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Worm Quartet
NEWS   New album "Mental Notes" now available for pre-order at http://www.wormquartet.com !!
More Worm Quartet available at http://www.thefump.com !!
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play lo-fi play hi-fi  Great Idea For A Song
play lo-fi play hi-fi  What Your Parents Think All Your Music Sounds Like
play lo-fi play hi-fi  The Ballad of Dr. Stopp
play lo-fi play hi-fi  Kim Kardashian
play lo-fi play hi-fi  The Laundromat of Sin
play lo-fi play hi-fi  C Is For Lettuce
play lo-fi play hi-fi  I'm Gonna Procreate
play lo-fi play hi-fi  Pac-Man Is Naked And So Should You
play lo-fi play hi-fi  Frank's Not In The Band Anymore
play lo-fi play hi-fi  Inner Voice (with Sudden Death)
Worm Quartet is a Rochester, NY-based band that forcibly staples punk and electronica together and throws them into a blender with hysterically twisted lyrics. They have been featured repeatedly on the Dr. Demento show, and had the most requested song of 2004 with the ex-girlfriend rant "Great Idea For A Song," collaborated with Sudden Death on the most requested song of 2005 "Inner Voice," and had the 2nd most requested song of 2002 with the anti-drummer anthem "Frank’s Not In The Band Anymore." Yowza. The sole member of Worm Quartet is a 6’4” 280-lb. bemulleted manic who insists on being called “Shoebox" and who poses by day as a mild-mannered software engineer. Worm Quartet is currently playing all over the damned place whenever possible to support the new CD "Mental Notes." More information can be found at www.wormquartet.com.
Why this name?
I used to draw a little cartoon thingy called "Worm Quartet" which I passed around to my friends and stuff. At some point it occured to me that since the characters in the cartoon were a band, they should have a tape, so I started recording music under the same name. There were, at one point, three people in the band...there is now one. There have never been four, so the name has always been stupid.
Do you play live?
If there's a place that doesn't mind having a large weird guy with a mullet screaming obscenities about common household items over pre-recorded synth-punk, I'll friggin' play there. I tend to play at clubs with other less-silly bands (generally the punky mohawk-sporting and/or indie rock Elvis Costello glasses-wearing crowds tend to dig my stuff) and at sci-fi conventions with my peers in the comedy music world (the geek crowd, unsurprisingly, is rather open-minded when it comes to funny music.)
How, do you think, does the internet (or mp3) change the music industry?
It's helping the little guys and scaring the hell out of the big guys. This is a good thing.
Would you sign a record contract with a major label?
Listen to my songs and tell me if you think I'm in any danger of ever receiving such an offer.
Band History:
Check out the "history" section on www.wormquartet.com for the whole sad story...
Your influences?
Atom & His Package, The Meatmen, “Weird Al” Yankovic, M.O.D., Bloodhound Gang, The Ramones, Descendents/All, The Freeze, The Cars, Screeching Weasel, Faith No More, KMFDM, Bad Religion, They Might Be Giants, and Jim Steinman.
Favorite spot?
Any place that doesn't give me diarrhea, and some that do.
Equipment used:
A cheapass DOS-based tracking program, a few crappy keyboards, and the glorious CoolEdit Pro (a.k.a. Adobe Audition.)
Anything else...?
Although the seldom-pruned rat scanner is nautically disabled, aren't we deflowering hydrants? Truly a bone in theyeast is worth ketchup in the hat when the tyrannical triangle of pain brandishes chili. So do we yogurt? Do we alphabetize our ape-chips, garnish aluminum Nazis, and yodel fervently our tales of lost tacos at the altar of fiberglass? I trapeze you, and yet I must fling sheep, for until the congressional poncho traverses the ottoman of digestion, mule-larvae will remain chairless, obscene, and jealous of your dishwasher. You seem to be of the faucet, and perhaps in the realm of the spackle-shakers, your screaming projector of uselessness would be unbleached. But when I hear the call of the bump, my ham is limber. The analog owl manufacturers try listlessly to smash cheese, and athough their yak-woks are omniscient, their copulating thermostats bleed not but turtles and yams. This is why, you fumigated marinated saturated spatulated kibbly little trout-player of itchiness, I caress this one scantily-trampled hamster vat: I farm where I romp, and I romp where I farm.