Meet The Ducks!
A motley crew of musical misfits, united by our shared inability to remember song lyrics, our knack for breaking guitar strings mid-solo, and our uncanny talent for mistaking the stage exit for the bathroom door.
We're like a dysfunctional family that can't quite get our act together, but hey, at least we sound halfway decent when we're not tripping over our own feet. Sometimes.
Vocals
Banksy is a pseudonymous England-based artist, political activist, and film director whose identity remains shrouded in mystery and speculation.
But this is not that Banksy.
Our Banksy is the one who brings the pipes to the Ducks — not through thought-provoking murals or anarchist statements, but by shouting into a mic and hoping something vaguely melodic happens. By day, he’s an office worker with a decent LinkedIn profile. By night, he likes to think he has the energy of a caffeinated toddler on a bouncy castle – in reality, it’s more Terry Wogan after a big lunch.
With musical tastes that span every genre except the ones people actually like, he’s fronted bands across the UK, Asia, and Europe – though “fronted” might be a stretch. He mostly loiters near the mic, gesticulates like he’s conducting an invisible orchestra, and occasionally remembers the words. He’s built a modest following (mainly people who were too polite to leave), a wardrobe full of shirts that defy explanation, and a collection of bar tabs that could be used as cautionary tales in financial literacy courses.
Still, he’s not without acclaim:
“You’re a bloody great singer, you are, pal.”
– Drunk bloke, pub in Andover
It’s the only review he’s ever framed – and to be fair, it’s the only one he’s ever got.
Banksy
Guitar
Introducing our resident riff machine – born and bred in Shropshire, but we try not to hold that against him. While the rest of us were fumbling through three-chord wonders, he was off in a shed somewhere mastering modes we can’t even pronounce. He claims to be self-taught, which we assume means “taught by a time-travelling bluesman and a stack of vintage records.”
He’s a professional to the core – punctual, prepared, and annoyingly good at everything involving six strings. Whether it’s a blistering solo or a moody, atmospheric line that makes the rest of us feel feelings we weren't prepared for, he pulls it off with the sort of effortlessness that borders on offensive.
From Shropshire, yes – a place where the sheep outnumber people and time moves slower – but clearly he missed the memo. Onstage, he’s all fire and finesse; offstage, he’s the quiet one who drops the driest one-liners that leave the rest of us howling.
So here’s to our Shropshire shredder – the man who lets his playing do the talking, even if we’re still trying to figure out what language it’s in. He’s our secret weapon, our melodic backbone, and proof that sometimes, rural boredom breeds brilliance.
Gaz
Bass Guitar
Meet Reggie, the prodigy with a PhD in groove. While most kids were fumbling through their first power chords, Reg was deep into jazz theory, odd time signatures, and basslines so intricate they’d make your head spin. He’s got a mind like a musical encyclopaedia and fingers that move faster than your last bad decision.
Despite his age, Reggie has played more gigs than musicians twice as old, picking up experience (and the occasional dodgy soundcheck sandwich) along the way. Whether it’s funk, rock, jazz, or something so obscure even the band aren’t sure what it is, he plays it all with effortless precision—his bass an extension of his soul.
But don’t let the book smarts fool you—Reggie's not here to give a lecture, he’s here to lock in the groove and keep the whole thing moving. Cool, composed, and always in the pocket, he’s the quiet force that holds it all together while making it look ridiculously easy. So here’s to Reggie: the scholar of sound, the groove machine, and the lad who proves that talent and experience aren’t just for the old guard.
Reggie
Guitar
Billy. Just Billy. Our other guitar hero, known affectionately (and sometimes despairingly) as “The Shredder That Time Forgot.” He rips solos like it’s still 1987, slings his guitar low like he’s auditioning for a Whitesnake video, and dresses like Top Gun never left the cinemas. In his mind, it hasn’t.
Billy is a man out of time; not in the romantic, poetic sense, but in the loud, neon-drenched, Aqua Net-soaked way that makes you instinctively reach for a leather jacket and a smoke machine. He worships at the altar of Kiss, Van Halen, and every other band that ever stood on a car bonnet in a music video. Subtlety is not really his thing. Volume is absolutely his thing.
But here’s the truth about Billy: behind the flying Vs, the finger-tapped fury, and the permanent whiff of denim regret is a guitarist with serious chops. He might look like he fell out of a time warp at Donington Park, but he plays like a man possessed. Fast, fierce, and frighteningly precise, he brings a fire to the stage that makes the rest of us up our game... or at least pretend to.
So here’s to Billy: the glam metal gunslinger, the solo-slinging showman, and the only bloke under 35 who thinks leopard print is “essential stagewear.” He may be struggling to accept that it’s not 1987 and faded denim is not the look, but frankly, we hope he never does.
Billy
Drums
Meet Tommy, the backbone of our band and the master of all things rhythmic. Behind the drum kit, he’s a thunderous force of nature, driving every beat with the precision of a heart surgeon and the flair of someone who knows he’s the coolest person in the room (spoiler: he is).
Offstage, Tom’s a man of many talents and even more opinions. Quick with a joke and even quicker with a comeback, he’s the guy who can turn a casual rehearsal into a comedy show. But don’t let the humor fool you—he’s as serious about his drumming as he is about avoiding any heavy lifting in day-to-day life. Work smarter, not harder? Tom wrote the book on it.
While the rest of us are chasing the spotlight, Tom’s perfectly content holding it all together, effortlessly cool and completely unfazed. He’s the rock-solid foundation of our sound, the quiet (but not really) hero who keeps everything in sync. So here’s to Tom: the beat behind the band, the wit behind the wisecracks, and the guy who proves that real legends never break a sweat.