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Producer Spotlite: Bonnie “Prince” Billy


Who:  Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy

What: Indie God

Where:  Louisville, KY

“Prince” Boniface “Bonnie” Billy goes by many names—St. Nick, Lucifer, AKA Joe—but close friends call him by his “nick name”, which is short for “Nicolas Nameham”, which is long for “NiNa”, which is backwards for “aNiN”, which sounds a bit like “anon” which is short for “anonymous”, and he prefers to keep it that way.   Only recently has he come clean against the wall of speculation concerning his mysterious origins.

Bonny’s parents performed intercourse merely once, but it was deeply tantric, lasting so long they conceived and birthed 3 children during the single act.    Bonny was born Siamese twins, conjoined at every part of the body—overlapped perfectly on top of one another so he looked like just one guy.   During puberty, Bonny’s Other began to itch, so he underwent a procedure to be surgically separated from himself, cell by cell.  When doctors attempted to reassemble the extracted Boniface, they wound up with just two frogs, a jaybird, and a monkey holding a banjo.  It was at this point he began to noodle around with music.

The Bonny ‘Prince’ quickly showed skill:  he could reach into an oak tree with his bare hands, pull out its still beating heart and show it to the tree before it dropped dead.  Afterwards he reached into its corpse and pulled out a handful of chili.  It was upon this chili that Le Bonnes supped during his lean years of artistic struggle.

Determined to forge his own scrappy sonic path, Billy invented a brand new musical note out of just a bottle cap, a sack of raisins and a lawnmower engine, all held together with dried duck sauce and twine.

Every night he fell asleep with cookies in his mouth, wet the bed in the shape of Abraham Lincoln, and awoke covered with bruises in the shape of lyrics.  The first time Bonnie tried to sing, nothing came out except thousands of flies.  He nursed these creatures on the milky diligence of his meaty teat and soon their bellies were so round they sang like angels.

His new album is a bit of a departure.  As this was his first project without the backing of the Pips, Our Bonne chose to surrender full control of the recording process to his mustache, Lionel.  When asked about the topic, Dr. Boniface P. Billy will only reply “There are… no words to describe… the things I say.”

So, tragically, it is left to the critics to summarize his work:

“They say the great ones are misunderstood in their time?  Bonny Prince Fucking Billy can’t even tell time.”
KY Daily

“Dr. Prince-Billy’s music demands that the listener climb directly into his own heart and sniff every cranny until finding the one cranny fit to be anointed King Of Crannies and then scrape up that cranny and carry it home in his CrannyBag© (sold separately).”

“He has beehive pubic hair.”
Vanity Fair

“Music so lovely it makes Beauty Itself look like a wart on a turd puked a tumor.”

Browse and buy Bonnie “Prince” Billy on Gyroskope