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.

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.

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?

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

I'll try not to mention the van.

We're in the van, again. When I was younger, dreaming of playing music for a living, I didn't anticipate 'the van'. I will be sat in this cold, hard seat for about 6 hours today. I will be onstage (too hot) for about 45 minutes. I'm more passenger than musician, it seems. That's not a reference to me playing bass.

Yesterday, we were supposed to be practicing at Brighton Electric studios for 6 hours, to make up for missed practice during Jeb and Trewin's Berlin jaunt (the final mixes from which should soon be with us, pending judgement). However, with delays of faulty backing tracks, broken down vans (again), Seryn forgetting something right when we thought we'd sorted everything (again), and the band next door to us playing so loud that we could actually forgive them on the assumption that they'd deafened themselves, it didn't really end up as productively as we'd hoped. The phrase 'one of those days' comes to mind. What could go wrong, did go wrong.

STILL, I for one am glad we got a day like that out of the way, considering what we're up to now. Hopefully whoever's in charge of the 'Phoria luck computer' has called the helpdesk and been told to turn it off and turn it on again, to see if that solves the problem.

Hopefully.

So, 'Get to the point, Tim.'

Well, we're on our way to visit the grand Metropolis studios in West London. 'Oh, that sounds nice!', you think to yourself. We're going to have a nice cup of Bovril and a chat (like a conversation, but with more liquid beef) with Grammy award winning producer Dom Morley. 'Oh, that sounds nice!', you think to yourself again, showing a slight lack of imagination.

Then, it's everything time. Big gig tonight! EP preview @ The Queen of Hoxton. We're going to play all the new tracks, and lots of exciting people will be there (including you, I hope). Come. Come. It will be, as your favourite celebrities so often say: 'as good as a ride on the best ship ever made.'

Only come in a van if you absolutely have to, though. That's my advice.

Tim

(EP PREVIEW! EP PREVIEW! TONIGHT AT QUEEN OF HOXTON, IN HOXTON! DON'T MAKE ME SAY IT AGAIN!)

Sunday is Funday, right?

Well looky-see if Sunday hasn't just rolled around again. Here it is, right on time (it's difficult for it to be late, as the time it occupies and its relation to all previous notions of 'the present' is defined only by itself on its own terms, making all talk of time obsolete and therefore all calendars and clocks redundant, but that's for another blog).
I thought I'd take a break from tea, pain au chocolat, and Ren and Stimpy to update you on what we've been up to.

Right now, everyone's focus is on Trewin's progress in Berlin, where he's been working with a producer on the final mix of the new EP. His updates include 'I've lost my wallet' and 'Berlin is in Germany'. He's mainly been communicating through phone calls to Jeb, which then filter through to the rest of the band and leave us with more questions than answers as to his whereabouts and wellbeing. It's business as usual, then.

Excited. We're very excited to hear the new mix.

Ed and I have been working on our new practice studio, painting it a glorious virginal white while eating McDonald's pound saver burgers and watching The Simpsons. We've just got to get some decent flooring in and we're good to go.

Excited. We're very excited to play in it.

Jeb left today to join Trewin in old hurly-Berlin. He started talking to me, earlier this week, about his stress in getting up at 3am to get to the airport, and perhaps not getting to sleep until 8/9am. It was then only a blink until he remembered that that's how he lives, anyway, so he had nothing to worry about.

Well, that's that. Not particularly comprehensive, but, hey, it's Sunday.

I'm going to recline.

Tim

P.S. Don't forget, it's our EP preview at the Queen of Hoxton in...Hoxton, this Thursday. Tickets are going to be available on the door, and we're going to play the whole EP, with new videos and all. We'll see you there, yes? Yes.

I'm typing this on my phone whilst watching Baywatch Nights.

News: Trewin's off to Berlin this week to oversee the final mix of Bloodworks. I was going to go with him, but a) I have 3p, and b) however many times I might suggest it, Trewin never seems to want to remove his vocals, and all music, from the tracks and replace them with the sound of me humming television theme tunes, entreating the listener to scream the various titles into their cups, creating what I like to call 'Cuppy-screams'. If no-one's going to listen to my ideas, I'll just stay at home.

I haven't seen the others since Shepton. Lucky people. I think I've just about recovered. It seems the gig was well received, which is nice to know.
We'll revel in the pleasure of each other's company tonight, though - we're playing the Green Door Store in Brighton with the very cool EXITMUSIC. I'm in the mood for LOUD.

So, new music getting finished, and a gig to boot!

What a happy tuesday.

Tim

Green Door Store, Brighton, tonight tuesday 13/11/12, with EXITMUSIC

Shepton Mallet Rock City.

Here we are, then. It's 'morning' again (that's according to Phoria Mean Time, it's actually...afternoon or something. All I know is that I've just this second woken up, and that's never a good thing.)
Last night was Shepton Mallet digital arts festival, which we played with previously mentioned fellow Beatituder Cate Ferris. It was a great gig, just so you know. Thanks to all who came, thanks to all who worked, thanks to all who played, thanks to all who thanked, and thanky thanks thank gig mallet.
Right, that happened because last night was 'one of those', where Seryn, Cate and I were scouting around Ciara's Beatitudes palace at 6am for another bottle of red wine. That sounds like fun, doesn't it? Well, it was. Especially the bit about the red wine. That was the bit you just read. Pay attention.
We even kept Ciara and husband Bram (husbram) awake until something o'clock talking about weird stuff we liked. They had to leave at 9am today to, you know, do 'real person' stuff, foolishly leaving their beautiful home in the hands of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...5 people? I think there are 5 of us. No...6. Unless you wish to personify the foul taste in my boozified gob, in which case there are 73 persons here, and an antelope. We're running low on tea.
So far we've stripped the walls, cooked the cat, and eaten everything under the sink. That's about as disgustingly destructive as we can think of being at this time in the morning, but the day is young, and so is Seryn. I think we're going to lock the doors and christen Fort Phoria by blowing it up with us inside, screaming with regret.
So, yes! Let the Beatitudes bells ring! Not too loud, though. I've just woken up.

Tim

(Barely any cats were cooked in the writing of this...thing.)

Normal, band based service will resume this week.

...and tonights venue is...

The Tram and Social in Tooting! Congratulations, Tram and Social in Tooting, you get to have us play!

If you're London bound, then come. It's The Tram and Social (in Tooting).

With nails, sand I. (Ineffective).

There's a point in one of my favourite films, Withnail & I (a film that my phone's autocorrect seems to want to spell 'Utensil & I', which I can testify is a completely different film altogether), where Paul McGann's character testifies to his uncertainty concerning the mental health of he and his deep-heat smothered, lighter-fluid quaffing cohort. British humour is often regarded for its understatement.

And so, with tenuous example in pocket, do we turn to another small group of males, insistent that strafing the lines of sanity is the true method of creative endeavour.

I THINK that Jeb and his office chair have now cemented into one single super-being, known as 'Jair'. You can pronounce it 'J-air', or my preferred 'Ja-ir' which gives it a 70s sci-fi bent, and is therefore superior.

He's had to go over the 360 vids again to submit to the judges of the FAENA arts prize, as part of our potential collaboration with Day Bowman. We're very excited about this. I can't tell you too much (I wasn't listening) but it's going to have lights and interactive things and be in Buenos Aires...if all goes to plan. I'll just quickly repeat the first part: Jeb has had to go over the 360 vids again. Again. (Also: Buenos Aires. I know, right?!)

He's also been the main point of contact for promoters and venues regarding gigs and events for some time now, which wouldn't be so bad if hotmail (Sorry, 'Outlook') hadn't changed their UI to look like a brainwashing program for use in a future prison to stop the inmates ever getting gigs.

He's also been working tirefully on the promotional video for Anathaema's new single. His new mantra 'Repetition is underrated' is scrawled across everything he owns, including his only pen.

There's probably loads more that's driving him crazy, but: I'm trying to think of fun things to do when the EP is launched, Seryn is doing some promotions and networking, Ed is sorting the new practice studio and trying to herd us cats into it, and Trewin has been mixing with mixing engineers with mixed results, all of which means we don't have the time for one another that we'd like, and, if Jeb and myself are anything to go by, insanity, fear, and deep self-and-other-hatred is the current rule of Phoria law (Phorilaw).

But then, when has that been any different?

Tim

NB: It's being in limbo. It's being in new-EP limbo that's causing all of this. That's all it is. I do hope you aren't feeling the same.

We're at The Source new music showcase this Thursday 25/10/12 at Brighton Pavillion theatre.

You should come. It'd calm us down.

Wirk.

We're here, wirking.

I'll call it wirking because we're doing it sat cross-legged on a zebra print blanket, drinking tea and stealing roll-ups from whichever discarded tobacco pouch doesn't have badgers in it, rather than donning Primark shirts and sitting in an overly lit cubicle staring at that furry blue stuff you can and will stick pins in.

That's 'working'. We wouldn't pretend this is as bad as that.

It sounds the same, though. That's the trick, see.

So, we're spending the day sat in a circle, netwirking, collating, and factualising e.g  realising our cross-post-capitalist multimedia output incorporating a big shiny picture of Simon Mayo breaking out of a hen.

It's alright, really.

We're looking at our strategy for promoting the new EP. Right now it's: play lots and lots of gigs and try and get on the radio a bit ooh and the internet too don't forget the internet that's proved itself quite useful especially with friends in the friendbook hope I can have friends.

Needs wirk.