We've been approaching this whole 'band/music/artist' thing with a slightly more relaxed attitude on the toe-scraping lurch up to Christmas. What with all the toing and froing over the EP for the past 12 months (which has, hopefully, been resolved once and for all (again) with our being booked in at the prestigious Abbey Road: end of January), big gig stresses, failures/successes, and a persistent and thankful sense of impending doom provided by the absolute truth of the definitely oncoming apocalypse (six days, Mayan fact fans); we think we are allowed to...not slack, but wind it down just a touch before our cold, soup rationing, teabag re-using lifestyle gets the better of us. That's not a lament, by the way, but just a little flag above our musical parapet saying that we, too, can be heard in that collective, countrywide sigh of relief, however slight, that seems to be accompanying the forthcoming break, however frugal.
So, that's the mood.
That's the mood that has allowed me to spend this morning under a blanket, sat in my tatty office chair, listening to the album Seven days of falling by the Esbjorn Svensson Trio, which might be one of the best Saturday morning albums ever.
The band are still getting together today, though. Would it ruin any kind of surprise to say that we're spending the day making puppets of each of us? I figure I'll just put that fact out there and let you stew on what we might be doing with them. If you guessed that these horrifying machinations will end up being nothing more than tools for me to act out my meglomaniacal fantasies, then you're at least much more astute than any other member of the band and perhaps you'd like to discuss your ideas over dinner.
So yes, today is arts and crafts day. This is the type of chilling out we do, apparently. Look out for the Phoria sewing circle, and its separate blog: Detaching Seryn from the curtains.
To anyone doing their Christmas shopping today: good luck. Brighton, at least, seems to be a Pamplona of iPads and posh socks.
To anyone spending this dark, cold December Saturday safely indoors, preferably gathered with friends around a steaming kettle, softening the air in whichever way: I salute you. Or, at least, I raise my hand a bit. As much as I can be bothered.
Tim
P.S. We're at Macbeth's in Hoxton this Tuesday night. I'm quite sure our stage time is 8pm, but we'll keep you updated. It's our last scheduled show of the year, so if you're nearby, or know anyone nearby, or are reading this, or are alive, then come down and celebrate the passing of another year and our collective, inevitable slide towards the grave. It'll be fun?
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