Traversing Scotland and Greece, Bamya are an exciting new prospect in the Glasgow underground. Around, around and around their jagged guitars and ramshackle drums dance as their poetic sea shanties come to the fore.
“now there is the jolly little rococo death march out from the inverted belly of a metal drum
drumming forth, the rumble of a cacophony of soldiers!
Velvet, tweed, burgundy stockings and lace trimming appear increasing scale and roll forth! —————————————
Out onto the factory conveyor-belt dances the series of rococco men, their immobile toy mechanisms unpicked by the metronome And here, dancing in and out between them, is The Severed Leg, absurd but indispensable, to which the others follow in raptured glee. hopping in time with each clunk of the great mechanic cog, leg jump^leg jump^leg jump^ bumping a bulbous brass note down the metal underpart with each landing of his velvet-kitted sole. But where is the word of command, there is no word of command!”