in the beginning there was nowt. then, in 1999 AD, there was guanoman. what happened in the intervening years is a matter of some conjecture. all that is known is this:  in 1899, when poet, philosopher, gardener, geneticist, professor of quantum moronics, champion mouser, rumoured hermaphrodite, murderer and rogue geneticist dr j.t. harramas attempted to splice the dna of a seahorse with the sensation of pins and needles, a great storm of quantum chaos was loosed upon the world. in the confusion that followed,  dr harramas ate his lab assistant, invented full-frontal nudity, expunged the never-heard-of country themillos from all reality past, present and future, and escaped into the back streets of oslo. 50 years later, behind a house of ill-repute in alice springs, australia, harramas  resurfaces and is mugged by a young orson welles, who did not realise the true identity of his victim. harramas swore revenge. he was never satisfied. stockton-on-tees, england, 1975. full of cheap red wine and bad oysters, harramas was introduced to miles davis's 'dark magus' album by a thin man with no thumbs or body odour. harramas ate the man and forced his dog to stand for a local council seat. the dog did not win, but did come a respectable third, beating both the conservatives and the BNP. good thing, too. osaka, japan, 1976. harramas gives birth for the first time. his child is a six-nippled monster. harramas is perturbed. milan, italy, 1980. harramas and his child, now visibly unctuous, throw stale bread rolls at the swollen hypothalamus of a man possessed of banality. the man, vexed, succeeds where countless others have failed, and drowns harramas and his ill-formed offspring in a shallow puddle of warm beer. london, england, 1999. the grotesque conjoined spirit of harramas and his lumpen spawn collide with the remnants of the roaming uncertainty produced as a result of his unholy ambition a century earlier. chaos ensues. when the polyluminescent display abates, a figure is seen fleeing the scene, naked, screaming, laughing and dripping with hot fat. his being had been scattered for a hundred years. his parents were abstract notions and deceased practitioners of monogenesis. his purpose was unclear, his presence unwelcome, his manner ungracious and his habits unsanitary... but guanoman had finally arrived. it transpired that guanoman could not speak in the way the term is usually understood by human beings, but instead emitted horrifying and beautiful sounds at colossal volume. forced by the local noise-abatement society to live far away from decent society in a soundproof underground bunker, he set about writing dismal, self-indulgent short stories about dying rabbits or something in order to ease the pain of his endless solitude. eventually, in a vain attempt to communicate, he made primitive recordings of himself reading his tawdry tales and posted them on the internet. to his surprise, what he thought was his eloquent narrative seemed to mortal ears to be instrumental music. disappointed, but content to let the misapprehension continue, he modestly released several collections of wordless songs on the beneficent and financially inconsequential Hazimba label, including his debut mini-album 'At Hassan's Rumpus Room' and the full-length release 'Thumbs and Consonants'.

Guanoman, this website and all music copyright Guanoman/Hazimba Publishing 1999-2003.