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The young apprentices at Hoovers in Merthyr Tydfil looked on in awe.
They had heard the phrase, ‘necessity was the Mother of all invention’ and this was in fact the ultimate Mother.
Sat in the now empty Pentrebach Factory, that had once employed thousands of local people, was a brand new car- the like of which the World had never seen before.
If the Sinclair C5 Electric trike produced in the 1980’s was to be the saviour of Hoovers- then this new invention was bound to clean up.
It was the brainchild of local man Ian Venter, who had used the discarded scrap parts of old washing machines, tumble driers and vacuum cleaners to create the ultimate ‘Hoovercar’.
The apprentices could not believe their teenage eyes- it was like something from an episode of Futurama.
A vehicle that could hover above ground – just like the vehicle driven by Luke Skywalker on the planet Tatooine in the first Star Wars film – it really was a ‘New Hope’.
A new hope alright to employment in the small but historic, South Wales Valley Town that had been in recession for over two hundred years.
“I don’t believe it!” said local lad Vic Meldrew.
“There is something in the Air!’ expressed open-mouthed Aled Jones Junior- singing out in his dulcet Valley tones.
The car was not surprisingly made up of metal from white goods and had two vacuum hosepipes as the exhaust to filter out the gases.
To limit the effect on the environment, the patent holder, Ian Venter had it linked to a tank of Lenor, which gave it a softness and a freshness that people just couldn’t ignore.
It had a twin tub engine, which was fuelled by a new secret biofuel which Ian Venter didn’t want revealed to the World, unless he was to mysteriously Die Son.
“Does it really float of its own accord?” asked Vic- doubting even more than his mate Thomas standing next to him.
Ian produced to the apprentice a skipping hoop acquired from the local Afon Taf school.
Just like a magician’s assistant, he passed the hoop over the car to show that it was not being held up by invisible wires attached to the Factory ceiling.
“Unbelievable!” said Chris Kamara Junior.
“There is a lot less Bovver with a Hoover!” said Ian proud of his creation.
“When are you going to reveal it to the general public?” asked Thomas sceptically.
“I plan on a big publicity splash soon and seek to recreate the original bet between Ironmaster Crawshay and Richard Trevethick but this time have a sponsored race with an Tesla electric car retracing the original route from the Tramroad at Penydarren to Abercynon- but using the existing road network- I will of course stick to the Taff Trail- so it is a Musk Win for me!” Ian continued.
“Sounds great!” the wide-eyed teenagers felt like they were witnessing an important event in human history.
A vehicle that was not only eco-friendly but might offer one or two of the acne brigade a chance to impress teenage Scandinavian green Viking warrior Greta Thunberg.
“How did you come across the formula for your bio-fuel?” asked Victor.
“My Grandfather was a soldier in the British Army that liberated Berlin in 1945- he came across a famous German Physicist, Otto Von Jizzmark, who had unfortunately just taken a cyanide capsule rather be taken alive by the Red Army- in his laboratory coat pocket was a series of algebraic equations that Gramps had not seen before and which the dead scientist had been testing on a metal bell which apparently floated in the air unsupported- only the Nazi Swastika symbols could he recognise- but when he came home he gave it to Grandmother who kept it safe- it had weird alien spray writing on it too!” continued Ian.
“Do you think it has extra-terrestial origins?” questioned Victor further.
“Either that or my Grandfather found the original ‘Banksy’… Ian replied.
“But first, I need a volunteer pilot to test drive the car!”
“Any takers?”
All three teenagers shouted ‘Me’ at once.
None of them had full driving licences but both Chris and Vic both had passed their theory driving tests on Glebeland Street and held provisional licences.
Chris had the advantage though, as he was much lighter than Vic and had driven his Father’s milk float around Galon Uchaf on more than one occasion- as his Father needed someone to ride shotgun.
Not to just sit on the front passenger’s seat but also to ward off ‘the Humphries’ or milk thieves that lived near the Frontier Town’s Wild West Trading Post.
The ‘last straw’ for him was watching the Humphries ‘cream’ off all his weekly profits by pinching his ‘white goods and cheeses’ from the back whilst distracting him at the front of the vehicle.
He had got one of them back by reversing over his head whilst he ‘supposedly’ reached under the milk float for his football.
It didn’t kill the young soccer thief but it was very ‘Messi’ and his new triangular shaped head had earned him the nickname ‘Dairy Lee’ locally.
Chris didn’t know it at that juncture but being appointed the first ever test pilot of the Hoover Car would secure his place in history and of course the Guinness Book of Records.
Ian lowered the car to the ground and switched the engine off.
Chris moved quicker than an England Football Fan without a Euro 2020 ticket at Wembley.
As he clambered aboard, Chris was reminded that unlike Princess Diana, he must wear his seatbelt.
Chris looked at the series of dials on the dashboard.
There were red buttons, green ones and amber ones too- but was more scary than the ‘Squid Games’.
“Whatever you don’t press that button with the ‘Red Arrows logo’- or the one emblazoned with the faded words ‘Spin Cycle’….as it turns the car upside-down’ and is only to be used on an official fly past above the Queen of England!”
“Press the circular one to start the engine!” instructed Ian.
“The one marked ‘Up’ is what you press very slowly…if you press it too hard you would shoot up like a Harrier Jump Jet and will be crushed by the asbestos ceiling tiles!” the creator explained.
Chris did as he was told and raised the car three feet up off the factory floor.
All he could manage to utter was the word ‘cool’.
He hovered there suspended in mid-air like a fart in a vacuum.
Whereas he was in fact a fart in a different kind of vacuum.
His pals looked jealously on at the chosen one.
“What is its top speed? Shouted Chris from mid-air of the designer.
“Don’t know yet!” Ian replied.. but I have the ideal test track on the former Hoover’s cricket pitch..I should be able to discover its ‘run rate’ then easily!” he continued.
Schrodinger’s Chris was encouraged to return to Earth and landed like an expert.
“When is the test scheduled for?” he asked excitedly.
“Saturday, so be there promptly for 7am, I don’t want too many of the HGV lorry drivers to see my invention as they should all be stuck in Dover post-Brexit by then!” Ian declared laughing.
The students went home each fantasising about joining the Mile High Club with the young Thunberg for ‘Swede Dreams’.
When Saturday came, Chris was dressed to impress his Teacher.
Dressed in a Second World War jump suit obtained from the Army & Navy Stores bearing the word ‘Stig’ written in Sharpie Black pen on the top he stood with his Uncle’s Helmet ‘borrowed’ from his Vespa Scooter.
In his eyes he felt he was wearing ‘Top Gear’, whereas in fact to all and sundry he looked like a complete pillock, as he ambled down Pentrebach Road past the long red-brick building.
Ian was waiting for him as he entered the ‘Field of Dreams’.
As a child Chris had not been breast-fed but raised on Formula One and felt that this race was his destiny.
His shot to be the new Lewis Hamilton and move all his assets and domicile to Switzerland- where he would live the good life in the land of milk and honey surviving on Milka bars & Toblerones to keep his big race energy up between Groupies.
Chris climbed into the cockpit feeling just like Tom Cruise in Days of Thunder or Steve McQueen in Le Mans.
He was familiar with the controls and upon the lowering of the chequered flag by Ian, he set off in a clockwise circular direction around the field.
His trusty steed handled like a dream.
He felt cocksure with the arrogance that comes with youth that he could beat any mortal in a fair race.
Even a Tesla.
The Morning of the promotional race came around and Chris was sat in his prototype whilst he had learned that his rival was Malcolm Campbell Junior, Junior, from Pendine Sands Carmathenshire- a very religious driver who had christened his Tesla ‘Sunbeam’ in the hope of getting approval from his big boss upstairs.
As everyone knows Jesus loves a Sunbeam.
He genuflected before putting on his helmet, clutching the steering wheel theatrically and revving his silent engine, just like Marcel Marceau would have done.
Chris started to get nervous- looking at the model of Trevithick’s Engine in Pontmorlais he said a silent prayer of his own but given his green credentials to the Greek Earth Goddess Gaia.
The race was on.
Whilst the Tesla sped away silently like a chapel fart, it soon becoming entrenched in Merthyr Town Centre’s demonic one-way traffic system which must have designed by Chris Rea.
Malcolm Campbell didn’t like having to stop at the Pontmorlais ‘Circus’ zebra crossing as high above his head was the red-and yellow brick former Young Man’s Christian Association building once listed now just listing and looking like it could collapse at any moment.
Even the pigeons that roosted there would confirm that it was no longer ‘fun to stay at the YMCA’.
On the other hand, being much narrower and more flexible, the Hoovercar could use all the escape lanes known only to local taxi drivers and car thieves to get ahead as it sped down the Tramroad behind the Red House, Old Town Hall, whilst the Tesla was still log-jammed at the top of Town.
As it sped along, Chris suddenly realised what the environmental benefits the Hoovercar could bring to South Wales.
As it went along it sucked up all the discarded fly-tipped plastic bottles and containers and used them to burn away the air miles.
It was a real shame that Erin Brockovich wasn’t present, as the plastic fumes from the twin tub exhaust filtered upwards and started the fill the hole in the ozone layer as it solidified.
Used discarded syringes were no trouble for the Hoovercar, in fact they gave Chris’ vehicle an ‘injection’ of pace and left the Sunbeam ‘Chasing the Dragon-Park Silver Machine’
Sweeping and cleaning as it went, it would have saved the Council a fortune in street cleansing- if only they hadn’t stopped street cleansing due to austerity measures five years before.
Flying across the junction markings without stopping, just like the average Audi driver, Chris sailed on passed the temporary car park at Tesco that has been up for over two decades.
Using the pavements and side alleys he flew on without impediment as he made much swifter progress than the conventional cars gridlocked and frustrated by streets and lanes designed for horses and carts.
Being faithful to the route taken a few centuries back in Victorian Times, he was cheered on by a time-travelling member of the Conservative Party replete in Top Hat, tails and pin stripe trousers all laid out for the Right Honourable Member for Somerset North by his Nanny that Morning.
He made good time whilst his race rival was trapped in the Wacky Races behind the Merthyr Tydfil version of Penelope Pitstop, busy putting on her make-up in the rear-view mirror.
Sounding his steering wheel horn, Campbell received a dirty look that would have put Medusa the Gorgon to shame.
Chris had now reached the Rhydycar zebra crossing and floated across the road, narrowly dodging myopic pensioners who only passed their tests when accompanied by a leading man with a white flag and cyclists from the Taff Trail who refuse to dismount or slow down.
Complete cycle paths the lot of them.
As he passed over the River Taff, he admired the number of migratory supermarket trollies caught up in the torrent, that hadn’t yet reached the Merthyr salvage yards in Penygarnddu.
Now on the Taff Trail behind the Rhydycar Leisure & Swimming Pool which sadly had built too small to host Olympic Competition, he began to become worried that he would run low on fuel but fortunately there was plenty of nitrogen and methane available thanks to irresponsible dog owners in the form of discarded dog-shit.
Chris had once thought that dogs were dumb animals but realised that he had never ever witnessed a dog stepping in human shit.
His machine, originally modelled on the Sinclair Trike, had a top speed of 20mph and floating above the tarmac he didn’t need to worry about lumps or bumps unlike the Tesla, who had to negotiate the surface roads with less tarmac than the ones in Kiev during the Russian Invasion.
Malcolm Campbell loved a challenge but driving on these Valley roads left him shaking more than Billy Connolly coming back from a wanking contest.
Unfortunately, his progress was also hampered by the knock- on effect of roadworks on the A465(T), the A4060 slip road, the A4102 at Jackson’s Bridge in Georgetown and the A470 (T).
He couldn’t understand why all works were scheduled for the same date- especially on the day of the exhibition race.
The effect was total gridlock on streets designed for horses and carts with only fools and horses driving them.
Even the speed camera van had given up the ghost – there would be no soft motorist targets with cars moving less than 10MPH.
Malcolm Campbell was however, very competitive and even more resourceful.
As new laws had been brought in banning the use of handheld mobile phone devices in moving vehicles- he realised that there was still a loophole in the law, sat in his log-jammed car he googled the sound of an ambulance siren and set his phone to the loudest noise setting.
He knew in a lawless Town like Merthyr Tydfil it was no good calling up a Police Siren, as it was an everyday sound and no-one would voluntarily pullover to assist the Cuntstabulary in the lawful execution of their duty.
He would now drive like he did on Gran Turismo, forcing vehicles off the road in a fraudulent ‘Dai- version’
Using this technique, he soon reached the ‘A470’ at the Trago Mills roundabout glancing up at the grey towers of Merthyr’s version of Cinderella’s Palace.
He was now able to start making ground on the Hoovercar, which was now speeding down the Taff Trail, passed Upper Abercanaid- with hums and arias, as it nodded in the direction of its birth place and the land of its Father.
The Hoovercar was now low on fuel as a local charity ‘Bags under your Ayes’ had been busy clearing the illegally dumped plastic containers, beer cans and soft drink cans tipped merrily down the side of the embankments of the Taff Trail by a local publican enraged at the cost of commercial waste collection by the Local Authority.
The Gethin Woods now looked like it was sponsored by Pepsi to the Max and of course Red Bull.
The Charity collection organised by a group of local politicians to assist with a donation to the MP’s ‘Commoners’ bar at Westminster.
After all, the cost of living crisis meant that the price of alcohol had risen, together with sharp fuel cost rises and with a mere 15% increase on their salaries some MP’s were struggling to heat their stables effectively.
The Hoovercar began to chug and splutter like Boris Johnson at the dispatch box, as the rubbish began to run out.
Chris scanned the immediate location and suddenly struck gold as a local fly by night removal company had tipped a load of unwanted items previously destined for the Antiques Roadshow which had been looted years ago from Cyfarthfa Castle archives.
A signed first edition copy of Charles Darwin’s book the Origin of the Species – previously thought to be a study on the finches of the Galapagos Islands- but was actually about the building of the houses in the Gurnos and the Council policy about bringing up the standard of the poorest by rehousing gypsies and battered wives amongst the managers of the Imperial Chemical Institute (ICI) and their Stepford Wives.
Next came, Lord Nelson’s telescope and eyepatch last used in the 1805 Battle of Trafalgar.
Then to boost the fuel was fed the handwritten missing ending for Charles Dickens’ the Mystery of Edwin Drood together with the ostrich feather used to pen the same.
Dozens of stuffed animals-a taxidermists’ nightmare- ‘stuffed’ into the fuel tank as the Hoovercar regained the initiative on the Tesla.
The Taff Trail ended and the two vehicles came side to side on the Cynon Valley Road as the Mountain Ash Dash intensified.
Who would cross the finish line first?
Rounding the bend serving the Mountain Ash Rugby Club the rivals suddenly realised that there were pedestrians in the road ahead.
Joe Rassic-Park had a chip on his shoulder.
His Mother had in the 1960’s, whilst pregnant, taken a drug to ease her morning sickness and as a result he had been born with two tiny arms but oversized hands.
He looked like a cross between Kenny Everett character Brother Lee Love and a tyrannosaurus rex.
Today, he had a chip on his shoulder principally because that was the only way he could eat his food.
The environmentalist and green campaigner had tried to make a difference all his life raging against Big Pharma and the Multi-National Corporations that were destroying our Planet with their plastic pollution, car fumes and engineered wars.
This is why at the age of Sixty, he had joined the protest group Insulate Britain to become a cool cat.
Money was no longer of any concern to him following his early retirement – as he had just discovered that his occupational pension pot was empty after being looted by the Trustees, and who were now based in the Cayman Islands- so angry that he had just decided his moral crusade was justified for the next generations of children that regional and National Governments were failing.
Despite having a small amount of money, he was in fact insolvent.
Stuck to the tarmac road by his face, he refused to move as he lay right eyelid glued to the road surface of the A4059 Mountain Ash Road.
If only inventor Percy Shaw could see the alternative cat’s eye stuck in the middle of the highway.
Little did Joe realise that today like suffragette Emily Davison, he would literally die for his cause.
The glass of water perched next to him to ease his dehydration began to ripple.
Something big was coming his way- he couldn’t hear it but he could sense it.
Since the introduction of electric vehicles and their silent running, pensioner deaths had trebled.
The Government’s master plan of Covid Herd immunity had saved the Non-Dom Chancellor of the Exchequer at Westminster a fortune in pension pay- outs so much so he could afford tax cuts for the Times Newspaper ‘Richi’ List.
It was now onto the next phase of the cull of the surplus population, the roll-out of fully driverless cars and smart (no- hard shoulder) motorways.
The planned reduction of the number of cars on our roads by lethal but legal means.
Malcolm Campbell’s silent machine of death had already left a trail of dead hedgehogs in its wake.
The poor creatures had merely stepped out from their Chris Packham Springwatch nature-built apartments to meet with their friends for a short time but instead ended up visiting their ‘flat’ mates.
Now it was the turn of the ‘Swampy’ pensioner to fill the potholes.
The Tesla ploughed into the OAP shocking him than a monkey in a test laboratory experiment.
Never mind being tasered by the Met Police- being Tesla’d was much worse.
Chris in the Hoovercar just floated over the human roadblock and crossed the winning line to the sound of a loud cheer from his sponsor- Ian Ventor.
In triumph however, Chris made one fatal mistake.
Glancing back over his shoulder and giving his rival the bird, being a youngster he took his other hand off the wheel for a mobile phone selfie to upload to Instagram and just like 1970’s T-Rex frontman, Mark Bolan ploughed straight into a Mountain Ash tree the village was named after.
That too was to be his biggest ‘hit’.
His car burst into a ball of flame at the edge of the Taff Trail.
To the horror of Ian Ventor, the plastic prototype melted quicker than a Kardashian standing too close to an open fire.
Chris had become a Trail blazer indeed.
Heddlu is the new musical project by Rhodri Daniel. The Ceredigion native was a founding member of renowned Welsh band Estrons who had a major impact on the industry having gained rave reviews from the likes of NME, Vice, DIY and Clash to BBC Radio, Radio X, Ultimate Guitar, The Guardian and Independent.
“Auto-Da-Fé” is out on 22nd July 2022 on 'Zawn Records'.
EISTEDDFOD COMPETITIONS, NORTH AMERICAN FESTIVAL OF WALES (AUG. 31 – SEPT. 4, 2022)
By Ceri Shaw, 2022-07-07
Once again, it's time to enter the Eisteddfod of The North American Festival of Wales! There are several opportunities to compete, for those attending #NAFOW in Philadelphia (Aug. 31 – Sept. 4) or not, including:
- POETRY COMPOSITION: Welsh Language and English Language, both for Adults (age 18+) and Youth (ages 11-17), each with a $250 grand prize. Entry deadline: JULY 22
- STAGE COMPETITIONS (Sat., Sept. 3 in Philadelphia): Solo Voice / Semi-Professional (for the Welsh North America Prize and a $3500 scholarship to travel to compete in Wales next year); Hymn Singing; Welsh Language Recitation and English Language Recitation. Entry deadlines: AUGUST 22 for singing competitions, no deadline for recitation competitions.
- VISUAL ARTS: For popular viewing & voting in Philadelphia. Entry deadline (for title/description): AUGUST 22.
- LIMERICK COMPOSITION: Something new & fun for those attending in-person in Philadelphia… check it out when you get there!
Click on the link for all the information and links you’ll need to enter… and for any questions please write to eisteddfod@nafow.org !
LINK: http://festivalofwales.org/eisteddfod-competition.html
WHY IS FACEBOOK DISCRIMINATING AGAINST WALES AND THE WELSH LANGUAGE?
Readers may not be aware but it is now impossible to target persons who are interested in Wales or the Welsh language in Facebook ads! This development, which occurred recently, means that persons advertising Welsh language courses or indeed anything of specific Welsh interest are being actively prevented from reaching their target audience on the platform.
The image below demonstrates that the 'celtic languages' option has also been removed from targeting.
This leaves 'North Wales' as the ONLY general targeting option for advertisers concerned to reach a Welsh audience. 'Welsh language' and 'Wales' were both removed months ago ago.
If you search for 'Wales' you get this:
If you search for 'Welsh language' you will be presented with the following: ( i.e. nothing )
It should be noted that there is no such problem when we search 'Irish language':
This is blatant discrimination and AmeriCymru is considering withdrawing its advertising from the platform. Any attempt by our staff to reach Facebook for an explanation of this policy would be met with the usual deafening silence.
Clearly Facebook is of the opinion that Wales and the Welsh language are not , and should not be, of any interest to its membership. Under the circumstances we may decide to concentrate our time and resources on an alternative platform that does not hold our nation in utter contempt. If we do, Facebook will not be missed.
El Goodo's Pixy Jones announces new 'Bits n Bobs' debut album + shares new 'I'm Not There / 'And Your Bird Can Sing' Singles
By Ceri Shaw, 2022-07-01
Pixy Jones Announces Debut Album 'Bits n Bobs'
Branching away from the familiar El Goodo platform, Welsh psych scene stalwart Pixy Jones has himself compiled a truly remarkable collection of tracks that fluctuate from 60's harmony-rich psych pop, to Alt-Country with ringing tremelo guitar.
The swaggering 'I'm Not There' is the first single to be taken from 'Bits n Bobs' accompanied by a magical version of Beatles track 'And Your Bird Can Sing' as it's B SIde, which will be released digitally on Friday 1st of July.
I had no recording budget so I had to fund it by quitting smoking and saving the money up to pay for studio time. It took, I think, two and a half years to record, which is by far the quickest I’ve ever recorded an album. Would have been quicker too if it wasn’t for Covid!
Originally I wanted it to just be a quickly recorded slap dash and get it out sort of thing but I had a year and a half during Covid to think about it a bit more and ended up taking more care to get it done properly. It was just me there so I played most of it myself apart from Stephen Black (Sweet Baboo) who played brass and woodwind on one song and Rhodri Brooks (AhGeeBe) plays some pedal steel on a couple.
Elliott and Canny from 'El Goodo' played drums and bass on Wind Street during the Zombie recording sessions.
The album was recorded and mixed in Aerial Studios with Tim Lewis, (Thighpaulsandra), a couple of songs were finished in the house during the lockdowns.
It’ll be released on Strangetown Records.
Quirky Cardiff Collective 'Quilty Pleasures' announce debut double album concept devoted to Bedding + Sleep
By Ceri Shaw, 2022-06-27
'I'd never heard the notion of a concept album purely devoted to bedding and sleep - But now i have".
Quirky Cardiff based collective 'Quilty Pleasures' announce self titled debut double album and share 'Chaise Long' single which will be released digitally on the 8th of July.
'Quilty Pleasures' the album will be released on Friday 26th August.
Rogue Jones return with new 'Englynion Angylion' single out now via Libertino Records
By Ceri Shaw, 2022-06-21
(Scroll Down For English)
Mae Englynion Angylion yn alwad ewfforig orymuso, rhyddhad a gwrthryfela. Dyma Rogue Jones yn "cysylltu â'u gwrach fewnol a chofleidio byd natur".
Dechreuodd hon, sengl gyntaf y band o’u hail halbwm, fel pennill gan Fiona Apple neu Kate Bush dan arweiniad y piano cyn cael ei drawsnewid i The Loft yn Efrog Newydd y 70au gan ysbryd David Mancuso. Fel y gerddoriaeth yr oedd Mancuso yn ei charu â’i chwarae, mae Englynion Angylion yn llawn enaid, rhythm, a geiriau sy'n llawn gobaith ac achubiaeth.
Dychwelodd Rogue Jones (Bethan Mai ac Ynyr Morgan Ifan) i’w hail gartref creadigol yn Stiwdios Tŷ Drwg i ddechrau gweithio ar Englynion Angylion gyda’r cynhyrchydd Frank Naughton. Ceir hefyd Llŷr Pari, ‘metronom Melin y Coed’, ar y drymiau a'r cymysgu, Elen Ifan ar y soddgrwth a'r ffidil disgo a gafodd eu recordio yng Nghaernarfon gan Gruff Ab Arwel.
Galwodd y Guardian Rogue Jones yn "fand swynol a hynod sy’n haeddu dilyniant cwlt". Y mae Englynion Angylion yn orlawn o swyn ac yn sicr bydd cydnabyddiaeth haeddiannol i ddilyn. Eglurai’r band, "Englynion Angylion yw ein hymgais i wneud disgo cerddorfaol o’r 1970au, ond, fel popeth arall byddwn ni'n creu, gyda naws ychydig yn rhyfedd. Pobl y wlad yn treial gwneud cerddoriaeth y ddinas" ac yn llwyddo i ddod â phalet enfys natur gyda nhw i oleuo’r strydoedd dinesig tywyllaf.
Englynion Angylion (The Poetry of Angels) is an euphoric call to arms with a message of empowerment, liberation and rebellion. It’s Rogue Jones "getting in touch with their inner witch and embracing nature”.
This, the bands first single taken from their sophomore album, started life as a Fiona Apple / Kate Bush brooding piano-led verse before being dragged to The Loft in 70s New York by the ghost of David Mancuso. Like the music that Mancuso loved and played, Englynion Angylion is ‘soulful, rhythmic and impart words of hope and redemption.'
Rogue Jones (Bethan Mai and Ynyr Morgan Ifan) returned to their second creative home of Ty Drwg Studios with longtime producer Frank Naughton to work on the foundations of Englynion Angylion. Llŷr Pari ‘The Melin y Coed Metronome’ was on drums and mixing, Elen Ifan on cello, Mari Morgan on disco violin, recorded in Caernarfon by Gruff Ab Arwel.
The Guardian called Rogue Jones "a charmingly quirky band who deserve a cult following". By the evidence of Englynion Angylion, Rogue Jones are overflowing with charm and wider recognition won’t be far behind. As the band explained, Englynion Angylion "is our attempt at making straight-up 1970s orchestral disco but like everything we do, it comes out a little stranger. Country people trying to make big city music" and succeeding in bringing nature's rainbow palette with them to lighten the darkest of urban streets.
A kitchen table
1953
its wood surface lined by
the scratching and scraping
of five thousand meals
gravitated around by people I haven’t met
save through the study of dry documents
lichen edited inscriptions
and reverential anecdotes
they’re gathering as if for an important event
in the calendar of living
I’m kind of hovering like I did in real life
trying to listen in to the language of condolence
the wording of commemoration
the patois of those well known to one another
the music of best china
touching
my 12 year old mother is here
with the other females
permitted at the house
to help with refreshments
and friendships
but not at the open grave
she will grow into a Bardot
of the school bus
the chapel pews
the perambulating lanes
the first job
until marriage and me will alter
that possibility
that destination
a member of the branch
of the suicide sister in law
is among the mourners
death grief thief of time
but healer of familial discomfort
at the chapel in the forest
among the crabbed literature of wreaths
one dedication reads
from all at Police House L-V-
32 miles and a half century away
from the great uncle of the deceased
who had ridden from those walls
to collar the lawless of his day
from the first day of that county’s constabulary
these were the days of the start
of our separation from our beginning
our unravelling
when we forgot so much
of what we were and what was us
our relatives and their dwelling places
the reason for our being
a time too when we became unfamiliar
with horses
their aroma
their voices
their muscularity
their fidelity
when we became a little less human
a little less animal
Sky Barkers is an indie trio based in coastal West Wales. It is comprised of Joanna MacGregor Messore, Dan Messore and Matt Brown. They make groove based, hook heavy, vocal laden music - lyrically connective and energy driven, rooted in song-writing but with a wonky edge. ‘Give You Love’ is the bands second offering writing as this current trio, following on from their first single ‘Beholden to None’. Expect a full EP soon, coming this Autumn.
Jo MacGregor says: “Give You Love is a celebration and rebellion song. We wrote it during one of the lockdowns and it’s really just about loving - honestly and wildly, which in the current climate seems an act of necessary rebellion. Letting love be the force that courses through you and blasts you out of apathy, fear, whatever. But we’ve got to dare to be vulnerable enough to let it in, to feel it for real - and so many of us have big old bags of pain in the way. But in those moments when we really connect and let this incredible force tingle through us - it’s pretty wild. And we need it like water.”
Eyes closed to the sound
of a breeze combing fir trees
reminds him of the curtain border
of that cemetery
hypnotic historic
ultimately soporific
a misspelt dedication
next to where he left his parents
his grandparents
the dear ones snug in the clay
returned to the earth
on the edge of that village
that gave him his scars
the shed tears
they all left only to come back
the sadness not interred
not boxed
but marks on their existence
decades of indentations
runes they couldn’t decipher
though fingertips unthinkingly
traced them in the quieter seconds
between the pressures
a new face gets a new face
that he will learn to wear with pride
his split cheek beneath a bonnet in a pram
a spider’s web of darning in skin
a stitch in time that saved him
from being bled dry like a wounded bird
in a winter whiteness impasse
and quietened his parents’ guilt
that boy from Cwmcou
with its free flowing sparkle Ceri
a branch to the Teifi tree of life
a tributary sacrifice
that took the boy from Cwmcou
but not Cwmcou from the boy
carry me away
carry me away
bring me home
I want to go home
