It all started with a fat penguin… and ended with Gertrud’s nipples. Wookalily know how to put on a show!

It was the 8th June, Adele in her pyjamas working on the computer, talking on the phone and answering the door all while eating toast. It never stops in the Wookalily office. She was in fact creating our Kickstarter page where you can now pre-order our second album. We have launched the campaign to raise £4000 in 40 days as we are going into the studio in July to record the album with Julie McLarnon at Analogue Catalogue. Kickstarter is an online platform that allows backers to pre-order the album and hence raise money to fund its production. We have other rewards for those feeling generous, such as album launch tickets, goodie bags and more!

Adele meets her hero Chris Smither for the 11th time (she’ not counting) #borderlinestalker

Also on this very day we need to catch the boat to Liverpool. 22.30 crossing looks like we’ll not get any sleep tonight. We arrive in Liverpool at 06.30 friday morning, all bumble into the car with 2 coffees in each hand. Although this is quite a task as there are 4 of us, all our bags and instruments traveling in a smart car. #instrumenttetris We need to hit the road, we’ve a gig at 14.00! Off to the beautiful town of Southwell in Nottinghamshire for the Gate to Southwell festival.

As we enter the gates to the festival we are greeted with blue sky, absolute sunshine and daisy crowns. This shall be our second home.

We played 3 sets over 2 days and couldnt have enjoyed them more. The organisation and helpfulness of the staff and the appreciation from the audience was overwhelming. Unfortunately Sharon wasnt able to get a babysitter for toddler Rosa so we had to rock out with a Wook down. Clair had also broken her hand and just freshly out of cast, agreed to play on with just one hand. You might say we were a 3 ½ piece band that weekend!

Well after the high of a standing ovation at our last set, its now 02.30 and we’re standing in the street packing our car in complete silence as to not wake our gracious hosts and their neighbours. I would like to include a massive thank you to our hosts Tim, Judith, Henry the dog and Bridget and David. We couldnt have met nicer people or imagined nicer accommodation. THANK YOU GUYS!

Onward we need to catch the boat! Wait which way are we going?

“Your destination is on the left” NO IT ISNT YOU B***** B****** !!!!
Woohoo Wooks making waves

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,