James P Honey was born deep in the crisp wintery belly of a dark December in 1982. An English man educated by whispering gypsy ancestors, lower class aristocrat minders with a wild eye for articulation and his overwhelmingly loving parents.
Art and music have been his buttress for many a wavy year now and will surely remain to be his splintered stilts until he inevitably stumbles over a smog tanned curb to come crashing down onto the bulbous roof of a large red bus.
This bus will wind, this bus will rush and one day this bus will become an attraction in a mouldy museum abreast to a brand new docking harbour with swirling tunnels of light and a place to buy a latte.
Here he shall alight amidst the bones and carry his heart in his jaws whilst jogging furiously on the spot. Gawping at all the leaders of the pack and pallid thin success stories treading formaldehyde ceremonially before him, he turned to the effigy snuggled in his naked collarbone and spoke of nothing in a perfectly pretentious and poetic manner.
James P Honey is hugely overrated by a tiny few. And for this he is magnificently content.
Audio
From the album, "Hugely Overrated By A Tiny Few" (MP020)
