::::Machines in Heaven are playing London::::

on the 11th of April in The Dalston Victoria. In Hackney. It’s the one on Queensbridge Road, yeah? Starts at 20:00, yeah? Facebook says it’s supposed to be partially cloudy.

For more details visit The Jeff Presents MACHINES IN HEAVEN + PLANT PLANTS + PIXXXHELL facebook page. The capitals are his, yeah? Those other bands are playing too, yeah? You can buy tickets ahead of time, yeah?

Fucking looks like it.

::::We’ve recently released our first album you know::::

and you could listen to it on spotify. You know, if you felt like it.
spotify:album:3kqpsJjvue7neffWFDE5Mm

And then, if you really liked it, you could go buy a digital copy here.

Or, if like many people, you think Amazon’s digital delivery platform is a raging cunt you could go get it here.

Sorry? iTunes is just as bad? Of course, you could get it ( cheaper too! ) from the lovely Juno – they’ll treat you right with two different MP3 bit rates and even WAV, if you’re into that sort of thing.

How about an actual CD? Well, Rough Trade will flog you one right here.

And for those who ONLY BUY VINYL… Well, right now you’re shit out of luck. Sorry guys. No, really. We are.

::::Connor Has EH FEAR::::

AM PYR DED PARA BY EH WAY

As I awake from a minced, scarce slumber – My head pounds and my stomach burns like a thousand hot knives.

TOO MUCH FUCKING GIN LAST NIGHT

My mouth tastes metallic, as if I’d been chewing on a mercury thermometer in my sleep, which, you have to admit, is kinda odd. My mum usually takes my temperature rectally.

I run to the toilet and vomit up a paint-stripping mixture of bad fluids. Perched over the bowl like some kind of weird ass vulture I try to ignore my laptop as it obnoxiously plays Goat Simulator reviews on youtube.

I go to the fridge and pour myself a glass of Irn Bru… This will sort me out. Irn Bru has long been known for it’s miraculous hangover curing properties. It’s made of girders or something. I take a sip… Letting the neon orange elixir wash over my poor abused oesophagus I replay the previous night over and over again, hunting for clues, trying to make some sense of the blank spaces between event and memory.

Trying to see the funny side of things.

Trying to laugh.

Fuck it, nowt there but waves of anxiety. I try to forget what was mostly a good night to get rid of ‘EH FEAR’

I give up on memory and pull out my black book and start working on some poetry I’d started before going out last night. A few lines deep and…

“FUCK THIS!”

My heed is mush, I pick up my bass guitar

“NOPE”
No way.

I roll myself into a cocoon and decide not much is getting done today, today is DEFINITELY not the day – Time to wallow in self inflicted pity!