You Say You’re a Warrior
Written and performed by Longy

All stomp, brass blasts and raised eyebrows, “You Say You’re a Warrior” is a rallying cry with a sly smirk. Longy throws the title like a gauntlet, calling out chest-beating bravado while the band barrels forward in full big-band riot mode. It’s part protest, part pub sermon — a chorus built to be yelled back at the stage, daring you to prove you’re as fearless as you claim.

You Say You’re a Warrior Written and performed by Longy All stomp, brass blasts and raised eyebrows, “You Say You’re a Warrior” is a rallying cry with a sly smirk. Longy throws the title like a gauntlet, calling out chest-beating bravado while the band barrels forward in full big-band riot mode. It’s part protest, part pub sermon — a chorus built to be yelled back at the stage, daring you to prove you’re as fearless as you claim.

You Say You're a Warrior, Are Ya?

LONGY AND THE GOSPEL TRASH
Liner Notes for “It’s 12 – Live in Southend”

There are live albums, and then there are documents. This is the latter.

It’s 12 – Live in Southend captures Longy and the Gospel Trash at full tilt: twelve songs, a full big band, an upstairs pub in Southend, and a room thick with sweat, brass, electricity and belief. No studio polish. No safety net. Just wood floors, warm beer, overblown horns, and songs that have already lived a few lives before landing here.

Recorded in Longy’s hometown, upstairs in a pub where the ceiling feels low enough to lean on and the stage was never designed to hold that many players, this album isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. You can hear the crowd pressed in close. You can hear glasses clink between verses. You can hear the band pushing air around the room like they’re trying to lift the roof clean off.

Longy and the Gospel Trash have always existed somewhere between sermon and bar fight. There’s gospel in the uplift, in the call-and-response spirit, in the sense that every chorus is meant to be sung by more than just the person holding the microphone. And there’s trash in the glorious refusal to tidy things up — in the ragged edges, the overdriven amps, the horn lines that sway instead of march.

For this recording, the songs were rebuilt for a big band setting. Brass punches through choruses like sunlight through pub windows at last orders. The rhythm section swings when it wants to, stomps when it needs to, and occasionally threatens to derail entirely before snapping back into place. It’s live music in its most honest form: slightly dangerous, deeply communal, completely unrepeatable.

These twelve songs feel less like a setlist and more like a reckoning. They carry hometown ghosts. They carry road miles. They carry laughter, stubborn hope, and a refusal to let small rooms shrink big feelings. If you’ve ever stood shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers and shouted a chorus back at a band because it felt necessary, you already know what this record is about.

Southend isn’t just the location — it’s part of the instrumentation. The salt air, the arcades, the stubbornness of a seaside town that keeps reinventing itself. Recording upstairs in a pub wasn’t a nostalgic choice. It was a statement: the songs belong to rooms like this. They belong to communities that show up.

And show up they did.

Published into the Valueverse

This album is published by the New Music Nudge Unit into the Valueverse — because how music is shared matters just as much as how it’s made.

The Valueverse is a growing digital ecosystem built around direct support, open networks, and artist sovereignty. Instead of relying on traditional streaming models where value trickles down through opaque systems, the Valueverse is designed around transparency, participation, and direct connection.

At the heart of it is V4V — Value for Value.

Value for Value is simple: if something moves you, you return value in whatever form you can. That might be money, time, attention, skills, amplification, or community. There are no paywalls forcing you in and no algorithms deciding what’s worthy. It’s voluntary, relational, and human.

Listeners become participants. Artists become nodes in a network rather than products in a catalogue. Support flows directly. Appreciation becomes tangible. Culture becomes collaborative again.

#demu
#v4v

This live album isn’t just a recording of twelve songs in an upstairs pub. It’s part of a wider movement experimenting with how art can circulate without losing its soul.

Music

LONGY AND THE GOSPEL TRASH Liner Notes for “It’s 12 – Live in Southend” There are live albums, and then there are documents. This is the latter. It’s 12 – Live in Southend captures Longy and the Gospel Trash at full tilt: twelve songs, a full big band, an upstairs pub in Southend, and a room thick with sweat, brass, electricity and belief. No studio polish. No safety net. Just wood floors, warm beer, overblown horns, and songs that have already lived a few lives before landing here. Recorded in Longy’s hometown, upstairs in a pub where the ceiling feels low enough to lean on and the stage was never designed to hold that many players, this album isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. You can hear the crowd pressed in close. You can hear glasses clink between verses. You can hear the band pushing air around the room like they’re trying to lift the roof clean off. Longy and the Gospel Trash have always existed somewhere between sermon and bar fight. There’s gospel in the uplift, in the call-and-response spirit, in the sense that every chorus is meant to be sung by more than just the person holding the microphone. And there’s trash in the glorious refusal to tidy things up — in the ragged edges, the overdriven amps, the horn lines that sway instead of march. For this recording, the songs were rebuilt for a big band setting. Brass punches through choruses like sunlight through pub windows at last orders. The rhythm section swings when it wants to, stomps when it needs to, and occasionally threatens to derail entirely before snapping back into place. It’s live music in its most honest form: slightly dangerous, deeply communal, completely unrepeatable. These twelve songs feel less like a setlist and more like a reckoning. They carry hometown ghosts. They carry road miles. They carry laughter, stubborn hope, and a refusal to let small rooms shrink big feelings. If you’ve ever stood shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers and shouted a chorus back at a band because it felt necessary, you already know what this record is about. Southend isn’t just the location — it’s part of the instrumentation. The salt air, the arcades, the stubbornness of a seaside town that keeps reinventing itself. Recording upstairs in a pub wasn’t a nostalgic choice. It was a statement: the songs belong to rooms like this. They belong to communities that show up. And show up they did. Published into the Valueverse This album is published by the New Music Nudge Unit into the Valueverse — because how music is shared matters just as much as how it’s made. The Valueverse is a growing digital ecosystem built around direct support, open networks, and artist sovereignty. Instead of relying on traditional streaming models where value trickles down through opaque systems, the Valueverse is designed around transparency, participation, and direct connection. At the heart of it is V4V — Value for Value. Value for Value is simple: if something moves you, you return value in whatever form you can. That might be money, time, attention, skills, amplification, or community. There are no paywalls forcing you in and no algorithms deciding what’s worthy. It’s voluntary, relational, and human. Listeners become participants. Artists become nodes in a network rather than products in a catalogue. Support flows directly. Appreciation becomes tangible. Culture becomes collaborative again. #demu #v4v This live album isn’t just a recording of twelve songs in an upstairs pub. It’s part of a wider movement experimenting with how art can circulate without losing its soul.

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You Say You're a Warrior, Are Ya?

You Say You're a Warrior, Are Ya?