Tyres, caravans, one two three four five. Living in caravans and counting is the new being tall and pointing.
Betty's showband is not good (shake head slowly to emphasise the point). Betty's cat is not good either. He keeps staring at me in a menacing way. I wrote the words 'I'm Grey' on a window. This has nothing to do with Betty's cat, despite what Betty might tell you. She keeps saying, "What would Sting do in this situation?" I once put a bucket on my head and walked into a wall and a flowerpot fell on the bucket. She said, "Sting wouldn't have done that." I said, "Yeah, well that's why I did it." But it wasn't.
Crayonsmith is the music of Ciaran Smith. You might have seen him and his band on Deis Roc on Irish language TV. Or you might not have. They're better than standing on a van and saying 'aha!' to the people who said you couldn't out-run a pig. They're much better than living in a caravan.
Dance. If I had a million quid for every time I heard a song about plywood, I'd still be eating cardboard in a lift.
My name is slower than pointing and saying 'which is which is which'. Diesel. "No one says 'diesel' anymore," that's what they say. Fly me to the moon and do that thing you do with pigs, I said that.
Horslips were formed in 1970 and they split up in 1980, but they're playing together again. The term 'Celtic rock' is often used to describe their music, but Horslips are one of the few Celtic rock bands who don't believe that their feet are angels and let their feet take on most of the song-writing duties.
Cobras. I'm very busy and important, how can I help you, go away.
My caravan. Excuse me while I put on my black cloak and fake fangs and frighten the people who put the idea into my mind that I have a caravan.
Painting my door blue and my raincoat bees. I can say that in sign language. Time things on, my life in sound language, long songs that drive and fall and shh and I laugh at your patio and milk and sleep and dial the number again to start another day and another long song, a some sunner day waiting by the by and my hands. I forgot what I was going to say about my hands.
My caravan is on fire, excuse me a while.
Man: Stephen Hill.
Most singer-songwriters write songs to communicate with the people who are living on their shoulders in protest against something, but they can't remember what it is, and they're scared of the insects who have set up home on their shoulders because the insects are obviously protesting against something too, and they probably know what it is, and whatever it is it's probably going to hurt. Stephen Hill isn't one of those.
My ears say 'ping' every time the doorbell rings. Stop saying that.
Rhythm rhymes with time if you ignore the fact that it doesn't. Sound builds rooms and opens doors and says 'bye bye' when you roll down the hill on a bike with no brakes. Yeah well up yours, I meant to roll down the hill. I knew there were no brakes on the bike. It's not even a bike, and I knew that. I'm drinking champagne, smoking cigars made out of caviar, and glamorous women are laughing at my jokes about Popeye. There's someone at the door, stop saying that.
Pugwash are from Dublin. They released their first album, 'Almond Tea', in 1999, and their second, 'Almanac', in 2002. They've often been compared to The Beatles and The Beach Boys. They make most other bands sound as if they put something in their ears to block out the sound of people saying, "There's no point putting something in your ears, that monkey still has your car keys."