THIS BAND IS NO MORE. However, we still make music, as "Hercules Morse".
About Leave The Future Behind...
Until recently, Blue Screen had been living in filth in a terribly grotty "hole" in Southampton that they called "home".
It was a house that had all the charm of a post-apocalyptic nuclear bunker and was about as welcoming as Fritzl's basement. There was mould growing on the walls, ceiling and on just about anything else that was unfortunate enough to be stationary for more than a day.
However, despite all its shortcomings, this place of residence was also home to "Widdecombe Studios", and from her womb, this album emerged. For that we are grateful.
Here's what some nice people have said about this album...
“Eat your heart out, Josh Homme: Queens of the Stone Age wish they’d stolen a few of these riffs.” - Soton Tab
"The album provides a very enjoyable listening experience from a band with large amounts of talent with equal amounts of humour in good measure." - Rock Regeneration
“This short album provides a very consistent set of catchy hard-edged songs. The Blue Screen Of Death have a definite ear for a tune, quickly grabbing attention, even on the first listen.” - Music Junkie
“They are able to punch their way out of any radio-friendly trappings into which they play themselves. Channeling their obvious hostility toward frozen computers into some slightly demented, teasingly danceable, desert-borne riffs.” - Broken Beard
“The Blue Screen of Death is welcome flush of energy to Britain’s stagnant rock scene. Getting the most out of stoner-rock riffs with pop-savy melodies, has resulted in a timeless collection of sure-fire hits.” - Chybucca Sounds
There are many wonderful people, without whom this album would not have been possible, to which we are forever indebted.
Big thanks and credit go to:
The immensely talented Byron Blackstock for producing wonderful artwork on, not only this, but all the BSoD releases and generally Mothering us and whipping us into shape.
The marvellously magnificent Ben Turk for having the patience to endlessly listen to and scrutinise the record until it sounded like a choir of (rather angry) angels singing (whilst being chased by an even more angry cete of Badgers)
Thin Billy, Tom McKeand and The Dirty Mac for the loan of microphones and general dirty lovin'.
The two, non-band member, housemates (Biscuit Boy and Michelle "wannabe Tigger" Crooks) deserve appreciation for putting up with our loud noises.
The unfortunately-short-haired Jeremy Bunnett (a.k.a. "The Merc") for being head of our merchandise department and teaching us how to play tennis.
All our friends, family and fans who relentlessly turn up to gigs, say kind things and generally keep us going. You know who you are and, although we are too emotionally retarded to say it in person, we love you all very much.
Also, SPAGman, whoever he is, for fixing up our spelling, punctuation and grammar.