(In another place and culture, though, it isn't another year !)

You can catch the LAFFIN BONES at MacRory's Bar, Easby Road, Bradford,

(quite close to the University) - on the following dates :

As you can see, one has had to be cancelled at fairly short notice due to unforeseen circumstances, hence the delay in this update. It is hoped that things will be back to paranormal for March. NB. Possibly another gig as part of a Bob Dylan 60^th birthday tribute in May. More details to follow when dates & venues are confirmed.

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The site layout is, for now at least, reverting to this one document, all-inclusive newsletter format for ease of access and to save you from having to wade though all that OLD CRAP that used to keep filling it up. This is the NEW CRAP ! This stuff has a different texture, hue, aroma and consistency, as you will see, and issues, needless to say, from a different bum . . . Oh, and the Cartoon's now complete. Hope y'all dig the dénouement.

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First of all, a perspective on your new correspondent for this New Year, that remarkably unique and talented individual, Louis D'Cadnov, picture to follow. The legend proceeds thus . . . .

He was born in the poor part of Paris at the turn of the century before the one just gone. Despite an impoverished and uneventful childhood, Louis went on to become one of the most enigmatic and educationally challenged figures in the French underground.

At the age of fifteen, Louis relocated to the French coastal resort of Nice where he formed "Mutoc-Troason" or, as it was more commonly known, the "Musicians Unable To Ordinarily Conform To Rigid Or Arranged Sorts Of Numbers" collective.

Following internal strife with his brother Liam, Louis left "Mutoc-Troason" and, at the age of twenty, began a career in dream analysis. It was during this time that Louis began his writing career. He started out as a 'poncy' menu-writer before arriving at international acclaim, via mimeographed manuals on car theft, fraud, cheese-smuggling, amongst other salubrious topics, and appearing on French TV as a poet.

D'Cadnov, throughout his long and eventful life - he is now one hundred and one years old - has always contributed articles for publication to the "Sport de la Paris", so it was extremely fortunate that he could find time to write a sporadic update on the Laffin Bones website.

Louis D'Cadnov currently lives in a caravan on the Wilhelm Estate, Kings Lynn, with his wife, thirteen children - whom he has named after the disciples and The Messiah - a flock of wild seagulls, the ghost of John the Baptist and John Cippolina and his pack of rare utopian hunting dogs.

He continues to give handouts to the poor and conducts his underground artistic activities to this day, operating mainly from his caravan in Kings Lynn. His many interests include lying, plagiarism, self-delusion, reading, collecting those pens that write in four different colours and walking his utopian hunting dogs.

You can write to Louis for more information about his avant-garde philosophies, or to obtain copies of his book "Je Suis Louis de Cadnov" - ("I Am Louis D'Cadnov".)

All enquiries to the caravan, Wilhelm Estate, Kings Lynn.

Remember to include :

Ten English pounds,

a large mirrorball,

and a photo of your wife - naked - as she was at eighteen.

I'm Louis D'Cadnov and this is me reporting from Chèz Garcia, Bonesville.

"He no longer sees in it the struggle and tumult of individual beings and, therefore, he has that true peace of mind which is needed for understanding the great laws of the universe and for acting in harmony with them" - Hexagram 52

The band would like to thank you all for coming to the gigs and, more surprisingly, for coming back a second and third time !

They are hoping to carry on with their residency (approximately one gig every four or five weeks) at MacRory's Bar, Bradford, unless any fool out there is prepared to pay them to play elsewhere ? They don't really care though, at their age and time of life if they can remember the words to the songs and sort of tune a guitar they are doing well !

They inform me that they will be continuing to pursue the sonic frontiers of "Dark Star", albeit from memory and acid free, in 2001 and that you are not to expect any drastic changes to the existing set list.

For sure there's gonna be no "Help On The Way", "Weather Report Suite", "Unbroken Chain", "Days Between" Or "The Eleven", but somewhere along the line you might hear something resembling "Truckin", "Sugar Magnolia", "Cold Rain & Snow" or "Ship Of Fools" but, they tell me, don't count on it !

So, what CAN you count on with this band ? Well, if you're a musician or singer, you can almost certainly say to yourself at the end of the night - "I could do better" or "What an aberration, I must e-mail Phil immediately". If you're a Deadhead you might say, "It must have been the drugs", or if you're just passing you might say, "Hey guys, do you know any Zeppelin ?"

Did you know that this band doesn't rehearse, how can they ? They have no direction, aim or ambition. They might only be here for a short while. The One-Ness is gathering its flock and The Bones are the marching band.

Remember that song you cried to in 1970 ? - Well, it's become a shambling, schizoid parody of itself and it's there laughing at you inanely through crooked lines and loud dissonant cracks in your life and it bleeds you dry and next time anybody says to you, "Hey man, be cool ye naa", you're gonna sell everything and become a street hobo.

I, Louis D'Cadnov, don't believe in recreating the past and if anybody thinks Armageddon's marching band does believe in re-creating the past then please send me ten English pounds, a large mirrorball and a photograph of your wife - naked - as she was at eighteen and I, Louis, will reveal all to you !

Louis D'Cadnov's list of what you can count on with this band :

1. That they will try very hard to continue . . . and continue to try very hard . . .
2. That they will constantly explore "Dark Star" from memory & acid free.
3. That they will probably always play "Sugaree" or "When Posh Comes To Shave" at every gig.
4. That they will never sound like The Dead.
5. That they will probably never have two drummers.
6. That they will probably never live in San Francisco.
7. That they will never arrive at gigs in a helicopter and say "If you see Raphael".

He-he, I thought of that list bit myself ! The 'Raphael' bit . .

"Hey, if you SEE Raphael . . .

if YOU see him . . .

IF you see Raphael, tell him . . ."

Hey, got to go. I've been Louis D'Cadnov and this is me signing off from Chez Garcia.

Love, Louis.

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Last, but not least, a very important note . . .

The Bones website is sorely in need of a volunteer webmaster / site superintendent following the abdication of the aurally challenged, the Right DisHon. 'Leaky' Thewlis, OAP; (Ret'd).

Can you spare 2-3 hours every 2-3 months or so to knock us out an update ? Have you got 'The Knowledge' ?

The band simply doesn't collectively possess that magic 'wherewitherall' ! . . . (But you already know this . . . Doh !)

You won't have to do any writing, (unless you're a ready and willing 'Auteur'), just translate Dave's manic Mackem and Louis' frenetic Franglais into html. If you can offer more, so much the better.

Is there anybody out there willing to take it on ? Maybe somebody whose offspring is well-versed in the magic arts and looking to strike a blow ? Here's your chance.

Please ! You'll get a free hand. Maybe the odd frog's leg baguette as well . . maybe even a ride on a utopian hunting dog . . . or the use of a caravan for a week now and again . . !

If you can also play keyboards / mandolin / banjo / pedal-steel, sing, have a large van, an even larger wallet, and can get the band a few more gigs, sponsorship, meals, dry digs, fags, fromage (or just bog standard cheese) cans, cans, and cans'n'cans'n'cans . . . well . . . . . so much the better. Come on down ! We ain't gannin' naewhere for a while . . apart from doon the road, feelin' shite !

Contact Dave / Trevor at gigs to discuss, right, but don't talk to Louis, (who prefers to go unrecognised) . . . He will come to you, unannounced, his heavily garlic-tainted dog's-breath cloying stickily to your moist, alabaster shell-like in the sweaty half-light . . . just before last orders . . . . as he, the ultimate deceiver, seduces you with vague whispers and awkward, yet highly suggestive body rubbings . . . . "Some sing for ze baund - Yess ?"

And Denny could murder a pint as well . . . . Nuff said ? - Sweet !

Oh, and best wishes to Dave for a speedy recovery. (He's got galloping dogrot.)

Ainsi soit-il !! Au revoir mes amis. À Bientôt. . . . . . . Back to the HomePage, is it ?

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