Town of Cats

Grabbed by their scruffs, thrown in a rough hessian sack and tossed in the lake shortly after birth by some farmer or other, Town of Cats shoulda been goners before they even got started. But attempted euthanasia’ll do funny things for friendships – that, and lack of oxygen. Rescued from the water’s numbing embrace by Ol’ Ma; Joe, Adam, Barney, Jake, Toby, Henry, Nick, Carl and Harry were shoved unceremoniously behind instruments, mewling and dripping. Ol’ Ma took up her trusty sax, and told them all to play up or pack it in. And play they did. Spun fucked-up fairy tales of their former lives and spat ‘em out over brassy hooks, skanking rhythms, hypnotic grooves and tantalising melodies… They sang starry-eyed of childhood wonders, lustily of life’s little highs, chanting all the while in the face of adversity and injustice. They yowled and hissed at the moon, longing for something bigger and brighter than beige southern towns and the work-drink-sleep-repeat monotony of reality. They twisted and stomped and yelled and blew and hammered, beasts possessed of the fiery, wild groove that spilled forth from their fingers and fangs.

Can’t sing? They’ll make you. Can’t dance? They’ll make you. They are Town of Cats.

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