BIOGRAPHY
Formed in 2009 in a dark corner of Hertfordshire from the congealed bloody vodka tears and stinging rectal pain of existence amongst the shuffling, hunched, grey masses – Hot Donkey have just one thing on their mind... One unending mission. A quest, if you will allow me to wax wankerish, to inject Technicolor into the grainy, crackled and scratched Eastman Film stock that is modern Earth-based life.
Never wavering, never resting, never ordering a de-caff... It is down to the bulbous brains behind HD to craft, graft, polish, shimmy and shine until everyone stops what they where doing and looks up to see what all the fuss is about.
Fear not, for they are just as human as you or I. Well... more human than a donkey, almost certainly. If you cut them – they will bleed. If you poke them with a warm marshmallow – they will have a sticky residue on their sleeve. If you buy them a drink – they will smile faintly through cracked lips and yellowing teeth and probably offer to do you a remix before slumping sideways off the bar stool.
But if you don't happen to be in the same pub as them – just rest your head back, dim the lights, remove the scatter cushions so you can actually sit comfortably for god's sake and soak in the sights, sounds and smells that make up the very real experience of Hot Donkey.
Described variously as sounding like a punk Zero 7 based dinner party bloodbath, Ronnie Hazelhurst on ice, Uncle Jimmy's rusted peg-leg rattling in a wheelie bin and/or a punch drunk Bieber meeting a corrupted hard drive on his first trip to Credibility Street – this mildly cynical yet deeply feisty duo, neither of whom will admit to being the back-end, defy simple classification and insist on hammering the listener into submission with the use of well crafted bleeps, distortion plug-ins and a pitched-down sample of a salad bowl being hit with a spatula.
Hush... No talking now... You'll spoil it.
