What on earth is 41st night?

An excellent question. For want of a better term 41st night is a band, or more precisely the latest incarnation of a long linage of music collectives.

The first appearance of a group of individuals with the audacity to claim the moniker of 41st night dates back to the turn of this century and a moderately well respected east London university. At its inception 41st night mk I consisted of the current Mr Bass (though at the time he played that fiddly six stringed instrument) and Mr Drum (who as our story opens doesn't play anything more advanced than a CD player, and even that only with great difficulty). So, Mr Bass and his two newly-found muso friends, Mr Short'n'hairy and Mr Fopp, decide that they would do a little better with the ladies if they could claim to be in a band. Possible looks, album titles, stage setups, and video concepts were discussed. Then, eventually, talk turned to who would play what instrument. Mr Short'n'hairy and Mr Bass, both having some form in the area, claimed six string duties, with Mr SnH also winning a nail-biting cock-muff-bum hole to take vocal duties. Mr Fopp, a worldly fellow, was quick to claim the long-necked four string as his own, and a band was 75% formed.

Now, Gloria Estefan famously warned us that the rhythm is gunna get ya (sic) but if you're a start up band hoping to impress it's fairer to say that you gotta get some rhythm. And so Mr Drum enters our tale. At this time he was but a simple fire warden living at the end of the hall, but the the fledgling nighters saw something in him that they liked and, as was only fitting, subjected him to a grueling entrance interview:

41st night - [Mr Drum] you don't play drums by any chance?
Mr Drum - Nope
41st night - Do you, err, fancy learning?
Mr Drum - Well, I'll give it a go.

And so the first faltering steps of 41st night were taken. This would soon lead to poorly attended gigs, annoyed neighbours, self-financed demos, and several years later, not so much a split as a falling apart.

Belt forward to the middle of what we of a certain age loving call the naughties and Mr Drum, now a fully fledged human beat machine, discovers that his hither-to annoying-as-a-paper-cut younger sibling has actually picked up some game when it comes to six-string shredidge. Several home recorded demos result and promise is very much shown. However, music is much like sex: the more willing participants the better, and so feelers are put out for potential collaborators. Mr Bass, still naively insisting on wielding a gee-tar, is quickly co-opted, as is Mr God, a seventeen stone, barrel-chested bruiser with a vocal styling like a tracker trying to reverse out of a minefield. Somewhat controversially the 41st night tag was not retained through this period. Far more surprisingly, despite the utter mish mash of this particular setup it is, to date, the most successful period of our protagonists in terms of both gigs and recordings.

However, like an improvised explosive device, such arrangements are unstable and often do more damage to their creators than the intended target. Once again things fell apart and our plucky heroes went their separate ways. Darkness fell and threatened to remain.

And then

And then there was new years eve 2009. A party, a lot of drinks, and a rather fruity beer whose providence may well be the feature of it's own post. Suffice to say that, back in a room together, Messrs Guitar, Bass, and Drum, realised how they fat, their true respective roles, and what they had to offer. A union older and more stable than some break away ex-soviet republics was born and to this day remains in intensive care with little or no hope of ever developing higher brain function. Not to mention the need of a regular singer.

And what of the name 41st night?