We are called WORKIN' MAN NOISE UNIT. Apostrophe, no G. (Yeah, all the good names were taken, OK.) We are drums, feedback loops, an electric bass guitar, an electric 6-string guitar and vocals. Break out the cold ones. Soft and sweet. Entrenched in this shitpit town of Reading, famous for nothing and nothing less. Full of recruitment consultants and commuters, the worst of all ordinary people. And golf fans and retail assistants and the kind of smile that only ever lasts half a day. Yeah, that's about right. And we're even more uncool than they are. 

"There's enough c**ted Mithraic fire within these two brief sides of monumental midrange and Tinnitus-inducing plateaux to summon up a whole new music scene around these geezers, nay, these Pyramids of Giza. What’s it sound like? F**k knoweth, brothers’n’sisters ... only a right dreary c**t could disapprove of these robust tricksters and their slap-you-in-the-mush tactics. Right on!" 
- Julian Cope

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