As the Fingolstones entered their fifth decade, they began to exude a greater maturity in the manner of a fine gorgonzola (no doubt purchased from Lidl when already well-past it's sell-by date knowing these cheapskates). The whiff of maturity - the aforementioned Eau de Fromage - served to keep at bay the hordes of foxy young chicks that so bedevil other bands and interrupt the flow of their creative juices. Well, not so these boys (err ... middle-aged men), who spill theirs out for you here and stand before you naked and spent. Just hold that image.
Ok, so you've been sick and come back from the bathroom to read the rest of this. Really? I'm surprised, but I'll go on anyway. Where were we? Ah yes, approaching middle age. So, yes, if you were a rock god approaching the late summer of your years, what would you do? Shack up with some bit of stuff half your age and stick half a kilo of Columbian marching powder up your schnozz, or sit down calmly and write an album of well-crafted tunes reflecting on your younger days and the deeper meanings of life with lilting vocals, plaintiff harmonies and cascading acoustic accompaniment? Well, with no young dolly birds desperate enough and nose sherbert being hard to come by in north Derbyshire, the Fingolstones opted for the latter. But with a twist like the twistyness of the hometown spire, they have eschewed the woody harmonies and acoustics and gone instead for the raucous dissonance and atonal caterwauling that is all they usually muster.
That said the artwork on the album is actually quite good. My advice would be to turn the sound down to 0 (as in fact some venues did at some of their live concerts) and just look at the pictures. Norbert looks sleek, belying his 40-something years and being in law enforcement there could be criminal proceedings against anyone who suggests this image has been photo-shopped. Daz, the only other member that Norbert could be arsed to cut and paste, sorry, brought to the photo shoot, has his distinctive pink mop barnet that helped many ordinary citizens to avoid him. He so enjoyed the picture and the free beans that he vowed never to take that shirt off again or wash it ... and rumour has it that he never has. Also shown are an advert for Gills jeans (ironically positioned next to a corporation bin), who fitted out the young Fingolstones with ice-wash and tight-fitting pink and grey cardies, and the Salty Club, a former haunt of the Fingolstones and scene of many debauched post-gig shenanigans ... Norbert once had 2 pints of shandy and 3 pickled eggs in there (madness!).
Ok, so you've been sick and come back from the bathroom to read the rest of this. Really? I'm surprised, but I'll go on anyway. Where were we? Ah yes, approaching middle age. So, yes, if you were a rock god approaching the late summer of your years, what would you do? Shack up with some bit of stuff half your age and stick half a kilo of Columbian marching powder up your schnozz, or sit down calmly and write an album of well-crafted tunes reflecting on your younger days and the deeper meanings of life with lilting vocals, plaintiff harmonies and cascading acoustic accompaniment? Well, with no young dolly birds desperate enough and nose sherbert being hard to come by in north Derbyshire, the Fingolstones opted for the latter. But with a twist like the twistyness of the hometown spire, they have eschewed the woody harmonies and acoustics and gone instead for the raucous dissonance and atonal caterwauling that is all they usually muster.
That said the artwork on the album is actually quite good. My advice would be to turn the sound down to 0 (as in fact some venues did at some of their live concerts) and just look at the pictures. Norbert looks sleek, belying his 40-something years and being in law enforcement there could be criminal proceedings against anyone who suggests this image has been photo-shopped. Daz, the only other member that Norbert could be arsed to cut and paste, sorry, brought to the photo shoot, has his distinctive pink mop barnet that helped many ordinary citizens to avoid him. He so enjoyed the picture and the free beans that he vowed never to take that shirt off again or wash it ... and rumour has it that he never has. Also shown are an advert for Gills jeans (ironically positioned next to a corporation bin), who fitted out the young Fingolstones with ice-wash and tight-fitting pink and grey cardies, and the Salty Club, a former haunt of the Fingolstones and scene of many debauched post-gig shenanigans ... Norbert once had 2 pints of shandy and 3 pickled eggs in there (madness!).
The Fingolstones Sell Out cover art.
 Album insert.
|
 Rear cover.
|
