The Who, after drinking all his vodka, have a punch upwith Shostakovich in a pub whilst on tour in Siberia…….The unbalanced beast that is Dead Singer.

Strangled at birth, Dead Singer lurched onto the stage of the Marquee, howled its red raw songs and then tumbled into oblivion for a short period. Like two dogs glued together, it simply tore itself apart. There was blood on the walls and tears in the sawdust. But it hibernated. It sucked in more bruising blue bile. And it grew…

…Then, it was back. Back to life. Bigger and badder, sprouting four heads - and nine arms (the drummer has a spare one for emergencies – you’ll see why…) a Bass trombone that can rattle rivets out of battleships. The legendary bone-man will reach into your very bowels! The bassist (made in Chelsea, from flowers and string) growls though his stringed tree & dreams ‘is there life before death?’ Guitars that pulse and burn like waves of lava, the human bullshit detector will heave aloft his mighty axe and...well, you'll see. Because Dead Singer on stage will crush your value system and redesign it. Take no chances…stand well back…