Issue 3 / August 2010

Bido Lito! August 2010 7
That is something that is evident even before you engage in the music. It is
hard to find any information out about this lot, and in most of their press shots
they are hidden behind an array of masks and wigs and false moustaches. While
Ed maintains that it’s because “we’re not handsome enough to be interesting,” it
sure does add an extra layer of mystery to the band that you wouldn’t recognise
them if you walked past them in the street. Seeing them live is a whole other
experience: the band often don high-visibility jackets for
their shows, and have their friend Farquhar (“a man who
lives behind a massive big hedge on a council estate”) read
a poem out before they come on, to set the mood for the
evening.
All in the name of crowd entertainment? “You do it for
yourself, you do it because you love it,” explains Ed. “If
no-one listens to it, or you only sell 10 records, it doesn’t
matter.” Surely you want to sell more than 10 though? “We
had this idea when we started the band, which has become
a bit of a catchphrase now, is that we were going to try and
get 10 people in to it. That’s an achievable number, and if
you can have 10 people’s lives affected by it, that’s a good
touch. And some times, at the early gigs, people would
say, ‘I’m one of the 10!’ And then, when things get bigger,
everyone’s claiming to be one of the 10, and it becomes like
a self-fulfilling prophecy: like Spartacus! That was then, 10
was just a good number. I can think of at least 12 now!” It is
this self-deprecating humour which, added to their natural
playfulness, gives them a charm that renders everything
they do in the name of their music genuine.
There is at least one song on Walton Prison Blues that
every person can relate to, from the careerist musings
of Postman, to the post-holiday blues of Bali, Thailand,
Sydney, America, and the prison cell lament of Decline Of
Manufacturing: the album is a shining example of how
songs can be whittled out of the quotidian experiences of
real life, so long as there is genuine feeling at the heart of
it. And one can’t fail to identify with the random encounters
with the strange characters that pop up: the pep-talk from
Tony the vagrant on the Tunnel Bus; the Iraqis In Shellsuits
who ‘came over from seat of learning, with promises of the
dough he’d be earning,’ - even the inspiration behind Split
Brain And The Whole Mind has some wisdom to impart (‘my
brain’s got a brain of its own’), even though his nocturnal
flashing habit gained him some unflattering notoriety in his
native Birkenhead. Real life is anything but straightforward:
one person’s triviality may be another person’s hardships,
and these virtues are recognised by Ed’s lyrics, which gives
Shellsuit a wholesome edge that will keep you coming
back to them when all other music has drained you of
emotion.
This is a band that you really can’t afford to miss. Get the album and get
enriched by a genuinely heartfelt record. Go on the website and read the mission
statement. Get to the live show and behold Farquhar and the high-vis jackets.
Become one of The Ten and join in with something seismic. Get this band in your
life, before you end up on the bonnet of a Royal Mail van.
shellsuit.co.uk
www.bidolito.co.uk