Biography

Someone once compared Junkbox to a Stealth Bomber, in as much as you can be blissfully unaware of their existence, but once they’ve got you in their sights, they’re capable of blowing you into the latter half of next week, and more. An interesting metaphor, and one which pretty much nails down Junkbox

Whilst perhaps not quite as sophisticated as a Stealth Bomber, what Junkbox do produce is just as finely crafted. Junkbox deal in back-to-basics, stripped-for-action, high-octane rock’n’roll, with an affectionate nod in the direction of those who gave birth to the Blues.

What we know of Junkbox is fairly sketchy at best. Three is their magic number. Darren Van Asten on vox and guitar; John Devolle on lead guitar, and Shoko Ariba on drums.

No bass.

Why?

Because it is superfluous to their needs.

We also know Darren and John hail from Birmingham, whilst Shoko is from a bit further afield, Hiroshima, to be exact, and that they all met whilst at Art School in London. The two Guys both played in various bands beforehand, but the idea for Junkbox wasn’t hatched until the pair were running their own Art Gallery, Ashley Gardens, located above the infamous East London music venue, The Pleasure Unit. The only set-back was, they didn’t have a drummer, or more to the point, there was nobody else with whom they wanted to be in a band. Shoko was a friend from their Art School days, and one afternoon whilst she was at the gallery, it all became glaringly obvious. Shoko would play drums. All well and good, apart from the fact Shoko didn’t have a drum-kit, and more to the point, had never played drums in her life. Undeterred, they decided Shoko was their Gal, purchased a drum-kit and Shoko’s drumming lessons began.

Having all relocated to London’s bohemian, arty quarter in and around Shoreditch, they lost no time in securing a rehearsal space. Shoko was a quick learner, a natural even, in her own unorthodox way. The key word here is ‘vital’, and Shoko’s drumming is exactly that, bringing to the Junkbox canvas that final, crucial element; finally completing the picture, lending it that necessary urgency which was until now, previously lacking.

Never ones to choose the easy path, their debut performance was basically as part of an art installation for ‘Gelatin’, which necessitated them building the venue themselves before playing live within, as part of the Liverpool Bi-Annual Arts Festival 2002. Following a rousing reception on the first night, the second day started badly when the guys discovered someone had made off with their guitars whilst they were celebrating the success of their live debut. One Step forward, two back!!

Since that night, Junkbox haven’t looked back, instead they have carried on diligently ploughing their own furrow, playing gigs here and there, taking their time, waiting for their moment, confident all the while it would come, when the time was right

It didn’t take long for their existence to be acknowledged. In the midst of the ‘London’s Burning’ frenzy of late 2003, Junkbox, like a lot of other bands, occasionally found themselves sharing a stage with The Libertines at various, hastily arranged, ‘Guerilla’ gigs around the UK capital. Whilst most of these bands were desperate for the approving nod from their heroes, Junkbox, workmanlike as usual, just got on with the job in hand. That didn’t go un-noticed by a certain Peter Doherty, who made a largely incoherent phone call to John Devolle on Xmas day, telling him how much he loved the band, and moreso, wanted to help them out managerially. In retrospect, it’s a blessing in disguise, they chose not to take him up on his managerial offer, Peter Doherty is having a hard enough time barely managing himself. Still, he posted glowing critiques of the band on his Babyshambles’ website, wrote poetry about them, and most helpfully invited them to support The Libertines (pre-chaos) at Bristol Colston Hall, and laterally, requested their presence on the first Babyshambles’ UK jaunt. Most bands on the ‘scene’ would have happily amputated a limb to have these sorts of endorsements; Junkbox, casually, and characteristically took it all in their stride. After all, no concessions were made, it was all done on their terms. As it always will be.

The word spread. Radio exposure followed courtesy of John Peel (RIP) Xfm, Alan McGee and Rob Da Bank. Their sound was connecting with the right people in the right places, and as planned, the band were being judged on their own merit, nothing to do with whom they were seen sharing drinks at whichever ‘hip’ bar the previous week.

And so to the Junkbox ‘sound’.

Obviously Junkbox are gonna be seen out of context, as a ‘post-Libertines’ band, although their sound has no common factor with so many of the other outfits currently more deserving of that somewhat, lazy, uninspired collective term. The only similarities are, Junkbox play with a raw, unrefined passion, but they get it right. They strip it right back to basics, nothing here is excess to requirements; everything is in its place, tighter than tight.  Who needs to embellish needlessly when you can articulate such emotion, passion and ingenuity with the crude set up they choose to use.

Junkbox are not about ‘style over content’, they simply are ‘style’ and ‘content’

Darren’s occasional random streams of consciousness onstage, find him indulging in similar freeform poetic dalliances to that of Sean Ryder at his psychedelically altered best, spitting out pearls of wisdom like an Uzi automatic spits out lead, whilst the accompanying sound meted out by this six-legged, bastard Blues-Groove machine defies anyone not to ‘shake their thang’ to their lascivious, voodoo beat.

Junkbox are happening, it’s not hard to see why. What’s more difficult is, ‘how’ in this current climate, can they sound so out on a limb, but still get it ‘just’ right. Basically, they are a Primal Swamp Blues Trio, a stripped down rock’n’roll machine which draws on all the same influences of some of the great outsiders of the last 50 years. We can make an educated guess at who’s in their record collections – The Stones, New York Dolls, The Sex Pistols, The Cramps, The Birthday Party, The Fall, Pussy Galore, Royal Trux, The Blues Explosion, The Make Up ad infinitum. Yet they sound different from everything else – appearing out of nowhere yet still being in all the right places at the right times.. Explanation anyone?

Well, there are rumours of Voodoo; near death experiences; a hundred paper-folded swans; stories of staring death in the face and coming out the other side relatively unscathed. There’s more, best not mentioned at this juncture, and that’s quite enough to be dealing with at present.

So just how did Junkbox do it?

Same way as all the old rock’n’roll Bluesmen do it, I guess.

They obviously made a pact with a mysterious man at the crossroads, in the shadow of the old hanging tree, by the light of the full moon.

There really is no other explanation!