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The Konkoma Maximum LoveGarden Orchestra - Unlimited By Styal

The institution at Styal – originally an orphanage dating from around 1890 and presently housing a selection of young offenders and women miscreants - has little or nothing to do with the band, save for the fact that it’s in the same geographical milieu, south of Manchester. Also irrelevant is the fact that an un-scheduled capital ‘G’ appears in the word ‘lovegarden’. Or the fact that ‘konkoma’ in Dutch means ‘cucumber’. The positioning of the word - mis-spelled as it is – ‘coma’ in the aforesaid Dutch word for cucumber is simply a co-incidence and has no real association with the trance-like qualities of the good grooves produced by this band of talented, peerless individuals. What really set this exasperating dialogue in motion was the misunderstanding taking place in Macclesfield’s Millstone Inn a couple of years back. It was a Friday night, clock having just turned 9.30, the ale flowing and the band moving steadily up through the gears, Professor Billy Foster and a pupil of his, Baggy, stood at the back of the pub:

Baggy: ‘Styal? Yeah, I can see it pal, but they’ve a new unit in there now, it’s set up to deal with complex mental health needs.’
Prof Billy F: ‘Styal? You talkin’ about Styal prison? Yer blinkin’ numpty, it’s style I said, s-t-y-l-e! Fuck me…’
Baggy: ‘Oh, I thought you was referring to the help available for this lot?’
Prof Billy F: ‘No, no, I was sayin’, dead good aren’t they, unlimited by style. Styles like, types of music, know what I mean? They can do anything, Latin, African, Reggae, Funk, Foxtrot, Bossa Nova, Cowtrot, Sheeptrot and Foot-rot, there’s nowt’s beyond ‘em.’
Baggy: ‘Ah, I see your point of view.’
Prof Billy F: Yeah, underpinned as they are by the metronomic qualities of rhythm god Sexy Beast, it gives full rein to the bass complexities of Fatty which in turn frees up the middle of the park for playmaker guitarist Pheasant to roam and dictate the pace of play while from a position just behind the front two sits Badly Behaved Roy picking dexterously from his armoury of McGonagall-esque melodies to prompt Young Pup and Dr Dannreuther into suitable to and fro motionings with the trumpet and saxaphone respectively.’
Baggy: Are you sure you’re not Frank Gallagher?’
Prof Billy F: Pal, I am The Resurrection.’
Baggy: Oh…and what’s Foot-Rot?’

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