Monday 24 December 2012

Simply having an adequate Chr*stmas time.

Well, Chr*stmas sure took a walking jump, didn't it?

I remember it being the beginning of December, having plenty of time to sort stuff out (enough time, in fact, to indulge in my favourite past-time of 'not sorting stuff out'), when suddenly A WILD CHR*STMAS APPEARS and after hours of browsing I'm forced to batter my brain into believing that yes, Dad will want a Top Gear pilot light maintenance set as a symbol of his son's love. The way it works is that, if the pilot light goes out, a plastic representation of Jeremy Clarkson spouts something vaguely inflammatory in a clearly calculated attempt to attract as much attention as possible.

In Phoria news, there's little to tell but plans being laid: get to Abbey Road at the end of January, release soon after that, have a little tour, then look forward to new material. Those are our goals. We've been banging on for ages about releasing this stuff, and we're all so glad that it's finally getting there and that there are dates and bookings and words and pictures surrounding it. Every time Trewin plays me a freshly tweaked version of the songs, they sound better and better. We are counting down the caesium oscillations.

The year is ending, isn't it? Soon enough.

While I'm here, with a laptop and a piece of broadband rather than a little wax tablet and a strand of cooked spaghetti that I imagine to be a telephone wire, I'm going to share two songs from two albums released this year that I loved. How lucky we/you are to live in such an age. It's always a little awkward when people share stuff in this way, but, hey, it's Chr*stmas. Don't want my gifts? Go and put a mince pie in you or something. Go on. 

First: A band pointed out by Jeb on the Phoria facebook page a little while ago, and who we managed to catch when they came by to Brighton. I cannot stop listening to this album. It sounds like retro-futurism from the future.
This is Belispeak, from the album Shrines by Purity Ring:

Ahhh.

I think the whole band (read: world) agrees on that choice.

Second: A band that I was very disappointed to hear are now on 'indefinite hiatus', which means a forthcoming plethora of 'unreleased material' and a comeback tour in ten years at £80 a ticket. Jeb and I also managed to catch these guys live on what turned out to be their last tour. Oh, how we get around.


Nothing says Chr*stmas like a dense slice of psychedelic prog rock, right?

[Note to self: warn people of scary speaker smashage before they get to playing the videos]

I hope you've got all your presents bought and wrapped, and are sitting in your favourite armchair sipping something poisonous and flicking idly through the Radio Times. Or maybe hanging out with friends and family, if you're into that whole 'social' thing.

Everybody keep warm, keep dry, and keep happy. We need you.

Merry Christmas, or whatever.

Tim

PS. If you want to buy us something, or are flushing £50 notes down the toilet in tribute to Rod Stewart's publicist, why not donate to Shelter instead.

Tuesday 18 December 2012

Phoria! Tonight! Live! Sold out! Cancelled!

It's never nice to cancel a gig, especially on the day of the gig itself.
I was all worked up for tonight. I'd had a shower and everything, I'd trimmed my beard, furchrissakes, and I'd even arranged my clothes (CLEAN CLOTHES), neatly, at the end of my bed, as a caring parent would do, so as to facilitate a full sense of occasion.
I know that Ed had baked a special cake, Jeb had, through bloodied tears, crafted a tributory wood carving, and Seryn had put together a special outfit just for the occasion which, he told me, was based on a rumoured ancient Atlantian ceremonial loin cloth.

All of this effort...all for what?

We're truly sorry to have let you down, especially if you bought tickets just to see us. We'll be in London again soon, and we'll be sure to give you a special wink and a smile.

Saturday 15 December 2012

Christmas is coming, the tunes are getting phat.

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?

Monday 3 December 2012

Downbeat. Upbeat.

Right, well...

It's now the Monday after the Friday after the night before.

We got home at about 5am last Friday morning after our EP preview at The Queen of Hoxton. This late arrival was the result of a long drive involving three failed sat-navs, Seryn needing to be dropped off near a shepherd's bush, our nearly running out of fuel, and numerous diversions leading to the seventh circle of the M25. Ed and I were the only ones awake as we approached Brighton, keeping each other perked up by telling detailed stories, usually of an explicitly romantic nature, of time spent in the company of various renowned tyrants. Result of: 22 waking hours.

And all that (diversions, lies) after the big gig itself.

If you came, thank you. Oh, and we're sorry about that massive technical hitch that left us stranded onstage without a synthesiser, and without hope, for what in reality was about ten minutes, but what, onstage, in the reflected glare of bright lights in hopeful eyes, felt like about seven hours. If you didn't come, there's a brief explaination of the massive technical hitch in the sentence preceding this one. You missed out on a peek behind our IKEA scenery. Pay no attention to the frantic sound engineer behind the curtain. I like to think of it as a John Cage-like experiment in anti-music, but incorporating the progressive-jazz spirit of entirely unintended improvisation. That's how I like to think of it.

Still, we previewed the EP, and, even if, briefly, it was a preview of what it would sound like if you tried to play it through a shoelace, I liked it.

Away from all of that, away from the horrors of mass transit systems and sickening software slip-ups, away from broken down vans and this little itchy patch of skin in the groove beside my achilles tendon, away from thinking about the war-mongering alien species living in the centre of the sun, who have so far missed our planet with their gravity slingshots of solid rock and gas giants but who will, inevitably, be named our great overlords, forcing us to bow down and kiss the slimy robe of God-saint Tencatu, famed as Prime-master, merciless slayer of the weak; away from that...

/There was a bit of good news here, which I have now edited out as it might not be happening. Good. Good. Let's move on./

/This blog is now empty of positivity./

Enjoy your panicky christmas shopping, everyone! I don't know what to get for anyone, either.

Except Ed.

Tim

Achieve.

All milky and lava-lamp-ish the street-lights reflecting on my big red car bonnet as I curl it round at night all sound and echoing engine...