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From the sleeve notes of the DVD 'Basti, Norwich, England': Like some kind of hideous mythical creature bred in the wild flatlands of Norfolk, Basti emerged into the underground pop scene of the late 1980s like a virulent pox of straight-edge, vegetarian, party-spoiling motherfuckers. Pleasant bands with jangly guitars ruled the roost back then, but Basti, with their fierce punk stomp, sampled chainsaw noise and bad attitude, didn't fit in. The band was an unwieldy seven-piece. They had two drummers - a form of madness not witnessed since the Glitter Band in 1974 - two guitarists, two singers, one of whom played sax, while the other hit a sampler with his fists, and a bass player. They made a truly head-splitting racket that harnessed a frantic celluloid-inspired faux rage, with songs inspired in part by their favourite films, the rest a by-product of living together in an isolated bungalow on the outskirts of Norwich where they rehearsed, wrote songs, made films and lifted weights. This weird art school/redneck isolation led to songs like New York Seltzer, which would become their first, self-financed, release. Its mangled hard-boiled Peter Gunn riff gave more than one critic the idea that Basti was a product of the ghettos of America. The song was actually about a brand of fizzy drink then being marketed in the UK. Another song sharing this penchant for apparently mundane subject matter was the early live favourite Sticky, a song about things that are sticky, like Sell