Homer and the Springfields (Addleshaw Goddard)
 
Winds of change rage hard in the world of Law Rocks, where the winner takes it all. To be a loser is the bitterest pill, with bands feeling mistreated, dazed and confused, leaving them going underground and back to their roots. Yeah.

Buffeted mercilessly by those very winds, such was the fate of our northern rock barons, forcing them to split. To a tear-streaked broken shell of a man, they each reverted to their pre-stardom jobs in a bid to leave behind the paparazzi, groupies and untold wealth they had failed to attract.

"The lads on the bins welcomed me back with open arms," says voxbox Homer, having reconnected with his role as a senior refuse operative. "They'd even kept my old hi-viz tabard!" With that customary smile spreading across his face, he goes on, "On the bins is where I can be truly myself."

Wire-shredder Fast Eddie re-established his mid-market Milan ladies fashion designer label, Eduardo Rapido. "My tiny hands make the needlework easy," he reveals, "and it's more than a job, it's a calling, something thymbolic," he puns hilariously.

"Not many places offer this course," admits snappy skinsman Shoeless Joe, of his resuming his PhD in Marine Astro Eco-Physics with Land Economy. "It helps me feel the rhythms of the universe" the ace aca-drum-ic states insightfully.

"It was all Papa's idea," explains chord-chopper Stropper, or Viscount Marmaduke de Montfort-Malmsey to give him his full aristocratic title, of his retaking his lordly seat on the family estate at Ever Wittless, in the southern North Dales, east of West Witton. "I have cleaven indeed to the family motto 'Quintus est in atrio' ['look after the pennies, and the pounds will look after themselves'], and it has stooden me in the very greatest of steads," is his generous conclusion.

Bass-busting Fingers is back on the Soho stage of his burlesque youth. "I'd hoped I'd put all this behind me," is his plaintive admission, "but the roar of the grease-paint and the smell of the crowd drew me back like a last desperate option."

But once again Law Rocks has worked its wonder-magic: the legendary copy-rock quintet have re-formed in honour of the event. Ever swimming against the tide of popular popularity, these star-crossed sound-sailors have launched their rockoracle on the sonic sea in a stunning new direction.

Going back to their humble beginnings has inspired a zealous exploration for musical honesty, and that search has led them to the sad-ballad laden doom tunes that are folk-rock. "We've used this nothingness to fill the vacuum in the void at the centre of the black hole at the empty heart of the band", Dr Shoeless Joe makes clear.

Their consequent new album, "All Folked Up" needs to be heard to be believed, and sees a revolution in the breadth of the band members' contributions:

Mark "Homer" Hilton – tragedies, penny whistle, nasal warbles and stool

John "Fast Eddie" Emerton – 12, 18 and 24 string acoustic guitars and beard

Jonathan "Stropper" Tattersall – mandolin, mandolinium, mandraglian, alto-mandraglian, altobass-mandraglian, linoleum, back-whines and clogs

Robin "Shoeless Joe" Jack – floor-tub, rabbit snare, sheep skulls, tombola and tights

Simon "Fingers" Palmer – double, treble and quadruple basses, thin screeches and smock

So caveat folci [let the folkers beware]. As the new Homer and the Springfields' heavy-horse drawn folk-rock copy-cart crawls painfully into town along the folk-mud bestrewn rock-rut scarred musical cart-track of dark blackness, ready yourselves for a soul-aching joyless journey into the deep depths of hopeless sadness and unending depression.

Let's folk-rock!!