We Become Ghosts
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"Crave Anything"--
City: Brisbane Australia
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About we become ghosts
The blood spilled into the nook in search of the elusive cranny. Thick, lucid and controlled by gravity and even flow, the former inner was determined to stay an outer. The flowing richness of spewing crimson made its way past Dingly Dell, which is where our story beings its relevance. Amongst the gurgling on the surface of the floating remains of puréed soft tissue, a reflection could be seen. At first glance it looked like a cacophony of hard rock visual and audio naughtiness. But under closer inspection it was indeed the four kunzis who make up Brisbane’s WE BECOME GHOSTS. It was at this exact location that the river of red ebbed and started to congeal, content on remaining still and enjoying the musical mayhem on offer from our minions of melody, our hard rock heroes, our melodic masters, the fanny four……………………….


Leading the charge of infringing on personal space via the context of insistent maniacal rantings is LEWD SCOFF. Armed with guitar and tantrum, we have always expected more drama than the entire back catalogue of readers digest from this melodic metaller.

Many would think that LAYERS hates all skin stretched across metal and wood, but alas, he’s a drummer, and drums are made that way. He hits shit with sticks pretty much………so if you want a good solid stick beating from a solid back-up harmonist, skin yourself, replace your bones with wood, and your flesh with a carbon based alloy then reskin yourself. Detach your left hand and insert a foot controlled pulley system that connects to your teeth. Cut off your penis and sew it back on upside down on your right hand and squat with your new kick penis pedal hand on ground but in front of your stomach which you have previously had gutted and stuffed with a pillow. Back of the heads as a snare and your inline to become the world’s first human drum kit……..happy with yourself?


We all have our ways of mutilation I guess, and BEEFCLIFF is no exception. He’ll make you shit your pants and your ears bleed, draining your body and leaving it a prune. Perhaps this is what stopped the river of blood that now resides outside the magic door that separates Dingly Dell with the rest of the world. Maybe the liquid entity shares the same thirst for itself that our bass playing protagonist of saucy psalms does………….sorta.


Ever wondered how they make those sounds at the traffic lights when you’re waiting to cross the road? Or, maybe the sound of your own subconscious trying to grasp the concept of anonymity via your own political and religious virtues cross faded with the seductive tone of snapping teeth? Well we did, so we asked FRANK TRAVESTY how it’s done. While he didn’t he give us any relevant answers to the aforementioned questions, he did rock up with his key thing (you know like yanni) and he makes it all come together rather nicely.


So, we have discussed the inner workings & basic principals of a river of bloods infatuation with a pretty all right rock band………………this they then do.