Wonk Rock Heroes: Dawn of the Replicants

With the imminent release of Dawn of the Replicants Deuteronomic long player 'Fangs' in February, Gigwise caught up with their principal stick-waver Paul Vickers in a Galasheils digital bar. Drinks were virtually drunk and the conversation careered towards whether or not Gigwise's Nan would get Dawn of the Replicants. "Never underestimate your Granny", Vickers defends, "she may love it. I remember my Gran kicking off at my Mum on a long car journey round Southern Ireland to explore our ancestry. My Mum was listening to Elkie Brooks, then all of a sudden my Gran said, 'can we turn this rubbish off and listen to something with a beat' so we put on Queen and my Gran started clapping and rocking out."

For those who may be unfamiliar with Dawn of the Replicants (DotR) they are "wonk-rock heroes". Existing somewhere between Philip K. Dick eloquence and Raving Monster Loony Party tomfoolery, Dave Coyle (bass), El Hombre Dottle (drums), Roger Simian (guitar), Mike Small (guitar) and Paul Vickers (lead voice) combine Thor-like blues riffs, elements of carnival and strange lyrical dialects that invoke a magpie-spying-trinket appeal. From inception around the Kirkbrae kitchen table in 1996, to full blown musical lunacy, DotR have continually impressed the industry glitterati. With five John Peel sessions in the can, best band in Britain accolades, a-listed tracks and sold out gigs, this is a band to take note of.

"[We are trying to accomplish] a great set of records that one can be proud of before one slips off to nod land." Vickers announces. And so far they have kept their word. 'Fangs' looks set to solidify the leg-work their four other wonk-records; 'One Head, Two Arms, Two Legs' ' Wrong Town, Wrong Planet, Three Hours Late' 'Touching the Propeller' and 'The Extra Room' have achieved.

DotR front-man and physicist Vickers trapezes from you-get-what-you-ask-for call and response to DotR-trademark surreal linguistics which seem to strike him like the interchange between electric clouds during the interview. "Run, there may be several hundred of them!" expounds Vickers. "Are they gun waving radar wolfs looking for the soup kitchen damsel? - They may be. Do they own a loop one tracking system that could redial a focus pin or at least take out the doom dial on Doctor Terror's moon horn? They could be fish fingers with soul taps looking for the central meaning of life by decoding animal taps while high on sherry slammers." Vickers explodes when asked about the dangers of mechanised clocks and distant trains.

Feeling confused, a round of rum based binary concoctions are ordered and duly sunk and a little digging reveals that sometimes even Vickers doesn't know what he's babbling on about when he's on-stage. "[I'm trying to remember] the words to the songs...trying to work out what they fully mean and giving them the right emotion" Vickers says. It's clear that he's also using parts of his cerebellum to work out "...any offers...at the bar" whilst simultaneously being plagued by "an extreme close up of Yoda’s face telling me the force has abandoned me".