To be sure, I have been asked many, many times to tell and then re-tell the story behind all of this. Unfortunately, brow-beating being what it sometimes is, there have been several stories invented regarding the origin of the shop.

While some parts of these stories do have bits of truth, none of this has anything to do with oiled, painted, patent-leather clad dancers. This is the real story.

It was fairly recently that upon visiting Ireland during a very well-attended music festival, a friend and myself found ourselves at the mercy of street vendors for food. While we were reclining against the wall enjoying our freedom fries, a street battle broke out between rival football (that means soccer to some) jersey wearing "punters". Unfortunately, following a fiery insult regarding my beloved Longhorns not really being a "footy" team, I entered the fray, only to be beaten to the ground by the garda. When I awoke in the local jail, the taunting continued, only this time in gaelic. My gaelic, you see, is about as good as my urdu, and the only word I could make out in between the throbbing in my skull was the word "Metloef".

And so, since my head throbbed for 3 solid days, and since this is the only gaelic word I know, rhythm and Metloef became one. So you might say that all of this came from a billy club and Irish prison slang.

Nowadays, Metloef is also synonymous with a drum building outfit in Belgium, of all places, where I have been living since leaving my beloved home to seek my fame and fortune (and having a lot of neither!). These days, drum making is split about 50-50 between Rob and his lovely wife Steffi, with quality control under the careful supervision of the Deutschsprache Gemeinschaft. Rest assured, we can work the problem.