We Are Women In Music – Hear Us ROAR


International Women’s Day is upon us and its time to get our bandanas out and educate!

#PressForProgress is this years slogan and according to the International Women’s Day website it is “A strong call to motivate and unite friends, colleagues and whole communities to think, act and be gender inclusive.” Something we should all being doing every day, challenging views and perspectives and encouraging debate.

Wookalily’s new single ‘Escort Me’ is trying to turn a popular subject on its head. So many songs have been written about female prostitutes Honky Tonk Woman by Rolling Stones, Charlotte the Harlot by Iron Maiden, even Tina Turner’s ‘Private Dancer’, is the same heartless perspective. Most disparaging of all is ‘He’s A Whore’ by Cheap Trick. This song finally from a different perspective still somehow has the same branded tone.

“..I think I’ll take her for a ride
With this moneybag by my side

A giggolo is the only way to go
And So I show my face
And I can even fake a smile
But I’m laughing inside all the while

This little girl
She’s a joke
She’s a joke
She’s a joke..”

In Wookalilys prostitutional musings, the song begins with the normal first encounter scenario – woman seeks sex and finds a partner for pay, but with the morning sunlight there comes a twist. A light-hearted song with a bass line to obey.

Wookalily are releasing their first single ‘Escort Me’ from their second album ‘Everything Is Normal… Except The Little Things Inside My Head’, on International Women’s Day Wednesday 8th March. You can find the download on all usual platforms (Itunes, Amazon and Spotify etc).

The band will also be hosting an album preview in June 2018 as part of the Womens Work Festival. There are plans of a short film by Emmett O’Mahony, featuring songs and sounds by Wookalily, as well as live performance of the new album material and a B-Movie  DJ set to finish.

Get all the latest updates and news via our Facebook.

“Escort me to the Moon” says us Woomen

Written by Adele Ingram
Produced by Julie McLarnon at Analogue Catalogue
Acoustic guitar – Adele Ingram
Piano and bvs – Clair McGreevy
Drums and bvs – Louise Potter
Lead vox – Lyndsay Crothers
Sharon Morgan – Double and electric bass

A Slug’s Life



Hi, I’m Slimey the slug. Wookalily first slithered into my life on a cold January night in a massive, little cottage nestled at the foot of Mount Errigle in Donegal. As a wise old slug with 360 degree vision I’ve seen many goings on in my long life. Irish grannies, scones without sultanas and spirited debate about putting the milk in before or after the teabag is removed to name a few. I took all these tribulations in my stride, excuse me, I mean slide of course, being bereft of legs and all that.

Things went horrifically awry that cold January night. There I was, working some slime into the walls when I was disturbed by the most obnoxious sound I’ve ever witnessed in my life. I’ve no ears of course but even that fact could not protect me from the sounds of Daft Arse (Sharon) practicing her square roll on the banjo. Suffering Snails, what a vibration! Thankfully Wrapper Upper (Adele) started moaning at her and the rest of those horrid humans began to coordinate to stop the din. They looked like they were leaving for something called a “jig” I think. I couldn’t wait. I don’t have much truck for humans but these guys were different. They were all up in your grill with their songs, and their ideas and their bickering about their songs and their ideas. Just fuck off already. I’d suffer a hundred thousand irish grannies high on crack before these lot.

Whilst I was slithering up a drumstick lamenting my lot I was suddenly hurdling down a black hole. I thought: this must be death. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. It was me getting bungled into the back of a £500 car to go play a £50 gig (play on famous meme joke and thankfully fictional on this occasion) with those other hapless loons otherwise known as Wookalily. FML as the cool kids say. After much dodgy driving round dimly lit country roads at terrifying speeds of 5kph we arrive at the venue and began loading in. I spotted a beautiful ornate piano to spread all my slime on. Always a silver lining . . . . of slug sludge.

I nearly lost my perch on the piano when I overheard Daft Arse (Sharon) remark to Moya Brennan that the bar owners must be batshit crazy Clannad super fans. Kinda made the kidnapped against my will thing worth it. The German (Lyndsay) began dictating in a no nonsense kinda way what the band were to play. The Cat Lady (Clair, not quite cat, not quite human) purred in agreement and the Enthusiast (Lou) jumped up and down and did a fit like body movement, must be why she hits things for a living.

After soundchecking 2454 instruments we were treated to a very high calibre of singing, musicianship and facial expressions by everybody in the bar. No kidding, everyone in that bar was a musical wizard, even the bar staff. No pressure Wookalily, one punter encouragingly advised “there’s nowhere for even the ghost of a bum note to hide in here”. A very frightened Wookalily took to the stage and lashed into two brutal fucking hours of songs about people getting murdered, people getting their heart broke into tiny little pieces, male prostitution and people kicking buckets. If there’s one thing they can do well, it’s singing songs about people getting bumped off. There may have been a few bum notes but they were on purpose. Bum notes are necessary when it comes to murder ballads.

Anyway I still hated the band and wanted back to my comfy cottage with my comfy irish grannies. It didn’t quite pan out that way. For whatever reason, I’m now stuck in a Wookalily rehearsal listening to the girls talking in excited high pitches about plans for an upcoming album with some hotshot producer who’s hot as shit btw. I’ve also been privy to some of the writing process. Expect 4 part harmonies, raunchy riffs, groovy rolls (not to be mistaken for gravy rolls although equally as delish apparently) and lyrics darker than Vantablack.
There’s also rumblings (I feel things rather than hear them) of an appearance at Southwell Festival in Nottingham.

It’s enough to make me stand on the porch and hope a shoe clad foot will end it all, yours slitherly,