#12 Bunny F and the Tarnished Scone

For over twenty years Bunny F and the Tarnished Scone were the bastions of all that was good about the British regional prog scene. After all it was they who, against all odds and record company cheque books, brought stadium rock and all the pomp and excess that comes with it to the venue at the end of your road. By all accounts they were like the younger, poorer leper brother of 1970s prog rock bands such as The Colossians and The Purple Dishwasher Monkey. However, their music was immensely textural evoking vast soundscapes of light and shade (Bunny F liked to work both with and without the light on) whilst their album artwork screamed 'Magic Eye' years before we knew our peepers were capable of such conjurery.

Bunny F (b. Gregory F Bunnikins), was an eccentric loner millionaire with more money than Scrooge McDuck. (He probably even have enough money to recreate the now infamous swimming through money scene). Not to be outdone by the fictional anthropomorphic Glaswegian duck Bunny F felt both his future and fortune lie in music. In pursuit of his dream he put together a band the like of which has never been seen before, or since. Bunny was joined by Davy Davy (later of the Croquettes), Sid McParadis, Mitch Michaelson and Philip Frincton. Davy Davy provided the backing vocals and bass, Sid was on guitar, Mitch on keyboards and Philip the drums. Having said that all five were multi-instrumentalists who could play everything from the Altotron to the Zither-ree-doo.

Interestingly, the group's moniker was lifted from the pages of an obscure novel by 1960s beat novelist Allen Ginster (later of the processed meat-based pastry products of the same name). 'The Tarnished Scone' was a 300 page masterwork in which the scone itself was a metaphor for the American Dream. Yes, it's well-baked cheesy form looks enticing but is it good for you, and does it really taste that good? The answer is of course yes, yes it does.

BFATTS quickly became famed in the Telford locale for their outlandish stage sets. Indeed, 1972's 'The Rainbow Machine Pats o' Gold Tour' was accompanied by a set that cost over £2,000, which as we all know was 'actually quite alot of money in those days'.

Picture the scene. Chichester Community Music Hall, 15 June 1972. Whilst McParadis holds all the C# notes he can on his six keyboards and Davy Davy hums allegorical haikus about the price of the national shopping basket, a single spotlight appears, tracking an ominous dark shape suspended from the ceiling. The object is a giant piñata shaped like a unicorn, gliding effortlessly over the unsuspecting heads of the audience. The piñata is lowered above the stage, whereupon one hundred and one small children appear dressed as the characters from hit tv show 'Cheers'. Eerily, this in itself was way ahead of its time, as Cheers would not be aired in Britain for another ten years. The miniature Frasier Cranes and Sam Malones, using only their fists (and the more enthusiastic little tots, their heads) begin to beat the mythical horned-pony piñata. In a wonder of 1970s pyrotechnics the unicorn bursts apart, showering the audience with its wondrous contents. The contents of course, that's right, Bunny F, dressed appropriately enough as over-sized confectionery man Bertie Bassett.

Whilst Rick Wakeman was turning in his grave the rest of us basked, revelled and down right wallowed in the keyboard solos so long that there was an interval during each one and the at times cacophonic sounds created by the six flute troupes and chimp string quartet.

1975's album 'Tambourine Submarine' was the very long awaited follow up to the tour. The hook was epic rock symphonies, the premise was a musical underwater odyssey and the execution was lousy. The first single released was 'Quest for the Morose Tapir' on which the group employed some radical methods to get just the sound they wanted. The most elaborate of these were a bespoke triangle the size of two double deckers and a xylophone so big you had to play it with two tree trunks suspended from cranes. Apparently, passing tiny microphones through the bowels of small rodents also proved musically fruitful. The single sold thirty-six copies.

It was at this point that the inevitable cracks began to appear, as they always seem to this far down the page of a band biog. The rest of the group became weary of Bunny's attempts to shock audiences at every turn. The final straw came during the recording of 'Tambourine Submarine', when at Bunny's insistence the band found themselves recreating the underwater scenes of 'Bedknobs and Broomsticks'. Frincton took particular exception to having to don the original outfit as worn by Angela Lansbury which was of course to small for the 5'7 Frincton (It is a little known fact that Lansbury is a colossal 6'3).

Frincton instigated the split to form 'Scone', in an attempt to bring mediocre, prog inspired soft rock to the masses. He released the debut 'You Won't Know What You've Got Until It's Scone' a cheeky, patent swipe at his former band mate. In many ways Scone were everything that Bunny F both despised and desired in equal measure. They went onto countywide critical acclaim. Indeed, when if band's success is measured by whether they had a tribute band it's worth noting that Scone had two - 'Scone Away' and 'Scone But Not Forgotten'.

Having become the pariah of British prog Bunny went into hiding. He would emerge in 1982, proclaiming himself to be 'Prog's Son on Earth' - the resurrection of Peter Gabriel. Gabriel was thought to be less than pleased and went on to write 'Sledgehammer', a little-known and thinly veiled veritable assault on Bunny. Conversely, Scone remained a critical and commercial success releasing 12 albums in 1980 alone. Their latest venture is an ambitious tender for the comeback theme tune for hit eighties tv show 'Challenge Anneka'.