The Convulsions

The Convulsions

 Lancaster, England, GBR

The band is mod in dress, punk in attitude, funk in groove and boogaloo bario in sound with riff-sweat rivulets streaming, butt smacking black leather ties, sodden shirts & creature cries


THE CONVULSIONS have developed a repertoire comprising 1960’s British RnB with 1990’s punk rock energy and incendiary inventiveness.

Originally based in Chicago by ex-pat Benjamin Ruth but now firmly enscounced in the NW of Englad with a band that has evolved from high energy punk British RnB mixed with 60's US garage to high energy funk and mod leading us to term the genre Mod Punk Boogaloo.

For videos see the website or the Hole in the Head video at:

The band comprises a core of bass, drums, guitar, and harmonica with forays into B3 Hammond funk. An explosive stage presence and a complete celebration of booty shaking mayhem.

The band founded a US/UK musical exchange in 2001 now known as CME Artist Services who signed its first partnership deal with Sonicbids in 2005 to go completely international. As a group we believe artist collaboration is the key to an enjoyable and rewarding musical future.

The Convulsions have finally produced a new studio EP with the UK lineup. The recording is produced by Mo Whittam of Suzi Quatro fame and is to be used as a demo to attract greater attention for the band. Those songs are the first three audio clips on this EPK.

The Convulsions have played throughout Chicago and the Midwest, Costa Rica, Sweden, Ukraine and throughout the UK.



Written By: Benjamin Ruth


You break a heart through another’s heart
But girl don’t you realize
You can’t rule me your kingdom’s done
Now watch your house pets fly

You know I’ve seen love – the real stuff
The kind that’s hard to find
The brand you’re giving ain’t nothing but the skinning
Of some poor loser’s hide

So pardon me, ‘cos I must leave
I beg your pardon tease
There’s girls I know with a certain glow
That I’d much rather please

Seems I knew really all along
What it was that’s so wrong about you
You’re self-obsessed – think the world’s your place
And we’re just toys for your puppet show


Kow Tow It’s always your way
Just do as you say
Girl you just don’t know
You infuriate me so

Kow Tow You appear so kind
Do you think I’m blind?
Yea, just pick me up
Then watch me drop

Kow Tow Who do you think you are?
You just go to far
Girl, I’ve had enough
You can keep that stuff

Kow Tow Yea it’s always got to be your way
For your attention we’re meant to play
God, you’re so insincere
News, love, I ain’t here


You lied with your body, your mind, and then your tongue
Just to keep me paralyzed
You wouldn’t want to me to leave – oh no,
but nor to satisfy

Yes, I dallied with you it’s true to say
Just to try your certain tease
And sure enough, when I pretend to you
Lo, your love begins to freeze



Written By: Ben Ruth (copyright 2010)

I know you, you’re the one I hate
You’re a playground bully now a big shot fake
You’ve bullied the meek to enlarge your little balls
And you’re bullying the truth until your empire falls

I know you, you made a glass roof
Reinforced with prejudice but never any truth
You’re a chauvinistic lout with bulshitted clout
And one of these days they’ll find you out

Of the inferiority of her you have no doubt
So keep her sideways and never let her out
To make room for the nepotism you hire in the clowns
But one of these days the jokes are coming down

Lick the groin of your tribal leader,
Headman of your clan of fools
Never take the time to learn the trade
Remain instead a solid corporate stool

Oh, what’s that smell as you scuttle on home
It’s the sardine in your grill with the cuttlefish bone
Because the worms in the office begin to turn
And one of these days your vanity will burn

And while you sneak off to your sycophantic club
To drink neat liquor with that Gucci gilded lush
You’re sinking in red leather with a deadened liver
And your wife’s at home making whoopee and dripping like a river

Cos while you sally forth all pop and no jay
Your wife’s at home and you know she wants to play
While you’re taking in the Charlie she’s tearing off my shirt
It would seem your ball enlarging ploy really doesn’t work

Jokerman, you’re the grit in the machine!
No matter how much you spin you’ll never come out clean
You’re sand in the glans and glass in the arse
You’re corporate irresponsibility you don’t make me laugh

I know you, you’re the one I hate
A playground bully once a big shot fake
But the meek had enough and dragged you through the courts
And along with your empire they’ve shrunk your balls

I know you, you made a glass roof
But she took it to tribunal and it ain’t shatter proof
The appeal was rewarding and your clouts gone poof
Zero to you and ten grand for the truth

Well the nepotism clowns brought the edifice down
And your convenience friends are nowhere around
And they’ve take the keys to your 944 Porshe
And your cuckolded wife is filing for divorce

But wait, what’s this Jokerman?
I see you’ve found your calling
I’ll have an extra large with pepperoni and anchovies
A beer, a water back, and the bill. Because the service was appalling!
Yes, the service was appalling, the service was appalling


Get Your Groove On!

Written By: Ben Ruth (copyright 2010)

Yeah, sometimes I feel like plankton in the surf
No matter how much I kick and scream I never get heard
Just a grain of sand caught in the tumultuous surge
As it rises up and engorges the Earth

Seems that those that can make change always refrain
The more the hype the more it stays the same
When the care takers take and take and take – and take again
Come on people we – we need a bloody change

Yeah, get your groove on – Don’t you think enough’s enough
Get your groove on – c’mon, it’s time to call the bluff
Get your groove on – time to take off the gloves
Get your groove on – it’s time to get tough

Wouldn’t it be nice to think hypocrisy might die
Instead we have pre-emptive defense attacking worldwide
Let’s reward corruption and penalise the wise
And let’s do it all with sweet stinking corporate pride

So lets keep taking from the poor and keep giving it to the rich
Bring back Speenham and put granny in the ditch
And pay for the school with a divvy of the bricks
We’re all rolling over and it makes me bloody sick


Have we all lost the stomach as we all got fat?
With runaway consumption they even cut the VAT
And was the hippy 60’s really where it was at
Well you’re going to have to fight if you want to get it back

(chorus / solo / bridge)

Sweet sickly money is laundering our distress
Golden crumbs of insolence have left a bloody mess
It’s black it’s white it’s plain for all to see
They’re the biggest thieving magpies in our history

Yes, you might have thought hypocrisy might die
But listen to those cuckoo chicks demanding yet more pie
And those piglets with our green squealing “It’s mine, mine, mine”
These greed bloated gluttons are crapping on the ride

Hole In The Head

Written By: Ben Ruth (copyright 2007)

The show was a blinder, and they mixed strains of weed in the lock-in after.
The roar of punter applause was a tribal resounder.
And to end it with you in a double bed in Bath
But no, let’s have a churchyard row in front of the dead instead
Oh, what a laugh!

I’m sure they followed your funeral scent of foreboding
back to the Bassett’s, yeah, back to the Bassett’s after hours
And there they hung in the rafters waiting.
Not the end, oh not the end wanted angel child – oh angel child

The bus prop shaft tore off - the insurance company claim it was wear,
We’re stranded here in Bristol but what do you care
You’ve got one more day to rub this love irreparably raw
You’ve got one more day to crank up your score

And while this band deals with road rage in professional panic
All I get from you is your pissing down vinegar and your tannic

Another night and a four-poster bed
But you’d rather row about kebab sauce instead

The bus is wrecked so we need to rent another but the band’s low on credit
Seems that some little sweetheart has taken our debit card and gone and bled it
That’s so nice that you’ve spent all our money on androgenous clothes in Re-Psycho’s retro on Gloucester Road
And now you’re calling up my ex-girlfriends, you’re really stepping on my shoes!

Well, you coveted my sweet thing when it was stuck in another
You used to dress up catwalk fine but now you’re dressed down like my dog of a brother
So why not throw in some jealousy too and what more harm can a girl like you do

Gimme Something

Written By: Ben Ruth

Give me something
Don’t care if it’s acid or alkali
Yeah, give me something
Don’t care if it’s vegan or meat pie
Yeah give me something,
Don’t care it it’s sour of if it’s sweet
Yeah give me something
Don’t care if it’s trick or treat
But don’t tell me it’s all right when all your right has left
Don’t tell me it’s fresh air with that garbage breath

Give me something
Don’t care if it shoots to my head or accelerates my feet
Give me something
Don’t care if it’s polar cryogenic chills or makes my body Sahara sweat
Yeah, give me something
Because somehow I don’t feel quite complete
Yeah, give me something, something that I ain’t tried yet
Don’t tell me it’s for my protection when it’s just another turn of the screw
Yeah peal away those freedoms and flush them down the loo

Give me something
Don’t care if it’s Waldorf Steak or Irish stew
Yeah give me something,
Don’t care if it’s a box seat or front row
Yeah, give me something
Don’t care if she’s fast or slow
Give me something
Don’t care it keeps me up or breaks me low
Don’t give me your shit and tell me it’ll make my garden grow
While we all reap the rewards of the poison that you sew

Gimme Something (repeated)

To take the taste – of you away


Get Your Groove On (EP) - 2011
Shaken and Disturbed (LP) - 2001

There are other live and studio outings but the above are our favourites.

Cuts from most of these albums and more are available at

Set List

Typical 90 min set:

Smoking in Germany
Get Your Groove On
Grown Up Pony
Any Idea
Hole in the Head
Swear it's not You
Give Me Something
Outta My Life (cover - Lee Dorsey by way of the Kingsmen)
Kow Tow
Don't Know What to Tell You
Moon Buggy
Hillbilly Snot Rag
What're You Tryin' To Do
Pressure's Off
Doctor (cover - Ray Charles by way of Humble Pie)
The Crunch

Set number - currently 8 sets of material split 70/30 original / cover (all our covers our adapted)