"Murray... when that woman screamed and told us to take our clothes off, and we played soccer naked, was that La Vida Loca?" - Jian Ghomeshi

Who is this guy? An adequate explanation is given on the band's fan-run website:

Murray Foster, sometimes dubbed Mur or the Mur-man, is the master of the low end. He'll occasionally take on the guitar or percussion, but he's far more likely to be playing bass, and it's his rich bass voice rounding out the vocal harmonies. He brings up the pack, age-wise, with his birthday on June 29. Given to the pithy comment and the wry chuckle, Murray often seems somewhat like a stabilizing factor when Früvous' antics and impromptu jams drift a bit far from the set list. In fact, you might think of Murray as the anchor of the group--at least, until he throws his bass in the air.

Fortunately, however, I'm not one for mere adequacy. No, indeed. For, you see, there is a movement afoot, as any of Murray's People will attest to. What this movement stands for has yet to be discovered, but, suffice it to say, it will be pretty kick-ass once it's been decided.

  A diagram of Stage Murray. Mad props and shout-outs to Katrin ("Kat") Luessenheide Salyers, who created it. Click on it and it gets bigger.  
How can you spot Murray's People? One simple way to distinguish them from others in the wild is to attend a Moxy Früvous show and keep an eye out for anyone seated or standing towards the leftmost side of the stage. The lovely stick-figure diagram to the left gives a pictoral representation of "Stage Murray", so named because this is where Murray spends about 95% of the time at any given show. Be forewarned, however: not everyone situated Stage Murray is a Murray's People person. Though you probably won't be attacked for blithely assuming someone is when they're not, you may get looked at funny. Perhaps.

Another observation of Murray's People, from an as-yet unaffiliated source and in reference to a Früvous show in Albany in 1998:

The running joke/improv of the night was "Murray's People," referring to the L-shape of the club around the stage where the bassist (Murray) had his own almost-separate crowd, who competed with "Not Murray's People," who took up almost all the rest of the crowd. Then there were the sad "Nobody's People," sung in a depressing "Eleanor Rigby" mood, who were sandwiched between the two.

Photo Credit (top): Paul Mischler

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