Lay Siege

Lay Siege are a band from Northampton, UK, formed in January 2010.
facebook.com/laysiege

The bridge single for our upcoming debut album, and the first tracks released to feature Carl Brown on vocals.

Produced and mixed by Jonny Renshaw at Bandit Studios. Mastered by Acle Kahney at 4D Sounds

Released 9th December 2013

New video exclusively on BlankTV. Video by Tom Calton

Tom Calton 2013

ACODA UK Dates with Lay Siege

already-heardmusic:

ACODA have announced a run of UK dates alongside Lay Siege, starting in late February.

February
27 – The Duke, Bexley
28 – The Peel, Kingston
March
01 – Marquee, Norwich
02 – Victoria Inn, Derby
03 – The Riverside, Selby

Free Download of "Obolus"

You can download our critically acclaimed debut mini album “Obolus” for free now from laysiegeuk.com

No catches, just click the “Download”  link

theadventuresofoliversykes:

So today I spent a good few hours on’t bog surfing the world wide web applying for my license to pursue my dream of becoming the worlds leading heavy goods mover. I figured what better way to celebrate this mint occasion than by taking a rate good picture of me sen and sharing a bit of it for you all to have a goosey.
So, here we are like, me face, and the introductory pages of the soon to be classic “Did i drivd it?”.

Dear whoever the heck came across the words of  the true hero of the north


My name is Matthew Nicholls. I was born on march 22nd, 1986 in Maltby, England. I entered rotherham like an astroid, having no clue how fucking important my being alive was going to change the wholesale food industry . I grew up as pointless and burger as zacs chippy (best chip buttes this side of the atlantic) with my parents, and my step dad martin. 

Now, at the age of 26, I have travelled the universe and shared my genius with enough people to fill the old miller football ground. not new one though, its fucking massive. got undergrass heating and job lot . I’ve overcome a bovril addiciton that should’ve killed me and a wagon wheel addiction that almost did. I’ve drivd, droven and drivd again. In fact, I’ve drivd almost as many powered industrial trucks as pallets I’ve lifted.   lets just for now at least, file that under the category of “FORKING HELL!”
So I guess I’m a loose cannon, “Living the life you can only dream of” as I once so rate goodly put it.  Mick Pickles, the physical embodiment of  fresh, frozen and… What was that last part again?  Commercial Warehouse Control ? Well, here’s where things get interesting. You see, I am and always will be, a Forklift truck driver. I am and will from now until the cows come home, be a leader, no, an icon, in the supermarket rat race.  But my passion is not forklifts, no. Wait, I know thats hard to hear, but read on commrades. ask anyone in morrisons (the branch in brambly, near maltby) and they’ll agree, I ironically am the front and center, high and mighty, plump up my plumage and parade it around for is in every way, and no other sucker comes close.  I am not talking Aldi, Londis, One stop, Martins, happy shopper, not even the m & s’s they have at services on the m1. 

I’m talking cranes. I’m talking oil rigs. 
at this point be wondering what the hell I am doing here. Am I lost? Did I take a wrong turn? Surely I must be in the wrong place… You ask me ‘but nicholls, your a fork lift driver, through & through, god put you on this planet so you could shift frozen peas, and ikea overstock” Well, you are as wrong as wrong could be and then some. I knew what I was getting myself into and still, with the tip of me noggin and the tap of me toes i swan dived right into the deep end of the madness, the unstable ocean of insanity known as deep sea oil drilling.


My uncontrollable passion for lifting began at a very young age. I remember all too clearly on countless occasions singing and dancing around to bob the builders “can we fix it, yes he can” on this enormous stage to a warehouse of  unmoved pallets, which, in reality, was a tricycle that i taped a spade to.  I remember i wouldn’t ever use a spoon, my love for forks was so serve. and let me tell you, eating custard without the aid of a spoon is not a task to be taken lightly.  In truth, I was consistently an offensively bad lifter until puberty finally released me from it’s weak,  puny, horse meat grip. That never stopped me  like. I found solace in every and any instrument I could use to pick up stuff. Age 7; dog shit scooper, on which I distinctly remember being a genius with. Age 8; fishing net which lasted about as long as it takes to badly learn not to fuck about with gypsies. Age 9; a stolen trolley from safeway, my first real venture into the world of shifting stuff.  Age 11; wheelbarrow- at this point people were starting to not only acknowledge my natural ability with transporting produce, but also to encourage it. Age 12; My first garden cart, heavy duty, 30 percent of from coopers of stortford. Thats when everything changed. and nothing could ever be the same. 



So how, out of nothing, did I become something so spectacularly incredible, so gifted, so talented, a voice of my generation? 

What the hell happens int head, int dna, in me very soul, that made me the drover i am today?
Can it be that all the bovril, the late night wagon wheels that are to either blame and/or thank?
Truth is, I aint got foggiest. This book is the collective insights of myself and those closest to me regarding my self proclaimed condition of ‘exaltans commercial bona’ - adj. Not of sound mind… Often referred to as “LIFTER OF COMMERCIAL GOODS!”

theadventuresofoliversykes:

So today I spent a good few hours on’t bog surfing the world wide web applying for my license to pursue my dream of becoming the worlds leading heavy goods mover. I figured what better way to celebrate this mint occasion than by taking a rate good picture of me sen and sharing a bit of it for you all to have a goosey.

So, here we are like, me face, and the introductory pages of the soon to be classic “Did i drivd it?”.


Dear whoever the heck came across the words of  the true hero of the north

My name is Matthew Nicholls. I was born on march 22nd, 1986 in Maltby, England. I entered rotherham like an astroid, having no clue how fucking important my being alive was going to change the wholesale food industry . I grew up as pointless and burger as zacs chippy (best chip buttes this side of the atlantic) with my parents, and my step dad martin. 


Now, at the age of 26, I have travelled the universe and shared my genius with enough people to fill the old miller football ground. not new one though, its fucking massive. got undergrass heating and job lot . I’ve overcome a bovril addiciton that should’ve killed me and a wagon wheel addiction that almost did. I’ve drivd, droven and drivd again. In fact, I’ve drivd almost as many powered industrial trucks as pallets I’ve lifted.   lets just for now at least, file that under the category of “FORKING HELL!”

So I guess I’m a loose cannon, “Living the life you can only dream of” as I once so rate goodly put it.  Mick Pickles, the physical embodiment of  fresh, frozen and… What was that last part again?  Commercial Warehouse Control ? Well, here’s where things get interesting. You see, I am and always will be, a Forklift truck driver. I am and will from now until the cows come home, be a leader, no, an icon, in the supermarket rat race.  But my passion is not forklifts, no. Wait, I know thats hard to hear, but read on commrades. ask anyone in morrisons (the branch in brambly, near maltby) and they’ll agree, I ironically am the front and center, high and mighty, plump up my plumage and parade it around for is in every way, and no other sucker comes close.  I am not talking Aldi, Londis, One stop, Martins, happy shopper, not even the m & s’s they have at services on the m1. 


I’m talking cranes. I’m talking oil rigs. 

at this point be wondering what the hell I am doing here. Am I lost? Did I take a wrong turn? Surely I must be in the wrong place… You ask me ‘but nicholls, your a fork lift driver, through & through, god put you on this planet so you could shift frozen peas, and ikea overstock” Well, you are as wrong as wrong could be and then some. I knew what I was getting myself into and still, with the tip of me noggin and the tap of me toes i swan dived right into the deep end of the madness, the unstable ocean of insanity known as deep sea oil drilling.

My uncontrollable passion for lifting began at a very young age. I remember all too clearly on countless occasions singing and dancing around to bob the builders “can we fix it, yes he can” on this enormous stage to a warehouse of  unmoved pallets, which, in reality, was a tricycle that i taped a spade to.  I remember i wouldn’t ever use a spoon, my love for forks was so serve. and let me tell you, eating custard without the aid of a spoon is not a task to be taken lightly.  In truth, I was consistently an offensively bad lifter until puberty finally released me from it’s weak,  puny, horse meat grip. That never stopped me  like. I found solace in every and any instrument I could use to pick up stuff. Age 7; dog shit scooper, on which I distinctly remember being a genius with. Age 8; fishing net which lasted about as long as it takes to badly learn not to fuck about with gypsies. Age 9; a stolen trolley from safeway, my first real venture into the world of shifting stuff.  Age 11; wheelbarrow- at this point people were starting to not only acknowledge my natural ability with transporting produce, but also to encourage it. Age 12; My first garden cart, heavy duty, 30 percent of from coopers of stortford. Thats when everything changed. and nothing could ever be the same. 

So how, out of nothing, did I become something so spectacularly incredible, so gifted, so talented, a voice of my generation? 


What the hell happens int head, int dna, in me very soul, that made me the drover i am today?

Can it be that all the bovril, the late night wagon wheels that are to either blame and/or thank?

Truth is, I aint got foggiest. This book is the collective insights of myself and those closest to me regarding my self proclaimed condition of ‘exaltans commercial bona’ - adj. Not of sound mind… Often referred to as “LIFTER OF COMMERCIAL GOODS!”

(Source: dropdeadclothing)