A trip through the minds of mad men.
This was never meant to be a moment of weakness and anger, frozen in time, laid on the table and thrown to the masses, gift wrapped with a sweet little bow.
What started as a frustrated vent turned into a journey of humility and friendship, the catalyst to build our bridges stronger rather than burn them to the ground with each little tremor. It is never the easiest thing to turn on your family, but at times it has to be done. Every person has a breaking point, each time a different trigger, and unless you are a complete lunatic, you cannot disown your family.
The precise details are irrelevant, the point is merely the struggle undertaken by each and every single person involved. Happiness is never constant and it is never truly that bad; simply an ebb and flow of life, affected at times by branches rippling the current, setting off different trajectories, all leading to the same end. Occasionally, these off shoots stick together and ride the water in unison, this is the result of one such bond, six people that no one else can stand to spend that much time with. Geeks, freaks, all Shit Chic.
BURNT! – a love story seldom told, sometimes even forgotten, but there none the less. The love and determination for a collective goal, one many pursue for the right and wrong, one that is lost the world over for more than ridiculous reasons. When we flail, we flail together, but nothing will drown us.
Emotional bile aside, this turned into a bit more than just a song.
Inspired by Alejandro Jodorowsky’s, ‘El Topo’ the BURNT! video is a psychedelic spaghetti western touching at the delicate balance of life, the madness of determination and each raw wound that fills with sand and grit.
We arrived at Camber Sands, an hour and a half late due to the usual BFL idiocy. Within seconds beach patrol turned up to make sure we weren’t filming. Someone clearly forgot to take the “MAKING A MUSIC VIDEO TODAY” sign off the side of the van. The area was too busy anyway, so we rolled on down to the opposite end of the beach in search of some big hidden dunes, no one wants ‘the Hoff’ wrestling a camera out your hands.
Now on red alert, we couldn’t just take all the ridiculous props and dump them around the beach. We had to go guerilla and ferry them up wrapped in blankets and hidden between bodies…even though we clearly did a terrible job, no one really batted an eye lid seeing some mannequin legs sticking out from a sleeping bag.
The sun beat down like one giant fuck stick, holding back nothing, merciless and vile. Somehow we (the film crew) didn’t get major sun stroke, just a light dusting of red raw lobster back and nose, the rest of the band got away pretty much scot-free, sat in the (non) air conditioned van eating ice creams and stroking each others chins.
George the pig made it through the day without stinking the beach out, and thankfully, no one walked over the hill for his scenes, specially for the ‘sex’ scene.
With lookouts posted on the top of the dunes surrounding us, we had the joyous task of making sure the camera didn’t fill with sand, though the same can’t be said about the rest of our stuff: shoes, sandwiches and cigarettes.
Filming had begun.
Sir Ross Crick of Moansville got the Oscar for best performance. From his dungarees to his ability to get inside the mind of his fellow actor, he stormed the set and gave one us one of the most moving scenes of the film, and without realising it, taking up half the day because we had so much fun making him massage sun lotion into a pigs head whilst making sexual noises.
I could go into great detail with each scene, but I think a little needs to be left to the imagination, and words can not really be formed for the image of Rich Fownes in the shortest damn skirt he could find with fishnets and a horrific blonde wig, you just had to be there. The children ran screaming.
There was sunstroke, re-writes and more than a few weird glances as people accidentally stumbled into their own private hell, I’m sure we ruined more than just one family holiday.
As the sun began to set and the beach slowly emptied, we were nowhere near finishing the video, sand makes everything slower, and even though we managed to make one small dune look like an entire desert, there was still a lot of trekking…plus I also now know that I never want to be lost in the desert, EVER! Give me the jungle any day.
With literally ten minutes before we were locked in for the night, we scrambled back to the car park with arms full of stupid props, exhausted and dehydrated.
Back in the van, sand and all, we took the beach then let it fall.
Onwards to a dingy pub, to drown our brains in Gin and lugs.
Burnt we were, cooked right through, a fucking pain in the arse, never filming on a beach again!
I would like to say a big thank you to everyone involved in the making of this video:
Daisy Fay Weekes for providing the cameras, filming and putting up with my erratic directing. My Father and Brother, Callum Church and Gideon Knight for making the journey all the way to just lay in the sand and get sun burn. Ravinder Salaria for always being the mexican. Kathryn Dore and Lewis Monks for absolute patience.…and without a shadow of a doubt, the rest of the band and Griff for putting up with my ranting, raving and general lunacy through the month of arranging and making this video.