2 best friends playing an organ, a guitar, and a drum machine singing and rapping over epic parts, Black Sabbath meets Run DMC and their pal Biscuit sings 3 songs.

13 MP3 Songs
ROCK: Hard Rock, HIP HOP/RAP: Rap



Details:
"Bacon and Egg is a hip-hop metal journey through the wastelands of New Jersey's and Washington's stripmall towns, BMX paths, and video game parlours. It's a lifestyle record, if you will, plum full of self-references, rhymin', stealin' and tight lead work. Bacon, Egg and their partner Biscuit are all Volumen, but this is very much a living, breathing, rocking band with it's own life. "...Are Fanduvo" was recorded down in San Francisco by their pal Tim Green and the thing is sonically amazing. Really meant to be enjoyed while staring at some kind of Spencer Gifts-purchased lazer show from the middle of a water bed."

-Josh Vanek-Wantage USA


Undercover of the Knight:

The eventide was failing, and the setting sun cast a wan light on the parapets of Castle Volumen, beneath which three knights sat regarding, with grim solemnity, the two chairs left forlorn and empty round the round(ish) table at which they were to have spent a jolly dinnertime regaling each other with reminiscences of heroic deeds. It was Sir Shane who spoke first.

âPrithee tell, Sir Douglas,â he said, âWhat doth thou suppose that Sirs Bob and Bacon are up to? Were they not to have supped with us this night?â

âBy my faith, good Sir Shane, ââ¬Ëtis true,â replied a distraught Sir Douglas. âSurely they tread a path bestrewn with grave peril, for ââ¬Ëtis hard to imagine Sir Bob missing supper for aught but the very gravest. What thinkest thou, Sir Bubbles?â

But Sir Bubbles emptied his mead-horn at a draught and said nothing. His troubled gaze fixed briefly on the last shaft of sunset wreathing Sir Shaneâs resplendent mullet. Dare he tell them of the vision that had cloven his slumber like a broadsword? Of the forked road and the magic spring where even now, he feared, Sir Bob and Sir Bacon had plunged off the path and into a Volumen side project?

And long indeed had they tarried, our truant knights, at the enchanted pool revealed to Sir Bubbles in chimerical visions, a tarn of frothy orange fed by an inexhaustible freshet of gladdening elixir and ringed by the glittering foliage of a most curious herb. As the sated knights sat rubbing their orange-stained lips at the poolâs edge, Sir Bob heaved a contented sigh and mused,

âFor some time now, good Sir Bacon, I have essayed to program some sick beats into my drum machine and craft blasphemous pricksongs on my wicked axe. What sayest thou to ââ¬Ëjammingâ with me one of these nights after Volumen practice once our stout brethren have set down their lutes and dulcimers and retired to their goodly women and warm hearthsides?â

âBy the gorgonâs girdle,â swore Sir Bacon, âVerily, Sir Bob, for I am down with that.â

And there you have it folks: the long-lost first canto of the Bacon and Egg saga, etched in gryphonâs blood on a goatskin scroll and recently unearthed in a Cornish burial mound. It goes on for a bit, with the helpful âwee folkâ and the Charm of Making and the significance of the gilded crustaceans (not to mention the heroic deeds), but you pretty much get the idea. Some time in 2002, Bob Marshall and Chris Bacon (drums and keyboards, respectively, for Missoula rock protectors Volumen), slipped away into Bobâs private dungeon and started cooking up the album of electrified madrigals you are admiring right now. Volumen bassist Sir Bubbles even takes the mic on a few tracks. Recording sage and fellow guitar wizard Tim Green (FUCKING CHAMPS) set it down for posterity in October, 2004 at his Louder Studios in San Francisco; Missoula record guilds Motron and Wäntage USA joined forces to make it available at a medieval craft faire near you. Each disc, Iâm told, has been forged from swords melted in the kingdomâs finest smithy, and if you look closely youâll find each cover is woven from the eyelashes of countless wild boars on a loom tended by thirteen unspoiled maidens. The ink is just regular ink.

So is there room in your cluttered rock tower for Bacon and Egg? Methinks youâll find it, rock varlet. Just listen to this crazy crap! The axes are perilous and the beats tireless, driving heinie-whuppers like âFormerly D 11â and âStains on the Window Paneâ home with shield-splitting fury. But you can also dance to it Itâs like the Fucking Champs meets the Pointer Sisters, and thatâs the beat that rocks the house, yo.

--Andronicus Smetankacus, scribe

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