".whilst i agree they (Rotters) were totally shambolic, inept, derivitive and arrogant. You would have had a hard time finding someone without a smile on their face by the time their set came to clattering end. You would've had to have had the sense of humour of a brick to not find it at all funny. They don't take themselves seriously and they are not asking you to either. Good harmless stupid fun "
"Yep, another simple drums, bass, guitar, vocals outfit but this time in the key of sloppy, amateur, garage punk. The lyrics were void of any thought, wit or amusing cliche, the vocalist's strained voice sounded like an east-end alley cat on heat having just smoked 40 fags and the simple guitar chords were bereft of any tunefulness whatsoever. "
"the rotters are fucking brilliant, japanese punk is superb"
Hello
i really like ur music
vocal is magic
:)
I'm from Russia.
and i don't know anything about u
i wanna ask something
is it all of ur songs?
if "no" ,
where can I get the other ur song?
can u email me ur songs?
it will be really great
:)
"The Rotters are just embarassing and unlistenable"
"when I first met The Rotters I was discusted with their lyrics. Wether Dylan is having a laugh or deadly serious I still like it because it's funny"
"I love the rotters too. *genuinely*"
"I don't understand why anyone wouldn't like
The Rotters. There first gig was terrible but even then they showed promise and I was right 'cause I think they fuckin' rule!"
"Well I love The Rotters, so there. Bring on the single I say!"
"i am very jealous the rotters don't really exist anymore. if those two come down from leeds there may be the single and maybe one or two more gigs but that would be it and there's still much talk about them. plus i got kicked out of the band and was replaced by faris before any songs were even written. just because he's a boy, who's very tall."
* * * * *
"hey man" sez 11-fingered guitarist Emily Rotter to if-she-was-an-inch-shorter-she'd-be-legally-disabled Dylan Rotter, "you're the only cat i've met who's more tone deaf than me!"
They fling themselves to the ground as the great Elvis in the sky strikes a pose and booms out "kids, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" eh? what? they wonder, peanut butter and lard sandwiches? "No!" he sez,"a band! let karaoke bars breathe a sigh of relief and lock your tuneless selves up in a rehearsal room for a while." and then he goes back home. hmmthinks elv, oh boy! peanut butter and lard?now there's a combo i haven't tried! good ol elvis, thinks the two left starstruck on the street, always the man with the plan. hot-footing it down south they searched far and wide til in the bakery section of walworth road sainsbury's they found a whole heap of peroxide hair, and underneath it someone they would later call "the bassist", aka Comedy Jess, the robot girl with the funnies and a penchant for Prince. Who was a robot. "Three girls?" sez elvis, back with his sandwich, "hey hey, look over there!" he points, they swivel, and down the road what at first appears to be an old woman on a horse in a riding 'at is actually a hangdog Big F, sore after being whipped in the Oh-Five drumming world championships by an ol deaf man with no arms. "no hard feelings?" ask the other three, craning their necks to the 6foot6 giant, "nohmhh" he mumbles as they rugby tackle him, drag him feet first to a drum kit and as the story goes, we think he's still there. check us out. NO REFUNDS ,. NOW FOR WHAT REALLY HAPPENED
Big F was bored at white heat so He deigned to allow emily the privilege of a short chat. She droned on for literally minutes whilst he gracefully let His magnificent eyes droop to a glazed state of relaxation. But suddenly her voice grew more strained and anxious, the high pitched whine permeating Big F's state of bored acceptance.
"Pleasejointheband, prettyplease, there'll be groupiesandyoucanbeleadsinger!!!!" God, her voice was annoying. Big F slowly turned towards her, saying, "Big F is not some kind or sort of limelight hogging hog. He shall play drums for this band you speak of, which shall be called the rotters, on the condition He may throw his drumsticks at you whenever He wants, agreed?"
"Oh Yes, You've made me so happy Big F!!" said Emily, her hands shaking pathetically as the glee literally overflowed from her sagging eyelids, "but who else shall make up this band?"
Big F calmly and deliberately produced a diagram of a robot. "I call her Comedy Jess," His powerful voice resonated, "I built her to play bass, and have been keeping her in the Big F tower until her time of purpose."
"But who, oh who shall sing?" cried Emily, frothing at the gums. "Fetch me my skinny jeans," demanded Big F, proudly sitting in His boxer shorts, " We're going to White Heat." "But Big F, we are at white heat."
"Yes, I know."
"So who's the singer, oh glorious one?"
"Emily, Fetch me my trowel, we're going troll-hunting."
OKAY BIG F, YOU'VE FORCED ME TO TELL ANOTHER LITTLE STORY INVOLVING OUR FORMATION. After Dylan, Comedy Jess and Emily had decided to form a band, with dylan on bass and singin, jess (who was a robot) drumming and emily picking some strings we happened to mention in an off handed way to Big F that we were going into a rehearsal studio the next day. Big F's normally motionless face lept into a series of quite-frankly petrifiying seizures, which were then followed by a yelp of "can i join please please please please. i wanna go into the studio. i'll play drums!". and we let him cos we needed a little something for the ladies and girl bands suck right. Big F asked to join our band. and we named ourselves after the rotters club cos they're fit just incase you didnt know - so faris has sort of admitted to being gay. The End and The TruthPS Jess is a robot
