A few years ago, the four of us met at the Asylum4 facilities in Paris, France. We were, as you might say, schmos, dummies, lost souls—on the lunatics’ side of this world. How did we end up in that gloomy, clinical, windowless inferno? We don’t know, can’t remember really… even if our bassist truly believes he was raised by a family of furry trout in the South of France, and ended up in the asylum so they could study him. Regardless of how we each got there, we discovered that we had one thing in common: Rock! The hard, loud, fun, and madly hysterical kind, of course. Suddenly, all of that energy that was trapped inside found a reason to be, a way to burst.

Now these rejects can finally shine. Sir Jack may still not be a talker, Jayne Doe might still not know her real name, and confuse herself with ‪Ivan Rebroff‬ from time to time, Lord MacBass may still want to shove his bass neck up fishermen’s bum, and John Badass might still wander around at night howling to the moon with a shiny silver baseball bat…Yes, we still have some issues. We are bonkers after all! But we sure know how to put on a show…
Doctors always suspected that we were more crazy than we are. Tired of the noise we made, we are very loud, they decided to stop their experiments in the basement and let us transform all of its rubber rooms into a rehearsal and recording studio. That’s when the Bitch came back and we decided to write a full LP for her.

Our first album will be available at the beginning of November, and if you’re still wondering who the fuck that Bitch we’re talkin’ about is… can’t say. It’s classified.

So, welcome to our own private asylum party, down the rabbit hole. It’s going to be a little bit scary and it’s going to be wild, but it’s going to be pure rock ‘n’ roll fun after all…

JAYNE DOE – Voice – Keyboards – Theremin

I don’t know where I come from. Who am I really ? Am I even real or just a ghost from my past, a mirror of my soul? 

I woke up at the Asylum4 facilities, having simply fallen there from the sky. I am an incongruity, recognizing no other god than this music and these words passing through my soul. I’ve built myself among the crazies, made them my armor, my shell without logic, unstable. To sing creates the unspeakable, to sing silences the space, singing vomits out the nothingness and makes it grow boobs, which is fuckin’ brilliant!

It seems that when they found me I was roaming by the streets roaring Russian songs, persuaded that I was Ivan Rebroff. It’s at the Asylum that I met the three other guys. It is there that we said to ourselves that we wanted to get out, seeing that it was even more messy outside than here, in a much less funny way, but with much more space. It is there that we began bawling rock. As for myself, I’d rather sing some traditional Bulgarian songs, but it seems that it is depressive and the others didn’t feel the vibe, so … Let’s make rock! And for those who do not like what I do, you can go buy yourselves some culture (everything can be bought on the Internet, schmo!). I don’t know who I was, but it seems reasonable to think that I was born to create havoc. Rock is quite efficient for that, and seeing the state of humanity, there’s nothing better to be done. Apart from dancing naked while waiting for the final chaos, of course, devouring profiteroles au chocolat in a river of champagne. Yes, some rockn’roll, profiteroles and champagne. Naked. Everyone. Oh Yeah !!!

SIR JACK – Guitare

Extremely severe speaking disorder – not dangerous though – roams and mumbles.

“Guitar… amp… distorsion… rock n’ roll…

aaaaahh” all day long.


I’ve been told that my bassinet was found floating along a river in the south of France. I was lucky enough to be rescued and raised by a loving and nurturing family of furry trout from the mountains. Throughout my childhood I often heard the autumnal mating calls of wild stags, which allowed me to realize that low bass frequencies stirred an intense joy within me.

Naturally, I then turned to the electric bass and rock ‘n’ roll, a passion I’ve never lost. When he died, my adoptive grandfather left me his fur so that I could use it to make a coat so warm I’d be able to attend all the biggest Scandinavian rock festivals, knowing that I’d have an enthusiastic audience there. 

One day, I crossed paths with some suspicious looking scientists on an expedition, when they captured me and locked me up in the Asylum4 in Paris. They wanted to “carry out tests on my atypical psychological profile,” in their words. In the asylum, I befriended three other extraordinary “specimens” who shared my passion for rock!! Crazy, no? We quickly realized the enormous benefits of sharing this wild music, and we decided to record our first album and play concerts for the rest of our lives!!! 

JOHN BADASS – Batterie

The only thing I remember is one of the “re-insertion” programs where they gave me a drum and a pair of sticks to channel my violent rage, since I have a very wild nature and I don’t like society and even less individual people. 
Nonetheless, I let my guard down long enough to get to know three other people in the same section of the asylum. We started playing together and I realized how good it felt to make music full of rage–ROCK!!  Without even realizing it the band Asylum4 was born.
But don’t take me the wrong way. Even if I seem normal on the outside, I still have ZERO tolerance for people, I only get along with my drums and ROCK.
I don’t know where I came from and even less how I got here, to the asylum…