Formed in a haze of coincidence, constantly proving Artaud's maxim that 'ideas are the void of the soul' and finally scratching you new ears with their burning-idiot-noise. Unafraid of the avant and aware that if all times exist at once then there can be no such thing as 'retro' (or for that matter 'futurist') The seven demand blows and bombs. Warlocks mate, sodding warlocks...