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David Thrussell is a poet trapped in the body of a hillbilly. Or a hopeless romantic hidden in the twisted frame of a dark electronic musician. Late at night Thrussell fantasizes that actually he lives next door to Hieronymous Bosch in Medieval Europe and has hallucinated the whole dreadful modern era while suffering from acute ergot poisoning. We are not entirely convinced that this is not the case.
The world knows him (if it knows him at all), as the creator of a seeming multitude of obscure recordings (Snog, Black Lung and Soma amongst others) and film scores (The Hard Word, Thunderstruck etc). It may or may not soon know him as an author of unhinged children's tales for a particularly depraved kind of adult.
He lives on the dark slope of a forgotten mountain and was last seen having an animated conversation with some rocks and a shrub. He is, to be frank, an odd little man.
He is also the proprietor and head curator of The Omni Recording Corporation. Thrussell cites no great burning desire to be a recording industry mogul (in fact just the opposite) but nobody else seemed to be digging up these aural treasures so he felt he should step up to the plate. For our sake, if for no other reason, please humour him.
