Nature spent 4.57 billion years perfecting its design for future Torture Gardeners Adam and Matt Ford, before inhuman society added twenty-five and twenty-one years of development respectively. As you can hear, all this effort has been worth it, and the poisoned fruits of that labour are available for your enjoyment/endurance. Adam Ford was born in 1981, thrust into a war zone that goes by the name of Birkenhead, Merseyside, where his army was taking a pounding from the enemy’s elite commandos. Unhappily, the villainous foe’s propaganda machine gradually convinced Adam that there was no war at all, so for the first eighteen years of his life it seemed like the disease and destruction that seemed to follow him around was somehow caused by the young man himself. The situation grew so bad that our shellshocked soldier wanted to remove his malignant influence from the gene pool, but at just the right time to save his skin, he saw the tiniest sliver of light in his perpetually darkened world: ‘twas not he who was sick, ‘twas society. Since then, Adam has devoted much of his time to awakening his comatose fellow combatants. Unfortunately, they are taking far too long to come round. This makes him sad, angry and more than occasionally despondent, so these are the emotions he pours into his lyrics and vocals. Matt Ford likes music. A lot. And he’s amazingly talented at creating it, using a wide variety of instruments. Not surprisingly - since he shares 50% of his brother’s deoxyribonucleic acid, and was forced into a world that was four years worse if anything - he experiences many of the same sensations. He harnesses these bad vibrations, and uses them to fashion soundwaves, which can be intercepted by your ears and understood by your brain. You may find yourself nodding in response. Torture Garden see dying people wracked by guilt on slick machines. They see flesh riddled with religion, the disease of enfeebled dreams. They see a police pig in every head, who stands guard over stifled screams. Their demons will never pardon, so their Eden was born a torture garden. So was yours.