Bio: The story of the ASSEMBLY REQUIRED band is a convoluted web of dark, mysterious trails, woven by Time like a seamstress using one part truth, two parts myth.

Not long after the turn of the century (it is said), young BRYAN of the Forests was running naked in the meadow, hunting the elusive prairie duck. He heard a Voice, they say, as crisp as a November wind, but distant like the rains of May.

“Go,” said the Voice, “to find the Jester of the Bohemian Hills…”

And go he did. Bryan passed a house of straw that had been blown to the ground, and then a house of sticks which had succumbed to the same fate. Then he saw it: a house of brick! It, too, had fallen in, but the wind had not done it in – nay – this structure fell to designer error. The resident of the toppled abode sat in a swing, sketching portraits of the King.

“I am Bryan,” said the Forest-Wanderer, “I seek the Jester.”

“I am called RICK,” the sketcher replied, “I have been known to jest.”

“Surely then, we are meant to be companions” said Bryan, “for I have heard the Voice in the wilderness call to me!”

“Aye!” answered Rick. “Prithee, what else said this voice you heard?”

At that very moment, the Voice again spake.

“You have found one another” it said, “but your quest is not complete. You must learn to play the lute and sing as madrigal singers do. This done, you must travel across the forsaken Borders of Darkness into the Land of Wilted Sunflowers.”

“The Land of Wilted Sunflowers?” exclaimed the frightened Rick, “Sure’n there ain’t no escape from those treacherous fields!”

Bryan echoed Rick’s pusillanimity. “It cannot be done by mortals, can it?”

“Silence!” roared the Voice, “You will do as I say!”

And do as he said they did. Bryan and Rick traveled south together, and as the sky grew dark, they held hands. Along they way, they purchased a lute from a merchant, and stole another from a minstrel covered in flies. Further they walked, singing as they went. Then, just over the Borders of Darkness…

“Listen” said Bryan “I hear something.”

Sure enough, in the distance they heard low rumblings. They sought the source of the noise, which grew louder as they drew near it, and upon peering through a clearing, they discovered the answer.

“It’s music!” smiled Rick.

Before them stood two purple creatures. One plucked a string, the other struck the pulled, shaved skin of a sea otter.

“Hello,” said the pling-strucker, “I am called MICHAEL. This is my tet Pony—I mean my pet TONY”

“Arf” said Tony. “Bark bark ruff rrrrruff.”

“He seems excited to meet us” said Rick.

“Yes,” answered Michael, “He asks if you are the lutists sent by the Voice.”

“You’ve heard it too then!” said Bryan. “What could it mean?”

“Only one thing” said Michael, “We are to form a union of sound. Tony and I will provide your shythm rection—I mean rhythm section, whilst the two of you melt faces with thy lute-age.”

“Then melt faces we shall!” shouted Bryan.

And melt faces they did. But the Voice was not finished with them yet. After years of melting faces, the quartet felt something in their act was lacking.

“If only we had one more person” said Bryan, “someone to jump up and down a lot.”

“I know of such a person” said the mysterious Voice, “He is north of you; seek him in the City of Light.”

And seek him in the City of Light they did. They found him cornered in an alley, being attacked by she-coyotes. After quite a struggle, the band defeated the canine adversaries, rescuing the young squire.

“Thank you,” he said, “I am called DANIEL.”

“Our pleasure,” said Bryan, “We are a band of musicians, assembled by the command of the great Voice. We are called ASSEMBLY REQUIRED.”

“A band? A Voice?” Daniel inquired further. “I too have heard this Voice, for I am a musician as well; I play the harpsichord.”

“Harpsichord indeed!” shouted an enthusiastic Michael. “That is ruly tremarkable!”

“Arf!” echoed Tony.

Next, the group of friends rented space to dwell in the caves beneath a local apothecary, and one night, a stranger appeared at the gate.

“Who are you?” asked Rick.

But when the stranger spoke, he left no doubt about his identity.

“You know me only as ‘The Voice’” he said, “but I am called simply: BRUCE.”

And so, the Assembly Required band was formed. It is said their spirits still walk the Bohemian Hills, spreading merriment, and fighting to rid the countryside of Quietude…