The Voodoo Pins met at their local boozer, The Bald Faced Stag, which resides at the edge of the Willow Tree housing estate.
It’s a place where everybody knows your name, but not necessarily for the right reasons. It’s here you will find brooding lead singer, Charlie Cockroach propping up a shadowy corner of the bar, staring through the optics on a memory that will haunt him ’til death .
Bassist, Chrissy Whiplash, has a quiet moment filing her nails over a gin and tonic, having driven another man off the rails. Her indifference is for all to see. Guitarist, Kal Kamikaze, wipes the blood from her knuckles having dealt with an outsider who looked at her man. Colin Carnivor, the psychologically abused, idiot drummer, works at the pub collecting glasses, and is repeatedly told off for staring out the window, and eating all the pork scratchings.
All members of the Voodoo Pins have an intertwined past that sounds like a post watershed Eastenders style soap opera set in the most neglected suburbs of London. The sordid squaller in which they live is at the foundation of their sound, as is the ever present animosity amongst the group, even when performing on stage there’s the feeling that an argument may erupt at any moment.
The lyrics are engrossing, and express mundane occurrences and emotions in the form of simple, yet unique metaphorical angles. Reoccurring themes include depraved living, domineering sex, drugs, and the frustration, or romanticism, of being a loser. The musical arrangement is basic and to the point, but totally effective. Evil riffs play on point with primitive drums, and Charlie Cockroach screams poetic gripes about his everyday challenges from the perspective of a survivor still striving to get his kicks, with feeling and frustration.
The Voodoo Pins
The Voodoo Pins met at their local boozer, The Bald Faced Stag, which resides at the edge of the Willow Tree housing estate.
It’s a place where everybody knows your name, but not necessarily for the right reasons. It’s here you will find brooding lead singer, Charlie Cockroach propping up a shadowy corner of the bar, staring through the optics on a memory that will haunt him ’til death .
Bassist, Chrissy Whiplash, has a quiet moment filing her nails over a gin and tonic, having driven another man off the rails. Her indifference is for all to see. Guitarist, Kal Kamikaze, wipes the blood from her knuckles having dealt with an outsider who looked at her man. Colin Carnivor, the psychologically abused, idiot drummer, works at the pub collecting glasses, and is repeatedly told off for staring out the window, and eating all the pork scratchings.
All members of the Voodoo Pins have an intertwined past that sounds like a post watershed Eastenders style soap opera set in the most neglected suburbs of London. The sordid squaller in which they live is at the foundation of their sound, as is the ever present animosity amongst the group, even when performing on stage there’s the feeling that an argument may erupt at any moment.
The lyrics are engrossing, and express mundane occurrences and emotions in the form of simple, yet unique metaphorical angles. Reoccurring themes include depraved living, domineering sex, drugs, and the frustration, or romanticism, of being a loser. The musical arrangement is basic and to the point, but totally effective. Evil riffs play on point with primitive drums, and Charlie Cockroach screams poetic gripes about his everyday challenges from the perspective of a survivor still striving to get his kicks, with feeling and frustration.
The Voodoo Pins – Favorite Nasty Habit
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The Voodoo Pins play tonight at Tommy Flynn’s in Camden. Or catch them soon by checking their myspace