Vieni! Seguici su tanti altri portali:

  • Facebook Social Icon
  • Tumblr Social Icon
  • Spotify Icona sociale
  • Apple Music Icon sociale
  • Deezer Icona sociale
  • Tidal Icona sociale
  • YouTube Social  Icon
  • Vimeo Social Icon

© 2017-2418 The Lowest of Low. (Il Più Basso del Basso.) Orgogliosamente creato utilizzando perché siamo parsimoniosi (e alcuni dicono, pigri).



Graveyard Drift Radio Show Voodoo Music Indie Ad 1950's Dystopia Aesthetic atomic funny

The Lowest of Low (or rather, MC Jizzy, or rather "The W.O.B.") is delighted to be hosting a radio show on Voodoo Radio every midnight Thursday into Friday, GMT/BST.  Voodoo is a privately owned, independent online radio entity from the UK that broadcasts all sorts of weird and wonderful shows from passionate presenters all over this little world of ours.  It's totally free, so please tune in!

Graveyard Drift Animated skeletons cute radio show promo voodoo the WOB indie music The Lowest of Low host
Graveyard Drift Indie Radio Show Twilight Zone Voodoo Promo The Lowest of Low gif

This  Page is in the process of being updated! (There's lots of new stuff in the discography section though....)

The Sixth Album:


The Fifth Album

The Fourth Album
Horus Tweets

The Third Album


The Second Album

“Where, exactly, do you stand on drugs?”

       “….well sir, I don’t think anybody should stand on drugs.”


What do you do when you are lucky enough to find money on the ground?  I don’t mean just change (I pick up any small change I happen to see. Glasgow was a good place for that in the late ’90’s, oddly. I lived there for about 6 months and collected £42.36 in change from the ground and in phone boxes, mostly for something to do, for about 3 months. At the time, a cheap flight to London cost £9.99. Never neglect the small things, children!).


Anyway, three times in my life, I was lucky enough to spot actual paper money on the ground. Not one of those fake folded money God brochures, real money. Twice, this was in the grounds of Castle Howard in North Yorkshire. Ten quid each time. Why? Who knows? Maybe that place was lucky for me. Maybe some crazy groundskeeper drops ten quid there every day or once a week for someone like myself to find.  My life partner broke his arm the one time he went there AND he didn’t find any money, either. Technically, he only dislocated his arm at Castle Howard — doctors broke it for him later while trying to reposition it where it belonged.  He also insists that when he woke up in the middle of surgery because they’d got the anaesthetic wrong, he came out of his body and died, and that he hasn’t been the same since. So Castle Howard wasn’t so lucky for him.  It may be that some strange Jupiterian ray is attracted to that location for some unknown or secret reason. By Jove (which I pronounce Yahweh, by the way, like a good Roman), I just don’t know.


But when I find money on the ground, I kind of panic and stand on it with one foot.  I look around furtively, to see if there’s anyone watching (or looking for something they’ve lost… there never has been yet though), and if I happen to be with anyone, I call them over in a stage whisper and tell them “I’m standing on money!”  I then pick it up with haste and almost don’t want to look at it.  But then I do, and I feel fortunate for the rest of the day.  Usually I use it to do something different or nice and unexpected for someone.  Finding money makes me feel generous, like I should be using it for some greater purpose.


Why does money, particularly finding money that wasn’t ours, that we didn’t earn, make us feel fortunate?  Money is of no value in and of itself.  But it’s what you do with it, what it represents. On this planet, in this particular time, money represents the potential to do and to accomplish things that would be otherwise cut off from our particular experience, because our societies revolve around money almost exclusively.  So people attach a lot of Hope and Thought to it.  They even say “money is power”.  It’s certainly challenging to live without it in ways that even barely comfortable people can never imagine (more on that another time, perhaps), so in a sense it’s understandable why they say such things.  Finding money (or coming into money in some way other than hard work) gives a lot of people the feeling of almost mythological reverence.  The promise of an unexpended potentiality.


Human lives are also unexpended wells of potentialities.  How you draw out the “living water” from your well of incarnation, and what you do with it in your life is ultimately up to you. The paths you take, the decisions you make along the way, are yours and yours alone.  That’s not to say there won’t be pressures pushing you in certain directions. Sit up straight. Smile. Don’t eat gluten.  Wear the tie.  Take the medicine.  Believe in what they tell you.  But drawing up the fullness of your humanity into your own expression of this incarnation…. that’s private soul stuff.  And because it’s nothing (necessarily) to do with money, it’s not particularly given any importance or value in most societies or by many people today.  As a consequence, it is stunningly difficult to find one’s own path and not be pulled out into a life that is not entirely one's own.


Many people take drugs to try to get in touch with this feeling, to “find” their inner essence.  Because altered consciousness can be fun, and what’s more, bought with money, it’s not entirely dismissed in our societies — we even get to create subcultures around it, kind of like belonging to one or other Greek Mystery.  Some people find something they’re looking for.  Some don’t. Some feel like they do and then become Jehovah’s Witnesses or whatever.  And they’re on some path… maybe it’s theirs, and maybe it’s not. I don’t know. Only they know, deep down, when all is quiet, and they’re all alone.  I’m not going to judge or moralise.  That’s not my job.  But my job is to tell you to listen to that small, still silence inside you, and to follow it. Small ways, little expressions.  Eventually, if you head where your soul is looking to go, you may just get somewhere surprising, and uniquely yours.  That’s the goal.  If you just can’t (probably for very worldly reasons) at very least you can still maybe muster a spectacularly fun midlife crisis.  And you’ll even come out of that a little closer to who you Are.  It’s never too late. Keep going.



Raving Masses is not only an assault on your senses (that’s been claimed by so many before us), it’s an all-out battle against every  musical sensibility you quaintly think you’ve ever held dear. The Lowest of Low will burrow into your brain and nest there like festering maggots, corrupting you from your waking consciousness all the way down into the unplumbed depths of your incarnate existence.  Make some space and put down a drop cloth. The Lowest of Low have arrived. 


You know, since there's a lot of space here, I'm just going to say it.  Maybe it's dumb, but whenever I see the word "Media", like while I've been creating this page, I get a spoinked out feeling, and I have to go look up Jason and Medea.  Because, you know, I know the spelling's different, and the pronunciation, but.... you know when you look at a word and you know it's right, but it just kind of sits there looking at you, looking all wrong like when a duck just walks into the supermarket through the damned automatic door?

Speaking of which, I've seen that happen, too.  People actually screamed, like the world was coming to an end because a duck came in.  That was in England.  And that duck coming in and people not knowing what the hell to do made me think briefly about Animal Farm, which is a good book, regardless of what a lot of people say.  But after that, while people were just panicking about this duck,  I started to wonder how much pressure an automatic supermarket door actually needs to operate.  I'm guessing it's more than what an average duck (even a well-fed one that lives near a supermarket) weighs, since I distinctly remember when I was a little kid (about 3 or so), those doors wouldn't open for me unless someone else came and stood there, too.  And that's the interesting thing. Because that means that someone colluded with the duck to get it inside.

And that made me feel happy.  Not because there was some duck-colluding Agent of Chaos among us (although that's kind of a nice thought, too), but because someone saw the duck trying to get in, and maybe said, "Let me help you, little buddy," (I'm extrapolating here, I don't know what the person actually said, or if they said anything at all -- maybe there was just a meeting of the eyes and an instinctive understanding that passes, electric and silent).  


Anyway, I like to think that person of surpassing avian kindness said, "There you go, little guy. Your dreams may not be great, as some men count greatness, but I understand.  I will help you, in my own small way, to find your way into the vast and unexplored mysterious treasure-world that stands before you."  And that person let the duck in, and never told anyone or let on to anyone else that it was he or she that did it.

That's a genuine kindness, even if no one in the supermarket that day understood it.  Some small dream, hatched in the mind of a brave little duck too small to open the supermarket door by himself, became a reality in that mundane human space.

There is magic in this world, even if we are often too blinded by worry or the tedium of humdrum everyday banalities to see it.

all our videos in one happy, convenient place (because, you know this whole going-to-Youtube-and-subscribing thing, it's probably just a fad...)
PHOTOS (sliding gallery)

Number of  minor meteorite impacts since last visit: