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Portrait of Seifer


About Seifer

London, United Kingdom

One day, in a land far, far away, on a small bed of hay, there lay a man named 'J'. J was a nice young man, so nice in fact he'd roam the lands, in search for food for his dear old nan. Yes, he was a nice young man, but a man who had never entered the sandman. Poor man. Poor J, the nice young man on the bed of hay. He had been deprived his whole youth, to never know the truth, all he'd known was his nan with her one single tooth. Poor J, the man that they say, never had seen the light of day, poor old J.

J was afraid that people would know, that he did not know the outside world, that the only music he'd ever known, was written by the devil, Ville Valo. But on his travels to a brand new land, he met someone else with a guitar in hand, he asked "Who are you?" as he shook his hand, then backed away as he responded "I'm a french man". J ran away from the creepy, weird guy, ran as fast he could and he screamed to the sky, "Why did you send me a smelly French guy?", to which God responded "I don't really know why." And just at that second, as J he reckoned, that the French man was gone, he jumped out a bush and screamed "PLAY ME A SONG!" So J picked up a bass and asked "What is this guitar?", then he slapped his way right into the French man's heart. Yes it's gay, but that's the story of J, now it was time for the French man to come into play.

J asked the man if he had himself a name, his name was 'A', unoriginal but hey, this IS the story of J, the man from a land far, far away, who lay on a small bed of hay, and did i forget to mention he was made of clay? J the man of clay. So A & J sat down for a jam, practicing solid but still sounding like jam, all gooey and slow and maybe some red, then J had a thought he should dance instead.

But that didn't last for more than a minute.

A & J heard a rumour long ago, of a drummer hailed as destroyer of worlds, or at least destroyer of faces, with his face melting sticks, played like a machine, with his drum-beating tricks. His name was 'G'. G FOR GARGANTUAN. Or just G for Graham. Graham the crayon. Don't argue with me that rhymes. Anyway the G-man was in town, and J knew that he needed his sound. So he went up to G, asked if he liked cups of tea, and from that point they conversed gleefully. G liked cups of tea you see. He eventually asked G to lay down some beats, to which G replied "First give me a treat". So they made love all night, it was a beautiful thing, the sight of their bodies, would make a cat sing.

But the music was missing a certain something. Then in came this new guy with his own guitar thing. Started melting their faces with his funktastic strings. So they kidnapped him. Stuck him in a bag and didn't care if he was hurt. "Finally, someone I can make wear a skirt!" J said. "Or a thong instead!" That's about the time that J lost his street cred. The others looked at him with the blankest of faces. "Don't worry! I'll make you wear shoes without laces!" J had the craziest of thoughts, it's true. But it did please the guys when they put on their shoes. Laceless shoes.

Then suddenly the man jumped out of the bag! Claimed his name was 'D', and that he was quite sad. All he wanted was a friend. Someone to hold till the end. The others laughed inside as they pretented to care. But decided D should no longer play guitar solitaire. So they invited him round for wonderful time. Turns out D was for them. Who'd have guessed? Sure as hell, not I.

But that's all I know of J and his band, but I imagine they play their songs all over these lands, so open your ears and carefully listen, maybe someday you'll hear the songs they have written...

And so that's the story of J, the man made of clay, who lay on the bed of hay, in a land far, far away. Good old J.

More About The Artist

Portrait of Seifer