Bloody hell this band is tight. Tight like the rivets on a supersonic rocket ship. Tight like the barrel that the old crazy lady went over Niagara Falls in, tumbling through the tumult to emerge shaken but smiling.…

Gig flyer courtesy of Jon Downing. A mid-morning coffee-break at the National Coal Board’s offices on Queen Street, Sheffield. On the second-floor landing, a small queue is forming at the vending machine, proffering ten…

“I’m So Hollow?” “Here”. “They Must Be Russians?” “Present”. “Vendino Pact?” “Yes, Miss”. A warm summer evening, and its registration time for Sheffield bands at the Lower Refectory on Western Bank. Vice Versa, DVA,…

Vinner throws the best parties. Like a junior Jay Gatsby, he holds court at his parents’ lofty Victorian house in Burngreave. We’re a largely well brought up, well behaved bunch. No-one takes drugs, but…

We have to get signed in. There are five of us: Wilma, Vinner, Lango, Timbo and me. I’ve just turned 17, and this is my band. Or rather it’s the band that I…