Lemora's legendary curse was first felt by Swifty, a prolific but somewhat silly tunesmith, possessing a cynicism bred from judging people by his own shaky standards. Swifty was staggering through a late night Soho drinkerie when he first spied Richard, a pretentious mincing fop who danced like a whore (but could safely be introduced to your parents). Initially, Richard told Swifty to "BUGGER OFF!", and his stubborness was great. But greater still was Swifty's tenacity and his determination not to take no reply for an answer. Hence, once Richard had mastered which end of a microphone was for singing into, he was soon exorcising his inner demons over Swifty's tunes. Some weeks passed and a distinct lack of meaty bass was noted. Then Stuart arrived. Mean, lean and, well, sort of keen, he injected his intense veracity into the bands sound. He also threatened to beat them up...He was in. Then Hark, what next? In the blinking of a black cat's eye, Sonya  prowled into the Lemora "studio". She purred, "I can do better than that!", "Prove it" they replied. And she did. She, also, was in.  The drummer remains an enigma; they have tried a few ("What is twat?") and don't seem to like it. The reason is simple: they just don't like it. So alas, they are still searching for the ultimate piece of the Lemora puzzle, but at present the drummer is Larry, the little black box. The Ghost of Lemora are more than mere recording artists. They are a way of thinking, a sense of being. Collectively beautiful yet individually nauseating, the perfect Lemora person is so delicately well balanced they have a chip on both shoulders. In short, if you don't like the music, then go back to where you were last night.....unless of course it's your round...