A boy, a girl, they got together even though their parents said no, and just like the river that runs between ‘em, you couldn’t stop that flow. She took the Number One to Bowness High, I guess that you could call it fate. She met him in industrial ed. class, she thought that he was really great. Yeah, she thought he was great but - He’s from Bowness - she’s from Montgomery… They started hanging out together, walking everywhere because you can, along the river, through the forest, to the park the whole way hand in hand. They’re skating through their winters on a frozen, hundred-year-old lagoon, floating away their summer days on the river, on a rubber raft at noon. Yeah, you know what they do, they - Float from Bowness - down to Montgomery… Down to the bridge! She couldn’t see Jack up the hill, The bridge had lost adhesion, That’s how this Montgomerite, met her sweet Bownesian. Her father found her on the Shouldice Bridge, she had her arms around that boy, then he remembered kissing her mother on the lips, right there on that same bridge all those years before. Well he thought that it was finally time to put the past aside and get along. It’s not so bad, no, it could be worse: that boy… he could have been from… Forest Lawn! But he’s not- He’s from Bowness - she’s from Montgomery…

It was the summer of 1961. JFK, the boy president, held court in the new Camelot while across the country on southern California’s sunny shores, bikini-clad beach bunnies and bronzed Adonises, glistening with cocoa-butter, were catching the wave of the nascent surf culture. A little ways down the coast in Laguna Beach, a new sound was emerging-an edgy, pulsating, tremolo-laced concoction to match the primal urgency of the rituals being performed under blankets and in the back seats of woodies everywhere. Cresting this “new wave” were the Fabulous Stingrays, three high school freshmen from a dune-side trailer park just off the Pacific Coast Highway. Nobody even knew their real names. They just went by the monikers, D-man, Little Stevie Traps and Jungle Jimbo. Their breakthrough gig was to be at Big Daddy Stickleback’s Surf Shack. It was toe-jammed to the rafters, moondoggies in Huarachis and bushy-bushy blonde hairdos abounded. The vibe was electric. Every record exec worth his salt was there, vying to ink a deal with the three prodigies. But the boys never made it to the club that dark, moonless night. Some say they lost it on “Dead Man’s Curve”, though no twisted wreck was ever discovered at the bottom of the treacherous cliff. Others talk about strange lights in the sky, flying saucers and little green men, another Roswell cover up. Still others insist it was a government plot to stifle the music, that the sound was considered too intense, a volatile fuel capable of igniting a teen revolution. The debate raged for a while with a host of alternate theories proffered: that the boys had been simultaneously drafted and fled to Canada to avoid the conflict in Vietnam; that they had decided to drop out of the rat race altogether and so had set sail for Tahiti where they were holed-up with Marlon Brando; that they had gone under the knife in a historic triple sex change and were now performing as the “Shangri-La’s”. Finally, as autumn closed in, other bands began to fill the void and then without warning the whole scene was swept away in a flood of “Beatlemania”, blown in from across another ocean entirely. For the better part of 45 years there has been absolute silence regarding the boys and their revolutionary sound, and then this, discovered in a set of orange-crate bookshelves rescued from an abandoned beach shack up in Ventura County. A practice tape of the set that was to be performed by the Fabulous Stingrays at Big Daddy’s that fateful night. The sound quality is not state-of-the-art but the groove is bitchin’ and if you close your eyes you can almost taste the salt air and feel your aging libido start to tingle and throb. So to all you fin-heads, sail-cats, pipe-liners, kahunas, hodads, grommets and board-babes, may the indomitable spirit of the Fabulous Stingrays touch your souls once more for all eternity.

I'm in love with Mrs. Kensington I just wanna feel that love from Mrs. Kensington Don't walk away, don't avert your eyes I've got something to say, you might be surprised. I've got a thing for Mrs. Kensington My guitar chords ring for Mrs. Kensington Don't walk away, don't avert your eyes I've got something to say, you might be surprised. I'm on your side... walk back to me Don't run and hide... I'm on my knees

All the king's horses and all the king's men have made all the trees in the forest all begin to shake and shiver, quake and quiver right down to their roots at the sound of the cash registers adding up the loot. You know the trees are money, money is time and time is running toward the finish line. All the king's horses and all the king's men have made all the fish in the oceans all begin to shake and shiver, quake and quiver right down to their tails at the sound of the fleets of fishing boats all setting sail. You know the fish are money, money is time and time is running toward the finish line. All the king's horses and all the king's men have made all the hills and the mountains all begin to shake and shiver, quake and quiver right down to their peaks at the sound of the tractors from the mining companies. You know the hills are money, money is time and time is running toward the finish line.

Fax machine, telephone, four-colour photo copier Cellular, satellite, message receiving centre Can’t get away From the day to day Routine of dealing with my technology Computer generated, sampled and synthesized Genetic cut and paste it’s intellectual suicide Can’t get away From the day to day Routine of dealing with my technology You gotta be in tune with your technology You gotta keep in time, toe the line, harmonize with your machinery ‘cause it’ll get you there it’ll let you wear The mask of the 21st century