LABEL presents: Conspiracy 1921 (Conspiracy's 4th Birthday)

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LABEL presents Conspiracy 1921

It feels so good to be typing this. It’s been so long you have no idea.

No, really, I’m not talking about a pandemic here. It’s been 100 years. 

But it’s all ducky; we’ve got one hell of a story to tell.

If you wanna know your onions just strap in and read down. Here’s the full take and then some from your favourite gentlemen. Following that, it’s well-advised we all get absolutely ossified on a toot. Let’s blouse baby!

Everyone picked up a COVID hobby sometime in the last 12 months right? Your stories were full of sourdough, your streets were filled with jogging enthusiasts. You get it. We get it.

But for your favourite band of far-past-juvenile delinquents, that all felt a little banal. Instead, we strapped a nuclear reactor to a Delorean and asked Jad to give us a push at 88mph. Yep. We got heaps into time travel.

Well, four of us did. Nate S.U can see a bad idea coming so far away he jumped continents. Smart move buddy.

Thing is, our he-man of a motor pushed a little too hard and crashed the car on the other side. On account of him being built like an aircraft carrier with chainsaw legs. Hammerson accidentally left us stranded in the era of jazz jamborees, prohibition pulpits and wowzers dropping urban patois like, “butt me bearcat I’ve had a jorum of skee and that gaspers lookin’ hotsy-totsy.” That was 100% a real sentence. Look it up. These last hundred years have been a steep learning curve.

If you pay close attention, you’re already starting to feel the effects of our little timeline tangle. 

See, we slipped up somewhere around the 70s when, at the peak of his heavy metal goth phase, Andy Ivory tried to one up Ozzy by eating an entire bat. He fell very ill. You can join the dots.

Now all of a sudden UFOs are real, the planet’s riddled with spicy cough and if someone in Sydney decides to go BBQ shopping we can’t leave the house. This is not the correct timeline.

That’s where you come in. We’re heading back to where it all started. We’re heading back to 1921. With your help we’re going to rewrite the timeline with our greatest, grandest, gaudiest sockdollager in a goddamn century.

Don’t be a dewdropper, it’s our first sock hop in 100 years, miss out and we swear you’ll spend the next 100 regretting it.

Get ready to put F. Scott Fitzgerald to shame. It’s time to jive.

DRESS UP. DANCE WEIRD.

THE CONSPIRACY IS BACK.