It was like George Orwells Animal Farm decided to make some music together when a funk-drummer, a jazz guitarist, a rock-bassist, a funky jazz-saxophonist, a drum’n’bass-DJ and an inexperienced singer met each other in an obscure shelter in Steffisburg in November 2002. What was the product? The answer was MOFTHIES, a quirky cacophony which became musically mature during a period of frequent concerts playing their own brand of lout-rock and testosterone-funk. Once upon a time, maybe as if acting o...

It was like George Orwells Animal Farm decided to make some music together when a funk-drummer, a jazz guitarist, a rock-bassist, a funky jazz-saxophonist, a drum’n’bass-DJ and an inexperienced singer met each other in an obscure shelter in Steffisburg in November 2002. What was the product? The answer was MOFTHIES, a quirky cacophony which became musically mature during a period of frequent concerts playing their own brand of lout-rock and testosterone-funk. Once upon a time, maybe as if acting on the instinctive urge to have grandchildren, MOFTHIES decided to produce their own album in their practice room. The first plan of making a kind of a better demo-cd was foiled by growing quality standards, technical investments and an inhuman effort during the recordings. Now, two years later, the MOFTHIES proudly present their fist CD at Café-Bar Mokka in Thun on the 22nd of March. And may the future be blown in the wind, the grandchildren surely will boast of their fucking cool granddaddies in years to come...

Our CD S.O.S.
Statistically, the first album is always the best one. The reason is rather simple: first, the repertoire has already stood the test of (hard gigging) time and second, a young band generally can’t pay a so-called producer, which grinds the songs ‘till they take the form of an anal suppository.
S.O.S., the new album of MOFTHIES remains a collection of rough diamonds which were compiled and assorted during the years. The songs have retained their impurity, the concept of dirty rock was even enhanced. The results are ten cynical songs about the world and the opposite sex, that are neither radio-conformist nor g-rated and a (great deal) far away from the Indie- or any other hype.
The title of the album is not a reference to Sting but a sincere cry for help: S.O.S., the first CD is out now, who will save the band from the statistical cruelty of musical reality?!