They were kitchen-sink surrealists who sang about bats, bereavement and Subbuteo. Four decades on, the Wirral band have pop’s most maniacal fans – including our writer, who hits Holmfirth in his Dukla Prague away kit
On an inky November night, Nigel, Neil, Karl and Carl amble on to the stage of a disused Yorkshire cinema to the strains of Neil Young’s My My, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue). Slumped in a chair with Covid fatigue, my nerves already jangled by a drive-by shouting en route, I burst into tears. I can scarcely believe this band exist.
The return of Half Man Half Biscuit, four lads who shook the Wirral with chugging indie-rock, is greeted ecstatically by those packed into the Holmfirth Picturedrome. Launching into a song about bats followed by one about bereavement, they neatly summarise the mood swings of the world in the preceding 20 months – and Biscuitmania erupts. It took me six hours to get here in the car, and it’s worth every minute.
