Thee Murdoc Faust Niccals

​I’ve opened the floodgates. The Ask Box is officially OPEN.

Before we begin, I see all those wide, innocent kiddies eyes staring at the screen, itching to ask Uncle Murdoc for some profound nugget of wisdom about the universe.

Don't.

Seriously, put the keyboard down. This aint some bleeding nursery, and I’m not here to tuck you in or explain why the sky’s blue. This space is strictly for the adults

​This is your one-way ticket to the mind of a legend. Use the privilege wisely. If I see one more question about why I'm green, I’m blocking you and sending the boys round to break your legs.

We've recently helped Ace with his own blog. If my shade of green isn't to your taste (I don't see why it bloody wouldn't be, frankly), then go say hello to @acedynamitecopular

Now you’re asking the big questions and when I say big, I mean colossal. Monumental! I want to say... fifteen people at least. AT LEAST, and that’s a highly conservative estimate, mind you! I personally remember getting properly stuck into fifteen of 'em, right? And I just know for a fact there were bodies floating around the periphery of the room that I simply didn't get round to... or, tragically for them, didn't get a chance to sample me.

Where should I start listening to metal and other heavy shit to get into it, considering I'm more into electronic type stuff?

There’s this German lot, yeah? Call themselves Electric Callboy. Absolute nutters. Used to be a right bunch of whiny, fringe-flipping emos back in the day, but they saw the light.

I’ve actually been keeping my expert eye on 'em for a potential Gorillaz collaboration. They just did a track with The Offspring, and they even managed to snag Babymetal! Cheeky bastards. It’s a bit of heavy metal, a bit of filthy techno... proper all-rounders.

Either way, I feel for you about the heat—it's fucking unbearable here, too.

*Throws you ten huge bags of ice, ten fans, and ten bottles with unknown contents (I don’t know what you like to drink most in the heat, so here’s a mix of everything)*

You reckon I live in the studio behind the mixers? That I’m just rotting away in there, twenty-four hours a day, like some pathetic, gear-obsessed little nerd?

Of course I have! Loads of times. A bit of makeup doesn't scare me off!

I’ve had to do myself up or I've been done up loads! Obviously for the TV interviews, the stage performances, and all the red-carpet award ceremonies. Why do you think I mention it in my memoirs? I was a total devotee to that TraxFactor Plutonium green foundation, absolute game changer for the complexion.

I’m not one to go to a museum, let's say that. I won’t go out of my way to fly to France just to stand in a queue and wank over the Mona Lisa.

It really depends on the art, doesn't it? If it’s something with a bit of bite, a bit of soul, maybe I’ll take a look. Take Jamie Hewlett’s depiction of yours truly, for instance. Absolute perfection. Amazing. I love it. That is fine art at its absolute finest, obviously. Same goes for anything I've done.

I once found myself at some trendy, overpriced place in Santa Monica. I want to say...2021. Just before we did Cracker Island.

I didn’t order it, but some bellend I was with, can't even remember who now, (might've been a producer) insisted we get this 'Waldorf salad.' They promised me it was something completely different, some sort of proper grub. Well, I was a few deep into the local spirit, and in my tipsy haze, I saw these crunchy bits and thought, 'Aha! Bacon!' I was shoveling it in, completely oblivious to the bloody apples and grapes hiding in there like little fruity landmines.

To anyone who’s read this and felt the uncontrollable, desperate urge to shout "PICKLE! GHERKIN! CUCUMBER!" at their little phone screens, you lot can sod right off. Wrong! Completely, utterly, spectacularly wrong!

You know, I’m not just about the metal. People get me all wrong! I’m a true connoisseur, a lover of rock, rock and roll, classic rock, indie rock, punk rock, blues rock, hard as rock.

I do enjoy The Clash, obviously. Absolute legends. Actually, reminds me of the time Paul Simonon was hanging about Plastic Beach. He’d wandered into the studio, looking for a bit of quiet, but he ended up helping me rewire the entire bass rig because the salty air had turned the cables into a fire hazard. We spent six hours soldering in the dark, just swapping war stories about the road and drinking cheap tequila. He had this way of looking at a broken bit of gear like it was a piece of fine art.

Little do they know, I’ll be dual-wielding these pistols myself in a bit. I’m just out here soaking up a bit of sun for the day, getting the target practice primed, and then I’m coming for them. There’s going to be nowhere to hide. Prepare for total soakage, kiddies! Uncle Murdoc is coming to play.

Spent the entire morning knocking back pints with a pack of proper scousers. Surprisingly welcoming lot, actually. Didn't even try to pinch my wallet, well, not successfully, anyway. No, I shouldn't say that! They're an alright lot, really. Could’ve been a hell of a lot worse. Before anyone tries to 'cancel' me, they're actually, seriously, an alright city.

Someone tell me, how in the absolute fuck did I end up in bloody Crosby? I was in Thetford not five minutes ago! My brain’s feelin’ like it’s been put through a fucking tumble dryer. What sort of twisted, cosmic joke is this?