I’m guessing most right minded people don’t lie awake at night obsessing about tweed jackets (okay I did have a black suede duffel jacket in the 90’s – pre Oasis I’ll have you know that I was quite fond of – its pocket fell off in a girlfriend – hand – caught incident – oh to hell with it – look it was a mad psycho girlfriend ripped the pocket off type attack incident). Though I mourned its loss never did I contemplate (even when it had the full quota of pockets)putting pen to paper to write an ode to it. Neither I hasten to add have I ever had, want or intend at some point in my quickly reducing days left on this fair planet – to own a tweed jacket. Let alone write an affectionate ditty about one. That frankly is just plain weird. But then Biscuit Head and the Biscuit Badgers – er yes that is their name – are as you can probably gather just name alone perhaps not playing with a full deck. A bit like a posh Half Man Half Biscuit (more biscuit references – oops) this lot play with an eccentric, sorry surreal, okay wayward and zany panache. They last troubled these pages some months ago with the joyously daft ‘dinosaurs ate my caravan’ – since then an album has been sneaked out attracting with it fond words from an amassing audience fed up with hearing songs about boys, girls and cars who prefer to be enlightened in song by such carefree matters as the joys of soy milk, mysterious uncles and snow. Latest to their ever growing impish canon ‘tweed jacket’ is your 50’s style Platters doo wop dallying in a Cole Porter meets Dalmatian Rex and the Eigentones stylee with Viv Stanshall conducting lunacy from the side stage.
Video for their last single viewing here – popcorn not included…..