wrought the instrument from sundry bits of waste that were
lying around the barnyard: the neck and body came from the old flatbed.
The bridges were hewn from the front offside fender of an abandoned Massey-Ferguson,
while the machine heads were lovingly carved from knuckles of bone left
over from the annual village pig slaughter.
This strange contraption found its way first to the Isle of Thanet, and
then by roundabout ways into the bosom of Mother Blyth, wherein its incomprehensible
rural dialect has proved to be a constant source of delight and amusement.
It brings with it a smaller brother, the Mandolin, which in the words
of one great mage its wielder is apt to 'thwash like a punk wocker'. This,
of course, is Steven, who has also been known to stick something in his
mouth that makes a grating, parping sort of noise. We would like to examine
this instrument some time and determine its origins, but as it's usually
dripping with saliva, we have so far kept our distance. We think it's
a harmonica, but we're not entirely sure.
Those who scoffed in the past when the creator of these jewels failed
to present his homework in class ('Oi don't need to do no homework - moi
dad's got a farm') should rightly marvel at the dexterity that created
them. Ex dungum ad astra!
The Drums
Well, of course, they're just a pile of old wood and metal aren't they? They don't have a name, and as they are older than God, no one is even certain from whence they came originally. Scraping off successive strata of rust and mud, archaeologists have been able to establish that the bass drum was made by Maxwin - a subsidiary of Pearl - but the rest of it is a random pile of old gubbins scraped together over the years.
The Drums have been in lots of bands in the twenty-plus years since they escaped from the second-hand department of Westside Music in Yeovil. Some bits came from a second hand shop in Sunderland, but by all accounts their favourite was a Mod band in Islington called Attitudes, as they still had their blue glitter veneer then.
The Drums like a good mature cheddar, or a stilton, although not too ripe. Best eaten with a fresh French stick and some young raw leeks. Yum yum. Oh, the drummer thinks he's called Joseph by the way.
The Bass Guitar
This
is a rare and unique artifact in that it is built from a kit that was
widely marketed in the 1970s by Palitoy. A great deal of trouble and effort
went into obtaining this kit, and it was eventually found on Ebay, where
a winning bid of 0.99p proved successful in the face of no opposition
whatsoever – although we were a little surprised when the seller
wanted £2 postage for UK second class.
The kit was in good condition, although it was not factory sealed, and
we’re pretty sure that in the original boxing there was a small
tube of glue included. Lucky we’re not collectors, or we would have
been cross. As it was, we were intending to build the kit, so a quick
trip to Hobbicraft in Leeds found us in possession of a tube of balsa
cement, and we were ready to rock…
The basic kit comprised about 980 matchsticks – not real matchsticks,
as these had been manufactured specially with no heads from Scandanavian
pine – and a roll of wire thread. It went together surprisingly
easily, and we have retained the instructions, and are saving up matchsticks.
When we have 980 we will be able to build ourselves a spare – for
absolutely no cost whatsoever!
As for the chap who plays the thing – we have little or no information
available beyond the fact that he is an acolyte of Baal and may or may
not at one time have borne the surname Parsons.
The Keyboards
Two words normally spring to mind in connection with the Blyth Power keyboards. These are plastic and Taiwan. This, however, is a misconception, as they are in fact unique and expensive pieces of equipment, ranging from the genuine tiger-gut strings which operate the tiny hammers - each one wrought lovingly from the molar of a red panda - to the antique ivory pedals, which once adorned the pride and joy of a sultan's music room.
Annie claims that only the finest baleen is good enough to make the white keys, and as for the black ones - we have yet to find a substitute for carbonised rhino bone, which has a pleasing silkiness to the touch. All things considered, the keyboards are the least environmentally friendly instruments in the world, as they are powered by an internal furnace which burns a choking concoction of paraffin and meths, but which will run equally well on old rubber tyres, which is more economical.
The chintzy rococo veneer in which they are finished, clashes garishly with the paisley motif on the piano stool. They sound great though.
(That's quite enough, Ed)