So a few years back we were doing a small tour, only a few dates of places that badly wanted to see us (it being a few as it is incredibly rare that we find ourselves that much in demand). Anyway we were on the road somewhere on the way to a place called Umbar; nice little place by the sea, very hot though, not at all grim and frostbitten. The previous night we’d been at some festival by a mountain in Dale, away North, I think it was called Beardstock or something.


We’re going through this nice bit of land, forested and very quiet (though a little dark) when Grimness decides he needs to go for a bit of the old November Rain (a slash). Both Forbod and I told him to piss on the floor of the van, as we only had one gig left to play, however Grimness was quick to remind us that we weren’t actually in a van but riding horses and that to urinate on a horse would surely be cruelty to animals. Despite being a dark and nasty bunch of individuals we can’t defend the unnecessary harming of animals, plus none of us could afford a lawsuit from PETA or anyone like that.


So we all decide to let the horses graze for a little which and the three of us would head on a walk up the nearby hill; where Grimness could find somewhere nice to go and the rest of us could have a sit down on a rock or something whilst observing the view. We got to the top and round a corner to find there was quite a spectacular looking stately home, about seven or eight, on the other side of a bridge.


Just as Grimness had fucked off behind a dead tree, and Forbod and I sat upon a rather uncomfortable boulder, we heard this rather rapey sounding screech and the doors to the place across the bridge opened. Out came a rather large, armed and angry looking bunch lead by a few guys on horses, the one at the front actually seemed to be just a black cloak on a horse though. At first we wondered if we shouldn’t be where we were but they marched on straight past us. With the seemingly endless line only a couple of rows past Forbod had a moment of pure genius. He suggested we leg it back to the horses, pick up a couple of acoustic guitars and a violin, and get busking. When back up the hill we started laying down some quality, though still grim, riffs; one of which just sounded perfect alongside the marching armies that just kept passing us for hours.


Unlike those fools in Tenacious D we remembered to record (using a Krieg as fuck Phillips mp3 player which I owned) when we had our spontaneous moment of genius. When we returned back home we listened to the recording and got playing it again before I went away and wrote some lyrics about where we first played those riffs and what happened. We also checked a travel brochure to see what that place was called, the Morgul Vale, hence we named the track ‘March of the Morgul Host’.


So there you have it, a chance trip for urination led to our set finisher.