A glittering kaleidoscope of images, colours, shapes…Searing, distorted fragments – elevated, mystical communiqués from the third eye. Fabricated neon dots shimmer and splinter against a cold steel backdrop. Reflections gleaming off the surface with pin sharp clarity reveal the broken language of an army of unsold broken deities, suspended like moisture in the air. A language without meaning, without form and, until Ford Madox Ford entered the 60s Canterbury psych scene, content.

Good Soldiers is a free-form conceptual freak-out. FMF found freedom in alternative dimensions, composing solutions to eternal problems and deconstructing those solutions into minuscule, abstract molecular components. These components (aka notes, chords and all that pretty jazz) are reformulated
into the musical offerings to be found on the Good Soldiers LP. All the secrets of the past, present and future, every answer to every question ever posed are to be found here. All you need is the time and patience to extract every microscopic clue, every distracting molecule and piece them together like the world’s most infinitely complicated jigsaw puzzle.

FMF are not scientists, neither are they men of god(s). They are not interested in truth or untruth. They are maudlin alchemists, adventurers yet they seek nothing not even wisdom. FMF are like that mysterious grand old oak tree that appeared in my back garden overnight. A withered, weathered fantasy without proportion. None of the songs have titles; there is no information about the band to be found anywhere. All you can expect is eerie chimes of midnight, elliptical tales of radiant strangeness, tempestuous melodies
creaking in the wind, fuzz guitars biting, the miasmic sound of scuttling violins and coiling bass lines unleashed. FMF are the unknown soldiers fighting a war that cannot be won, fighting for reasons long forgotten.