'Do you farm corn?' 'Wheat.' 'OK, I've got time.'

What is it? Wednesday?

There are a myriad of reasons why one would not know what day it is. In the interest of 'selling the dream' I'll let you make up your own. Is it the result of a five day rock and roll drink and drugs bender? Is it the result of my staying up until 7am every day trying to get rid of all this candy floss? Have I reverted to the ancient Shankhandian calendar where every day is 'Cruelty day'?

As I say, in the interest of our lives acting as a conduit for you to fulfil your own fantasies, I'll let you make your own mind up.

The weekend that's just gone was the temporal site of the first festival of the summer! Woohoo!

At an unspecifiable part of the trip up to Cheltenham I thought we'd entered a trans-dimensional state of suspended animation, as while I could clearly see the world and its myriad of green horrors whirling by outside of the van, inside of the van, the speedometer suddenly read '0mph'. 0mph?

'Uh-oh.' said Trewin.

On viewing that, then, we just had to pull off.

What a great mood I'm in today.

Not only were there electronics problems, but we knew that the starter motor was having issues, too. This meant that we had to drive around a little off-motorway village at 0mph (which is difficult at the best of times) looking not only for a good pace to stop, but somewhere hilly enough that we could bump-start the van should it fail.

'Hi? Yes, we're running a little late...'

Luckily we found a lovely little roady inlet, all lined with trees with big thick trunks and nice grass; all peaceful like, to stop and wait and hope for the AA man.

We played guitar, laughed at our own bodily functions (an underused technique for any motivational speakers out there) and Jeb and Seryn went for a two-hour walk to the nearest place they could get food. The AA man (I forget his name, but it may have been 'Heltaaaaaaaaaaaaarn') was a very nice man indeed. He even took the piss out of Trewin, which not many of us get to do. It was like when a guest speaker comes into class and makes a slightly snarky comment to the teacher to get you kids onside. Except it was over a van. We weren't in school. We were outside. I've been over this.

Fixed.

Late.

'Can we still make it?'

Of course.

Turn up late, but the awesome people still put us on, straight away. We rushed them, but they all pulled together and put us on really well. The staff at Wychwood Festival, I have to say, were awesome. Thanks, everyone.

Although the bar staff didn't take much of a liking to me. I ended up sitting outside with them at about 1am, having danced like a loon at the silent disco with the others until 'Come on Eileen' came on and I thought I'd rather have an axe in the eye than listen to that like an irony soaked bank-holiday-celebrating fun-time fuck. Simon Pegg has already covered this attitude concerning The Timewarp. That's my feeling.

So I sat outside with the bar staff who were on a break, feeling like one of the rich people on the Titanic going down to mingle with 'the hands', but sinking even faster as my state of mind made me think it would be funny to make them hate me. I get this feeling a lot, but... Well, there is no but. I get amused by it. I was alone.

Then I went to sleep across the gapped seats of a van that smelt like Vince Cable's voice.

I'm writing in a fit of energy and updatedyness. Maybe it's the onset of summer, maybe it's because I've got other stuff to be doing and my subconscious is telling me to do anything but that, or maybe it's because I love you all – every single one of you – and just want to impress you.

Or make you hate me.

Look, we've got two shows coming up for the launch of Display. One in London and one in Brighton. Click on them. Buy tickets. We're musicians.

I think.

Stay safe and be well, and don't shout too loud at PMQs.

Tim

Three little gigs.

What a couple of days/weeks this has been.

I’m typing this on a half melted, half absent set of keys on my hardy little laptop. My lady and I (absent) had a relatively minor fire in our flat two days ago. Two days ago while the band were stranded just off the A2 in London, our van Binky having broken down about 20 mins from the The Old Blue Last where we were scheduled to play for some very interesting people. Half of the keys on my keyboard are gone, so in an act of poverty driven defiance I’m typing directly onto the little rubber buttons that usually rest unseen behind the wall of helpful Roman characters. I don’t recommend this technique. I will now call it ‘Xtreme touch typing’.

As the fire spread, licking the Terminator and Metal Gear Solid posters and other ephemera that line the wall of ‘Tim’s corner’, my heroic little bundle of sense exhibited the attitude that got everyone through the last few days – sort the guitars first, and everything else can be sorted later. I smiled with relief (after asking after her wellbeing, of course. Of course. Ahem.) as she recounted her tale of leaping over the bed like a kangaroo to save my precious Rihanna and Betty (a relic-ed US Stratocaster and baby blue telecaster, respectively) from Satan’s faulty-hairdryer-fuelled clutches. They are safe and warm [sic], and thanks to my constant drilling of my girlfriend [sic] in the most dangerous and irresponsible ways of tackling large fires on your own, my precious collections of dangerously graphic ‘art’ films and hate letters to Michael Gove remain unscathed. Please show your love to her under the codename ‘Fire-officer Grimsby’, should you so wish.

Meanwhile, as she was pansying around with that shit, Phoria had three gigs in three days, four days after our return from eleven days on the road through Europe. That’s a total of three hundred million days.

Thanks to all who came to all. Your support is so incredible and we really appreciate it. It’s so nice to do what you do through all the stresses and worries and waiting three hours for the recovery services and flagging down amazing strangers in vans who take you to the venue in exchange for a modest fee and people you met in Croatia who come to the gig and take you in and buy you beers because you have nowhere else to stay, and at the end of it all see a new bunch of smiling strangers who so kindly express their enjoyment of what you’ve just smashed out through a suffocating sweat onstage. The promoters, also, showed a great deal of patience in dealing with us and our Laurel and Hardy ways.

So it has to be said that the day is done for me. All the band have earned a day of rest. Ed’s going on holiday, so the focus for now is on the new EP, which is taking shape for release this year. That’s right. Bloodworks was our nemesis for a while. A slow, cold war. This one’s going to be slick and easy. The songs have been brewing for a long time anyway – now all we have to do is pour the tea (tea being a metaphor for the songs) and wait for you to spill it all over yourselves in bed because your partner didn’t realise you had a hot drink in your hand and moved around really violently to improve their view of Ainsley Harriot’s Go-kart Meringue Vol. VII.

So yes, a new EP. Gigs. More stories from Croatia, once I’ve sorted a new keyboard.

I’m going to watch Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure and eat chicken nuggets.

For now, have fun, and remember: sort the guitars first, and all else shall follow.

Tim

P.S. Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.

Like Hesse without the beads.

The five young men were hurled from the city gates, their flimsy shoes skipping against hard dust..

'We'll resist you!' said the gatekeeper, as he threw the smallest one to the ground.
'We'll resist you!' said the tallest one, lamely.
'That doesn't make any sense.'
'You don't make any sense.'
'Hem. Hem Hem.'

And with that, the large wooden gate of the walled city was closed; the twin living thickets booming against one another like a warning shot.

The five looked at one another.
'What are we doing here?' asked Jeb
'Tim's being clever.' said Ed, 'he can't find it in himself to outright describe how the band is going at the moment, so he's writing a kind of story to explain what's going on. He's being silly and slowly disappearing, rather than just doing something that he won't enjoy and just boring everyone.'
'Yeah.' said Seryn.

The five stumbled to their feet.
'Thanks for noticing.' said Tim, 'I hate when I have to explain everything.'
'I hate you.' said Jeb.

Ed approached the walls of the city, probing the crooked stone with his fingers.
'What does this represent, then?' he asked.

'That's me!' beamed Seryn, 'Tim's saying that I'm a massive wall. Right, Tim?'
'I'm afraid not,' Tim replied, 'the wall is a barrier. Inside that wall is worldwide success, stardom, and all the Shreddies you can eat.'
'Coco Shreddies?'
'All the Shreddies of the rainbow.'
Trewin choked on the dusty atmosphere.
'But we're out here?'
'Yes, I know - that's the point. We're out here. It's tricky right now, trying to sort Europe dates and stuff, trying to get UK dates - not being able to actually gig at the moment doesn't help when you're trying to book shows. We're trying to get new stuff recorded, we're trying to sort out our merch, and we keep coming up against obstacles! It's not anyone's fault, but we can't pretend we enjoy being thrown out of metaphorical doors by big burly geezers, can we?'
The five nodded, solemnly.
'He looked like Justin Beiber.' said Jeb.

The five took time to look about them - to see that without the walls of success surrounding them they were still free to venture wherever they wished. They stayed put, mainly. Sat around, jamming. There was no life outside the city walls. It was filled with office jobs and standing on street corners holding signs advertising hot dogs this way.

'I need a glass of water.' said Trewin.

'Seek Merlot.' said a great thundering voice from above. The five retook their balance, staring at the sky; shocked.
'Pardon?' screamed Ed.
'I have booked you an appointment with the great Merlot this Wednesday. You should go - he'll sort it right out. Then you can get on with your lives and hopefully get in the walled city of success through the gates you were just kicked out of, which is what put you into the situation you're now in, if you weren't aware.'

'Yeah.' said Seryn, 'Basic causality!' before becoming the same character he was at the start of the story.

And so, under keen instruction, our intrepid idiots set off in search of the great Merlot.

...and who knows where the road will take them? 

To the Doctor's. It'll take them to some specialist Doctor or other. And to a band meeting today, where we're gonna get everything planned and sorted and get this show back on the hot-damn road for real. One subject to be discussed: timetabling of new EP.



Next week: A biography of Prince written by describing a BBC period drama reflected off a midwife's eyeball.

I'm getting marred in the morning.

I'm not quite sure where I can start, what I can and cannot say, who I can and cannot implicate, and how on earth I'm going to make this record of a simple chain of events at all readable given my current state of mind.

On Friday evening we left Brighton for Salisbury. Salisbury being nothing more than a stopping off point for the next day's event: a very secret w*dding at a very s*cret location. Jeb had to be there first thing in the morning, acting as resident film-maker. I'm looking forward to the 360 degree epic that comes out of that computer in six months - get to work, Jeb. Again.

Friday, then, was filled with generous parental supervision, casual chats, a grandmother (not Ed) and not enough sleep.

Saturday morning; we hear that Jeb (having been on a different schedule to the rest of us) successfully screwed up his mission of 'waking up on time' and/or 'picking a tie'. We hear this from Ed as he bounds into the back of the van (shortly before finding the door and getting in), looking annoyingly fresh-faced and 'awake'. I am slumped in the corner at this point, instant coffee scouring the inside of my arteries, and a townified dread of spending the next 24-hours in a shit capped field forcing my features down towards the glorious, life affirming tarmac that streams past beneath us.

'Where are we going?'
'...erm.'

Somehow Ed had memorised a set of directions through unknown territory, in a part of the world, beautiful as it may be, where green fields are all. Turn left at the green field, and there should be a green field on your right. Go past the green field until you get to a green field... Where are my industrial estates and gastrocombustible drive-thrus? Where are my screeching Vauxhall Corsas and blackened brick walls that haven't been touched since 1994? No, this is not home. Here there is sunshine, clear blue skies, and grass everywhere. Don't even get me started on the weird patchy brown things in the fields. They look like they have eyes. And legs. Get me a billboard, some over-priced coffee and some gobby knob to bump into, for I cannot cope out here in the wilderness...

Eventually, with Trewin expertly working the steering wheel of the van I had adorned with a rip-roaringly clever and hilarious swear-word (those masking-tape calligraphy classes clearly weren't a complete waste of money) we pulled in to some indistinguishable field or other and strolled, in jeans, t-shirts, and whatever, into the middle of a w*dding that had to be kept secret. Imagine what that w*dding is like. Yeah. We turned up. Strutting in like a more cocksure tribute to Quinlanck Tarentino.

We were all set-up by 3pm. We were scheduled to play at 8. As we weren't guests, we spent our time in the van. We went to Winchester, and had a picnic in the Tesco's car park. We went into the nearby village, and bought some beers once we realised we were bored of sitting in the van without beers. We sat, we laughed at Ed cleaning an innocent but unfortunately located stain off his trousers, and we realised that if you were going to put an 'Elmon' away, you'd put it in an 'Elmon Cupboard'. We hadn't really started drinking at this point, but fatigue can lead to the worst creative and spiritual decisions of all time.

It is partly to blame for the aimless nature of this account.

So: we played. We played well. The kids liked us. We're not your typical wedding band, but then this wasn't quite a typical wedding. Someone flew their chopper in, so to speak, and I was told there were papa-papa-paparazzi knocking about at the ceremony. Jeb apparently had to muscle in to get the essential shots. You go, Jeb. Later, when people started to leave, we felt safe to enter the wedding area itself and start a party. I don't really recall an awful lot of what happened next, as I accidentally...well, you can guess. I recall winding someone in a suit up to the point of red-facedness, I recall trying to play the blues at 2am with frankly uncontrollable fingers, I remember Seryn and I hijacking the disco, lying in the middle of the dancefloor with Radiohead blasting out and over us. That may have been the highlight, for me.

Morning, then, and it seems to me that Trewin has decided to drive the van around in circles and start altering reality so each individual object has a distinct and moving double of itself around three centimetres to its left. Two days of 'sleeping' on floors or chairs, and I am battered, bruised, and, frankly, still battered. Oh no, not the rumbling diesel engine. Oh no, not harsh sunlight through the new windows, straight into my eyes, hot dusty air prickling my airways...

A stop off at some motorway 'nutri-hut express' or whatever they want to call themselves, and I order some of the worst food I've ever had in my life. It was just a bread starter - the Warm Bread Trio (which sounds like a South-West jazz band made up of men with white beards and wet breath) - so I didn't expect much, but it was still massively disappointing. The 'Olive oil with balsamic vinegar' looked like something that had oozed from a wound, and the bread was simultaneously soggy yet stale. Boo. Still, my bandmates took pity on me, rather than see fit to wind me up, which was nice.

So, back in the van. I slept. Good lord did I sleep. Then I came home, and slept some more.

So now here I am, writing this almost out of a sense of obligation given an eventful weekend. I'm free from all substances but the essential caffeine, which means the animated thing I live with is going to have to put up with a puffy faced, grumpy old man for however long it takes my brain to get its act into gear and realise that nicotine, alcohol, and whatever else are not native members of its community.

Never mind marriage; that's love.

Tim

Perhaps I shouldn't sneak into bars to swill the remnants of unattended glasses.

How did I pick this up?

Trewin succumbs to el voco destructo for several weeks. Result: cancelled gigs aplenty, absence from practices, a physically more calming and sedate existence - despite the new intellectual and logistical challenges faced by a band without a singer.

Then we start gigging again, albeit with a precautionary reduced set and only songs that are gentle on Trewin's pipes.

So, as soon as we start having to spend hours on end in the back of the van, waiting around, and then (urgh, the absolute worst bit) getting onstage to play our music to hordes of screaming, adoring fans and obsessives - at this point I myself get struck down, yet again, with the dreaded lurgy. I'm old enough to know that complaining over and over about 'habing a kowd' is bad and perhaps betrays something of a lack of character, but I'm also old enough to know that I'm just about young enough to get away with it for another six months. Perhaps. I don't know. The main thing is that the more I complain, the more my girlfriend brings me big steaming glasses of green tea with a sympathetic smile on her face. More of that, please. And more bowls of Cookelyko Poppins with milk MAKE THE MILK ALL CHOCOLATEY

So, what I'm most looking forward to today is heading up to old Lonny-loo-loo (in the back of the van. It'll be too hot, I know it) to play Crack in the Road #002. Here's an interview that came out today. Should be a good concertium, provided I don't leak snot all over the audience while playing the end of Posture. Maybe I can pass it off as one of those Ibiza-style foam parties. Yeah.

See you there?

Tim

Everything's all white.

First of all - apologies for my recent outburst of enthusiasm re: that rubbish white stuff that's been falling on our roads and roofs all week. It was unprofessional, ill considered, and am told provoked smiles in some parts of the UK. This has never been my intention.

As punishment, I'm in Ed's basement flat on the other side of Brighton, stealing a little heat from his tiny halogen heater and emailing lots and lots of lovely friendly people who are definitely going to give us gigs, right? Right? I mean, I'm not just here with frozen fingertips and a cold cup of tea, sneezing from some feather pillow Ed's got stuffed behind some wall cavity (I've scoured the entire flat for every alternative) for nothing, am I? Am I? No? No. (Yes). No. I've watched Wayne's World 2 enough times to know that gigs can be organised by even the most cloth-headed of bumbling long-hairs using the power of: magic. So all I have to do now is just use magic.

The band have been sending messages back and forth to each other all morning about ABBEY ROAD tomorrow. All I can say is that I haven't been this excited since I realised I could use magic to book gigs, and that was about 14 seconds ago, so you can imagine how excited I was then, and am now, and will continue to be, forever. It's so damn cool that we're heading up there to put the polish on our first single Red. Trewin in particular has worked harder than a student's kettle on recording and mixing this thing and it's going to be great to get it finished at one of the most renowned studios in the world, then release it through Akira Records this year.

A couple of interesting newsy and clicky and fun things will be coming your way very soon, but not yet (hence 'soon') so I'll just whet your voracious appetites with this very sentence. Look back over it should you wish to read it again.

Don't forget, you can catch us this Saturday 26/1/13 at The Prince Albert as part of One Inch Badge's Sea Monsters festival. We'll be playing alongside The Physics House Band and Ed Prosek. Here's the compilation album, of which we're proud to be a part.

Life is one long stream of fun.

Tim

Better than Tim's

Konnichiwa Everyone.

Finally I've figured out how to use "blogger", I'm sure all of you have been waiting patiently while reading Tim's absolute useless and pointless blogs. No need for that anymore because your favourite Phoria member Seryn is here and I'm going to write about my fascinating life, that's full of excitements and laughs. You HAVE to enjoy this! If now you'd still have to recommend it to all of your pals and gals. In this 1st post, I will be taking you through my favourite food and music that I'm enjoying at the moment.

Before we go into that topic, there are few rules that you need to follow when you are reading my posts.

* No "diss" comments on my posts about my poor grammars or spellings as Japanese is my mother      tongue so just get over it.

*No rasists comments.



Right, so my favourite food at the moment is this 50p noodle. Filled with filthy powder and 20 years old plastic vegetables....... but it tastes bloody good.

My favourite song at the moment is "Norway" by Beach House. Very haunting sound but manage to keep it beautiful. Awsome band! We would love to support you guys! *Wink *Wink    >_<

Sayounara


Sez  xx

"Red light's on"

Warm greetings on this sunny spring afternoon! Welcome to Phoria's first blog - here you will be able to discover all sorts of things; what we're up to, what we have lined up and just generally what makes us all tick.

I start with news of recording. It is happening as I write - Trewin is hard at work editing and mixing.

It's been a tricky process and there's still a way to go but we have decided on a track listing and have completed recording the core instrumental parts.

Seryn on the kit

Tim looking rather concerned...sorry, concentrating.

Myself looking rather cheesy (I am a keyboardist).

Lots more to do but we are all totally psyched and raring for it after some very exciting news, more about that later...

Ed x