Kursa and Seppa first met each other on Wonk#ay Island through their lovely uncle Bunkle, who gave them the kickstart they needed into London’s underground scene. At that point in time they were playing pretty different music, but were equally committed to the idea of pushing bass music in a different direction. Roll forward a year or two, they’re working on music that makes them feel so physically sick they have to take breaks every 45 minutes. It was around
that time that the hallucinations began. Intelligent slug-like creatures would hang around in their peripheral vision, never stepping into full focus but never letting up either; an otherworldly light bouncing off the golden dollar signs hung round their necks. Independently, they began to wonder what they had done to themselves, but it wasn’t until months later that they realised both were having the same experience.
After months of sleepless nights and fruitless attempts to find any kind of coherent information on their condition, they met a group of people who were sharing their ordeal. Collectively, they decided that the slugs were going nowhere and the best way to deal with it was to turn it into something meaningful. Slug Wife was born. They used music to communicate with the slugs, providing a soundtrack for their gastropod ghetto. In turn, the slugs showed them more of their world. It was an unforgiving place, a society in decline wracked by disillusionment and decay. Whether they liked it or not, Kursa and Seppa were part of it now.
As the milliseconds, seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years went by, the brutal environment of Gastropodia Prime began to take over more and more of their lives. The comforts of 21st-century-living replaced by rotting concrete and decaying bodies on street corners. The link to their original human life grew weaker and weaker. Empty husks of their former selves, Kursa and Seppa trudge soullessly through the human world, delivering the will of the slugs. No more, no less.