INTERVIEW

 

It was back in 1987 during my Fuzzy navel Teenage years that I first laid eyes upon The Sealed Weasels. I say laid eyes upon for that was all I did. As the trio took to the stage that night I finished my eighth Fuzzy Navel and proceeded to dance a slow motion spiral to the floor and to this day I am still not sure whether or not the loud smash I heard was my skull making connection with the hardwood floor of The Beer & Weenie Emporium or the hard driving kick of a drummer doing a count-in for the first song.

Flash forward fourteen years later.

I have successfully passed through the foibles of teenage drinking and now sport a hungry man's Guinness as I sit down to interview the band that has inadvertently provided a soundtrack to my life thus far.

There is a multitude of material to cover. The mysterious disappearance of 'Catboy', a former band member, now rumored to be on display at a Las Vegas's Trekkie Casino.

There are the stories of wild, raunchy nights akin to Roman Orgies. But not with groupies, wives and/or girlfriends, but with one another. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Their lyrics that have been praised and criticized in the same breath. 'Poppy upbeat despondency with undanceable chorus pieces. Musical Rubik's Cubes.'

Their fashion sense has been deemed by Helmut Langer himself as 'Wonderfully atrocious'. Sadness with a curtsy.

So where does that leave Sealed Weasels in the year 2001?

On the verge.

But the verge of what?

Greatness? Possibly.

Happiness? Maybe. But definitely, on the verge.

Uni Dublin.

To be continued...