T. P. Egar, lead vocalist. A man so camp they threw him out of the Mormons, he is a fully qualified bus driver.
Geronimo Blake, guitars and vocals. Geronimo has an interesting line in facial hair and iconoclastic musical stylings. Or something.
Go-go Graves, percussionist. Plays djembe with shaky eggs attached to her wristbands because she doesn't have enough hands.
Royston O'Boogie, double bass. Royston is really a drummer, but that doesn't count for much in a band like this. You do what you're told.
Influences
Hardy's single grape varietals, Cono Sur pinot noir, Supermarket own-brand Chilean merlot, and towards the end of the month when money's a bit tight Seven Hills or Castillo De Liria
Out of office hours we might also be influenced by David Bowie, Mick Ronson, David Byrne, The Indigo Girls, The Buena Vista Social Club, Annie Lennox, Brian Wilson (vocal arrangements as opposed to general insanity. No, tell you what, include the general insanity), and occasional bits of Kylie, Alex Harvey and Blondie. And many, many more...
Geranium Lake were formed by accident in a pub. Alcohol was involved. T. P. Egar was singing a song that his guitarist did not know, and Geronimo with a drink in him decided to get up and play along.
T. P. and Go-go had already agreed to work together some time, and now they had most of a band, but they didn't have a bass player. Go-go had been in a band with Royston and the rest is, as they say, geography.
The band have a love-hate relationship with work, and have been a bit inactive recently. Due to recent government initiatives to get people off Incapacity Benefit and into work, they have decided to go back to drinking wine and arguing loudly for a living.
Hoping to smash their previous record of two gigs in a year, they have entered a frenzy of activity which has resulted in added canapes and nibbles to their staple diet of red wine (they need the vitamins, apparently).
They are currently looking forwards to the day when they will have their own frickin' sharks with frickin' laser beams on their frickin' heads.
