THE STORY SO FAR...

From far beneath the coldest ocean and from beyond the furthest reaches of Outer Space, from the depths of the darkest jungle and from a shadowy corner of a swinging Paris nightclub, the elements of Grasshopper came, combining to create a new sound and a new way of life for the hipsters of Earth. Their philosophy - Hedonism. Unrestrained hedonism, snappily dressed and frugging to a jungle beat.

The jungle beat is provided by Simon, baseball bats nailed to his muscular forearms, barely alive following several years manacled to drum kits for The Bainmaries and then The Honeyhunters. Simon loves nothing more than to drum himself into a situation where average drummers wouldn't stand a chance. But HE recovers without missing more than a couple of beats and comes out smelling like 'Grrr for Men'.

His partner in rhythm is Nigel, a smooth-talking, fast-hitting, chop-socky lurker-in-shadows. A Fender Precision Bass hangs low over his swinging hips and unearthly sounds come from his booze-swigging lips. Nigel rose through the Rock hierarchy after a series of vicious take-over bids and bloodless (in most cases) coups in The Sizzleteens and Soapstar Joe, neither of whom survived. His dictatorial lust for power informs every move that Grasshopper make.

The newest addition to the Grasshopper Schutz-staffel is Richard. Created from old clock parts and mouldy pizza in the secret laboratory, miles beneath the earth, of the Grasshopper Biochemical Consortium, Inc, his insane creators were obsessed that he be well spoken, extravagant, and stylish beyond reproach. They also made him unable to play guitar like anyone else (with the possible exception of Bryan Gregory). The evil geniuses behind the half machine/half-fop installed a fuzzbox instead of a brain and a vibrato pedal instead of a heart.

Finally, and vinylly: Brigitte. If you had to choose one word to describe Brigitte, it would be 'go', twice. A she-devil in thigh boots, Brigitte is one half Nancy Sinatra, one half Ann-Margret and one half Emma Peel. Every word she sings sounds like 'ooh la la', every twang of her guitar like 'va va voom'. She was too much woman for The Honeyhunters and just enough woman to counteract the raging machismo that is the Grasshopper boys.

Now that you know the members of the band, introduce yourself, buy them a drink (mine's a double) and enjoy their trashy fuzz pop at a venue near you (if you live in Sydney) or through the middle-to-lo-fidelity sounds of their high octane, low expectation CD recording.