Armies of roid-riddled wannabe-gangsters slowly tear one another's Tapout tees and Sherman shirts to the piercing shrieks of female orcs, as one of the many deep red veiny baked bean heads begins to shake more violently than the rest. This is no human head, but the tip of a hidden volcano. After decades of feeding on testosterone and insecurity, it's vessels rupture and out from the chamber shoots something very unexpected … a multicoloured jet of molten liquid sound. When silence falls and the ash cloud disperses, angry bald men resume hugging on the ground.

Our mission is to find, nurture and share these molten jets with you.

Brace yourself for the next eruption.