Corpus are not a metal band. We don’t have expectations, we don’t have dreams. Hell, we don’t even have a bassist. We are two angry little punks who know how to party, if you’re down. We are the masters of our own sinking ship, the commandeers of a tiny paramilitary outfit that has been out in the sun too long, ingested way too much peyote and can’t hear straight. We were standing on the grassy knoll. And man, I’ll tell ya, we are out of control.
Late last year, after a slew of shows around...
Corpus are not a metal band. We don’t have expectations, we don’t have dreams. Hell, we don’t even have a bassist. We are two angry little punks who know how to party, if you’re down. We are the masters of our own sinking ship, the commandeers of a tiny paramilitary outfit that has been out in the sun too long, ingested way too much peyote and can’t hear straight. We were standing on the grassy knoll. And man, I’ll tell ya, we are out of control.
Late last year, after a slew of shows around the burbs, bars and backyards of Sydney, we got itchy feet and decided to go to Melbourne and record a CD. We roped an eccentric entrepreneur into our shady operation and signed to budding indie label Ricochet Records, amassing a community of like-minded followers somewhere along the way. So with the wind in our tattered sail the world at our feet, we set off into the musical wilderness in a daring bid for eternity. That or our next meal.
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