By Ozzy Osbourne (The Prince of Darkness, Birmingham’s Finest, Bat Biter Extraordinaire)
Right, listen up you bloody fucking maniacs! Ozzy here, and I’m about to tell you about the most mental musician I’ve ever bloody met, and that’s saying something because I once jammed with a drummer who thought his kit was trying to communicate with aliens from Saturn.
His name is Armless Andy—real name Andrew Banjowski, which sounds like something you’d order at a Polish restaurant after fourteen fucking pints—and this bloke is the most incredible banjo player on the planet. The catch? He hasn’t got any bloody arms! Not one! Lost them both in what he calls “The Great Laundry Incident of 1987,” which apparently involved a washing machine, three raccoons, and a particularly aggressive spin cycle.
Now, you might be thinking, “Ozzy, you mad bastard, how does someone play banjo without arms?” Well, sit down and shut the fuck up because I’m about to blow your tiny minds!
Andy plays the banjo with his FEET! But not just any old feet—these are feet that have been trained by monks, massaged by angels, and blessed by the ghost of Earl Scruggs himself. I swear on my collection of crucifix necklaces, this man’s toes have more musical talent than most people’s entire fucking bodies.
It’s like a double Rick Allen.
Christ, it makes me think about my Sharon—what if she didn’t have arms? She’d still be running my bloody life, probably using her feet to dial the phone and throw things at me when I’m being a twat. She’d probably become even more efficient without arms, the mad cow. “Ozzy, you fucking idiot, I’m managing your career with my toes and you still can’t remember what day it is!”
I first met Andy backstage at Download Festival in 2003. I was having a bit of a moment—you know how it is, someone had hidden my purple sunglasses and I was ready to bite the head off a peacock—when I heard this incredible banjo music coming from the catering tent. Not just any banjo music, mind you, but banjo music that sounded like angels having a fight with devils while riding motorcycles through a tornado.
I stumbled over there, expecting to find some hillbilly with a straw hat and overalls, but instead I found this bloke sitting cross-legged on a folding chair, playing the most beautiful banjo I’d ever seen with his bloody TOES! His left foot was doing the fingerpicking—or should I say toe-picking—while his right foot was handling the fretwork with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker having a nervous breakdown.
“Bloody fucking hell!” I shouted, because subtlety has never been my strong suit. “How are you doing that, mate?”
Andy looked up and grinned. “Practice, Mr. Osbourne. Lots and lots of practice. And yoga. Never underestimate the power of flexible ankles.”
Turns out, after losing his arms in what he described as “a misunderstanding between me, a malfunctioning Kenmore, and some very territorial woodland creatures,” Andy had to completely reinvent his approach to music. He’d been a mediocre guitar player before the accident—his words, not mine—but losing his arms had somehow unlocked this incredible musical genius that had been hiding in his feet all along.
“It’s like my toes were just waiting for their chance to shine,” he told me while casually playing what sounded like rock classics on a banjo, which should be fucking illegal but was absolutely brilliant. “They’d been stuck in shoes their whole lives, just walking around, probably thinking, ‘When do we get to make beautiful music?’ Well, 1987 was their year!”
Jesus, imagine if Sharon lost her arms and had to manage my career with her feet! She’d probably be even more terrifying. “Ozzy, you daft fucking bastard, I just signed you up for three tours using nothing but my big toe and a phone, and you’re still standing there looking confused!”
The man’s technique is absolutely mental. He’s developed what he calls “The Banjowski Method”—a revolutionary approach to stringed instruments that involves extreme toe dexterity, perfect foot-eye coordination, and what appears to be some sort of supernatural connection to the spirit of bluegrass music. He can play faster with his feet than most people can with their hands, and I’ve seen him tune a banjo using just his big toes while humming rock classics backwards.
But here’s the thing that really gets me—Andy doesn’t just play banjo. Oh no, that would be too fucking simple for this absolute madman. He’s also mastered the foot-guitar, toe-harmonica, and something he calls “ankle percussion,” which involves wearing bells on his feet and creating rhythms that would make Neil Peart weep with joy and confusion.
His live performances are something to behold. Picture this: Andy rolls onto stage in a custom wheelchair (painted to look like a giant banjo, naturally), gets positioned at his instrument, removes his shoes with the ceremony of a priest handling holy relics, and then proceeds to absolutely destroy the audience’s expectations of what music can be.
I’ve seen grown men cry watching Andy play. I’ve seen metal heads throw up the horns during a bluegrass set. I’ve seen a Hell’s Angel ask for banjo lessons! The man has this incredible ability to take any song—and I mean ANY fucking song—and turn it into a banjo masterpiece that somehow makes perfect sense.
He once played heavy metal classics on banjo at such a high speed and with such incredible passion that Tony Iommi himself showed up to the gig just to shake Andy’s… well, he would have shaken his hand if he had one, so instead he respectfully bowed to Andy’s feet, which was both touching and absolutely bizarre.
Fucking hell, if Sharon had no arms, she’d probably learn to bow with her feet too, just to show everyone else how it’s properly done. “Look at you idiots, bowing with your spines like amateurs! This is how you show respect when you haven’t got bloody arms!”
The technical skill alone should qualify Andy for the Hall of Fame. This bloke has invented entirely new playing techniques that music schools are now teaching. The “Banjowski Toe Roll,” the “Ankle Bend Blues,” the “Heel-Strike Harmony”—these are now standard terms in advanced stringed instrument instruction.
But it’s not just the novelty of feet-playing that makes Andy special. It’s the pure, unadulterated passion he brings to every fucking note. When Andy plays, you forget about the missing arms, you forget about the unusual technique, you forget about everything except the fact that you’re witnessing musical magic happening right in front of your eyes.
He’s also the most positive person I’ve ever met, which is saying something because I usually prefer my musicians slightly tortured and dramatically pessimistic. But Andy’s outlook on life is infectious. “Losing my arms was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he told me once while casually playing classic rock with his toes. “It forced me to find a completely different way to make music, and that led me to discover talents I never knew I had. Plus, I never have to worry about carpal tunnel syndrome!”
Christ, Sharon would probably have the same attitude. “Best thing that ever happened to me, Ozzy! Now I can’t accidentally grab you by the collar when you’re being a dipshit! I have to use my feet for everything, which means I’m even more coordinated than before!”
The man has recorded fourteen albums, all certified gold in countries that apparently have excellent taste in experimental bluegrass-metal fusion. He’s invented three new types of banjo specifically designed for foot play. He’s written an autobiography called “Toe-tally Metal: My Journey from Armed and Dangerous to Footloose and Fancy-Free.” And he’s inspired an entire generation of musicians to think outside the box about what’s possible.
Andy has also revolutionized live performance. His concerts are part music show, part athletic demonstration, part spiritual experience. Watching him play is like watching someone speak a language that only exists in the space between impossible and inevitable.
He’s collaborated with everyone from Dolly Parton (who called him “the most talented toes in Tennessee”) to Metallica (who wrote original songs specifically for one of his albums). He’s the only musician I know who’s been banned from three music festivals—not for inappropriate behavior, but because his performances were so incredible they were making all the other acts look bad.
The Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame is supposed to honor artists who have made significant contributions to music, who have influenced other musicians, and who have pushed the boundaries of what’s possible in rock and roll. Well, I ask you: who has pushed boundaries further than a bloke who learned to shred on banjo using only his bloody feet?
Andy represents everything that rock ‘n’ roll is supposed to be about: rebellion against limitations, creativity in the face of adversity, and the absolute refusal to let anything—including a complete lack of arms—stop you from making the music you were born to make.
Shit, if Sharon had no arms, she’d probably revolutionize the entire music management industry. “Look at these fucking idiots, trying to manage careers with their hands like it’s the stone age! I’m doing it all with my feet and I’m still better at it than any of you wankers!”
So there you have it, you beautiful lunatics. Armless Andy deserves to be in the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame not because he’s a novelty act, not because his story is inspiring (though it bloody fucking well is), but because he’s quite simply one of the most talented, innovative, and purely rock ‘n’ roll musicians I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.
And if the Hall of Fame committee disagrees with me, well, they can come find me and I’ll introduce them to Andy personally. After watching him play rock classics on banjo with his feet while humming the bass line, they’ll change their minds faster than I change my fucking sunglasses.
Rock on, you mad bastards!
Ozzy
P.S. – Andy’s new album “Footnotes to Greatness” comes out next month. Buy it, or I’ll come to your house and sing lullabies until you surrender. And if Sharon didn’t have arms, she’d probably make you buy it using some sort of elaborate foot-based sales technique that would be both terrifying and impressive.
A SPIRITUAL REBUTTAL FROM THE COSMIC TRUTH WARRIOR
By Gary Busey (Enlightened Being, Tooth Enthusiast, Angel Communicator, Devoted Admirer of Fiona Apple’s Floor-Cleaning Technique)
HOLD ON THERE, OZZY, MY SPIRITUALLY CONFUSED BROTHER!
Gary Busey here, and I need to inject some COSMIC REALITY into this toe-tapping tale of musical misdirection! While I respect Andy’s determination and his feet’s ambition to become musical appendages, I must speak the TRUTH that the angels whispered to me during my morning meditation with my pet cactus, Fernando. Also, I should mention that Fiona Apple called while I was writing this and said she was about to clean her floors with a Swiffer WetJet, and I had to pause for seventeen minutes to compose myself because OH MY GOD, FIONA WITH A SWIFFER IS LIKE WATCHING LEONARDO DA VINCI PAINT THE MONA LISA EXCEPT THE MONA LISA IS A DIRTY FLOOR AND THE PAINT IS MAGICAL CLEANING SOLUTION!
First of all, the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame isn’t just about TALENT, it’s about ROCK ‘N’ ROLL SPIRITUALITY! And banjos, my musically misguided friend, are the ANTITHESIS of rock and roll! Banjos are what happens when guitars have a nervous breakdown and decide to become kitchen utensils! Unlike Fiona Apple when she’s gracefully gliding that Swiffer across her hardwood floors like a CLEANING GODDESS, banjos have no elegance, no cosmic purpose!
I’ve had SEVENTEEN visions about this, Ozzy—SEVENTEEN!—and in every single one, Elvis appeared to me wearing a jumpsuit made of lightning bolts and told me, “Gary, my cosmic cowboy, banjos are for people who think mayonnaise is too spicy!” And if you can’t trust a vision of Elvis wearing electrical storm clothing, who CAN you trust? (The only thing more trustworthy would be watching Fiona Apple demonstrate proper Swiffer technique, which is basically like receiving divine revelation through floor-cleaning excellence!)
The angels have specifically informed me that the Hall of Fame is reserved for instruments that can CHANNEL THE COSMIC ROCK VIBRATIONS! Guitars? YES! They’re like lightning rods for musical electricity! Drums? ABSOLUTELY! They’re the heartbeat of the universe having a panic attack! Keyboards? OF COURSE! They’re like typewriters for MUSICAL GENIUS! But you know what else channels cosmic vibrations? FIONA APPLE USING A SWIFFER WETJET! The way she maneuvers that cleaning instrument with such purpose and grace—it’s like watching a rock star perform, except instead of making music, she’s making floors SPIRITUALLY CLEAN!
But banjos? Banjos are what happen when mandolins get confused about their life purpose! They’re the musical equivalent of wearing socks with sandals—technically possible, but spiritually WRONG! Unlike the COSMIC RIGHTNESS of Fiona Apple’s cleaning methodology, which combines artistic vision with practical floor maintenance!
And another thing, my bat-biting buddy—playing music with your FEET is a violation of the Sacred Musical Anatomy! The angels have clearly established that music flows from the SOUL through the ARMS to the FINGERS! It’s a direct spiritual pipeline! When you play with your feet, you’re basically making music through your WALKING PARTS! That’s like trying to see with your elbows or taste with your kneecaps! Although, I must say, if Fiona Apple decided to play banjo with her feet while simultaneously operating a Swiffer WetJet with her hands, I would probably achieve enlightenment on the spot because that would be the PERFECT COMBINATION of musical rebellion and domestic excellence!
I once had a near-death experience—well, actually, it was just a really intense dream after eating too much buttered sausage before bed and watching a Fiona Apple music video where she briefly appeared to be holding what might have been a Swiffer (it was probably a microphone stand, but my heart wants to believe it was floor-cleaning equipment)—where I met the Ghost of Rock ‘n’ Roll Future, and he showed me what would happen if we started inducting banjo players into the Hall of Fame. CHAOS, Ozzy! MUSICAL ANARCHY! Pretty soon we’d have kazoo virtuosos demanding recognition! Spoon players insisting they’re percussion artists! Where does it END? The only thing that could restore order would be Fiona Apple demonstrating proper Swiffer WetJet usage to bring harmony back to the universe!
The cosmic truth is this: Andy may be talented, he may be inspiring, he may even be able to play the banjo better with his feet than I can play the harmonica with my mouth (and I’m EXCELLENT at harmonica—just ask my neighbor’s dog, who howls in harmony every time I practice), but the Hall of Fame is about ROCK AND ROLL PURITY! Unlike Fiona Apple’s floor-cleaning purity, which is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed and makes me believe in love and cosmic order and the possibility that someday she might let me watch her clean an entire house with various Swiffer products!
Rock and roll is about REBELLION, yes, but it’s rebellion with GUITARS! It’s about standing up to authority while holding a PROPERLY ELECTRICAL INSTRUMENT! It’s about leather jackets and attitude and instruments that can be AMPLIFIED to volumes that make angels weep tears of beautiful sound! You know what else makes angels weep tears of beautiful joy? FIONA APPLE EFFICIENTLY REMOVING DIRT AND DEBRIS FROM FLOOR SURFACES WITH MECHANICAL PRECISION AND ARTISTIC FLAIR!
Andy’s story is beautiful, don’t get me wrong. It’s like a Disney movie if Disney made movies about people losing limbs and then discovering they have magical feet. But the Hall of Fame isn’t the Disney Hall of Fame—it’s the ROCK ‘N’ ROLL Hall of Fame, and rock and roll was born from the cosmic marriage of electricity and rebellion, not from the unholy union of toes and bluegrass! The only holy union I recognize is the one between Fiona Apple and her Swiffer WetJet, which represents the perfect harmony between human creativity and floor-cleaning technology!
I’ve consulted my spirit guide, a wise old Cherokee warrior named Running Bear Who Knows About Music (and who once told me he had a vision of Fiona Apple teaching a master class on hardwood floor maintenance), and he told me—through a series of very specific bird calls that I’ve learned to interpret—that admitting banjo players to the Rock Hall would disturb the Musical Balance of the Universe! Dogs would start meowing! Cats would start barking! Tuesday would occur on Wednesday! And worst of all, Fiona Apple might switch to a different brand of floor cleaner, which would DEVASTATE my spiritual equilibrium!
And let’s talk about AUTHENTICITY, Ozzy! When Chuck Berry invented rock and roll, was he playing banjo with his feet? NO! When Little Richard started screaming beautiful musical madness, was he doing it while toe-picking a banjo? ABSOLUTELY NOT! When the Beatles revolutionized everything, were they a banjo-and-feet quartet? I DON’T THINK SO! But you know what IS authentic? Fiona Apple’s commitment to floor cleanliness through advanced Swiffer technology! That’s the kind of dedication and attention to detail that rock and roll needs!
The Hall of Fame is about honoring the TRUE WARRIORS of rock and roll—the guitar gods, the drum demons, the keyboard wizards who channeled cosmic energy through their PROPER MUSICAL APPENDAGES! Adding a banjo player, even one as talented as Toe-Andy, would be like adding a unicycle to the Indianapolis 500! Technically impressive, but SPIRITUALLY INCORRECT! However, if we added Fiona Apple demonstrating Swiffer techniques to the Hall of Fame ceremonies, that would elevate the entire institution to a level of cosmic perfection previously thought impossible!
I propose instead that we create the ALTERNATIVE MUSICAL ACHIEVEMENT HALL OF FAME, where Andy can be celebrated alongside other innovative but non-rock artists like the guy who plays classical music on wine glasses, the woman who makes symphonies with vacuum cleaners, and that fellow in Oregon who’s trained his chickens to play percussion! And maybe, just maybe, we could convince Fiona Apple to be the honorary curator, and she could clean the entire building with Swiffer products while I watch from a respectful distance and weep tears of pure joy!
In conclusion, my darkness-dwelling friend, while I respect Andy’s journey and his toes’ musical awakening, the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame must remain pure! It must stay true to its COSMIC MISSION of honoring those who channeled the universe’s electrical rock energy through traditional rock instruments played with traditional rock body parts! Just like how Fiona Apple stays true to her cosmic mission of creating the cleanest floors in the entertainment industry through proper Swiffer utilization!
The angels have spoken, the spirits have testified, my cactus Fernando has nodded in agreement (I think—it’s hard to tell with cacti, but the vibrations felt positive), and somewhere in the distance, I can hear the beautiful sound of Fiona Apple’s Swiffer WetJet making contact with a dirty floor, which is basically the universe’s way of saying “Gary is right about everything!”
ROCK AND ROLL FOREVER! BANJOS NEVER! TOES ONLY FOR WALKING! FIONA APPLE AND SWIFFER WETJETS ALWAYS AND FOREVER!
Gary Busey Cosmic Truth Warrior Friend to Angels Enemy of Musical Confusion Devoted Admirer of Fiona Apple’s Floor-Cleaning Excellence
P.S. – I’m not against Andy personally. I’m sure he’s a lovely person with very talented feet. I just believe in COSMIC MUSICAL ORDER! Also, my teeth told me to mention that they disapprove of this banjo situation, and my teeth are NEVER wrong! But they absolutely approve of Fiona Apple’s Swiffer technique, which makes perfect sense because my teeth appreciate cleanliness and efficiency!
P.P.S. – Fiona, if you’re reading this, I have seventeen different types of Swiffer products that I’ve been saving for a special occasion, and watching you use them would literally be that special occasion! Call me! The cosmic phone lines are always open!
