As thunderous as a herd of wildebeest, as sly as a wagonload of Spike Milligans and as sonorous as a cloister of monks, the Spooky Men’s Chorale are the gift that keeps on giving. Emerging from the Blue Mountains of New South Wales eighteen years ago armed only with their voices, a nice line in deadpan and an ill-matched set of hats, they’ve been gleefully disturbing the world ever since. In middle age, with six albums under their belt, The Spookies are masters of their territory like never before, delicately garnishing their much loved black-catalogue with further incursions into beauty and stupidity, somewhat like a chocolate muffin with bits of chocolate in it. You must see them, really you must.
