We're currently sat in Hoxton Bar & Kitchen which is based, surprisingly, in that savvy part of London known as Hoxton. Hoxton Square, to be more Hoxtonly precise.
We're huddled around a table looking forward to the gig, but I'm mostly looking forward to everyone throwing their lattés down their trousers and desisting in their reference to that fact that I am currently, as they put it, 'blogging'. That word sounds horrible being shouted loudly in a 'trendy' bar. It sounds horrible being used in any situation ever.
So, I'm going to stop doing it now, and only bid you a good night and suggest that, if you're local and free, you come down here to join us for a drink and a gig.
Oh, you're busy? Well...maybe next time? No. No, I understand. I guess I'll see you around, then.
Restraining order? Oh.
Tim
P.S. Onstage at 2130ish. Do come down, if the courts allow it.
There's not a lot to tell, in truth, except that The Snot has got me. And Seryn. Though I suspect that little drummer boy is just copying me. If the Kickstarter campaign spreads as efficiently as this, we'll end up restabilising the economy. That's right. Satirical bloggy.
SeaMonsters last Saturday was a grand auld laugh I don't mind saying. Hotter than our Kickstarter campaign (piping hot like some hot water! YOWZER!) and full to the brim (like a hot pan! CHUNGLIES!) with delightful people. All the bands were great, though I'm disappointed to have ended up missing The Physics House Band, as the jelly filled body from which I'm currently suffering kicked in and, instead of having a rocking good prog-out, I went and sat in Brighton station with that girl who keeps hanging around my house just so I'd have somewhere quiet to practically collapse (unlike our Kickstarter campaign, which is far from collapsing. Unless you use the phrase collapsingly good, in which case it is that). I have a particular fondness for train stations. Does anyone else have a particular fondness for train stations? I can't tell if it's a result of a childhood weened on Thomas the Tank Engine or my affinity for suspicious business practices.
So, 8th April has been confirmed as the release date for the EP. There's not much to say about that, really. I hope it'll be a nice day. Springtime. Hay fever.
I'll be spending today in bed, again, probably reading some arseholish tome and whistling a chirpy tune to myself to keep my spirits up ('Do you like my song, WALLS OF MINE?'). Seryn will inevitably be doing the same, now that he knows what I'm up to. I'm thinking of submitting him as an example of quantum entanglement.
We'll be well enough for 12th Feb, though! Hoxton Square Bar and Kitchen! We're well excited for this one. Check our facebook for links to cheap tickets etc.
It is Saturday, so, as always, have fun, stay well, and beware of all other humans: virus carrying opportunists that they are. You know who I'm talking about. Seryn.
Happy Saturday,
Tim
P.S. ...please share it. We really do kinda need it.
It's difficult to know where to start, to be honest. Not only because my brain feels like the contents of a baked bean can (i.e. Horse meat), but also because so much has happened in the last few days alone that I don't know how to finish this sentence and it's only through sheer luck that it even started correctly.
You've seen our Kickstarter stuff, right? 'Ah,' you say, 'that's what all that puppet stuff was about!' Yes. Yes it was. Are you happy now? Now that you know? I hope so. Otherwise this whole thing could become a bit awkward. Still, we hope you like the little film we made. The puppet of Jeb is my personal favourite. The puppet of Jeb is everyone's personal favourite.
The single off the Bloodworks EP, 'Red', has been featured on the Brighton promoter One Inch Badge's 'SeaMonsters' compilation. The whole album sounds great, and shows what a great scene we have in this city. We're really proud to be a part of it, and equally as proud to see what a splash 'Red' is making. Do you get it? 'Splash'? 'SEAmonsters'. Yes! That's right! Because most monsters like the 1984 Tom Hanks film 'Splash'!
Obviously the biggest hangover of all is from our trip to Abbey Road, which was very special, but that's all I can say for now. (Note: My car door decided to break at the end of that perfect day, and I can't stop whining about it so I may as well do it here too. Jeb did a good job of holding the portal to tarmac-face-sanding-world closed throughout our journey, his aching arms ably assisted by a tired Trewin on the back seat instructing him to 'Pull it tighter! It's cold! I'm cold! Pull the door tighter!' Trewin shouldn't have been surprised to hear Jeb's sombre reply of 'I can't. The door is broken.')
The sudden freight train of fatigue is not so much from 'Crabby Toad day' itself, but more from coming to the end of the long journey that led here: the gates of Bloodworks-ville. It feels like we can pack it up now and pop it in a suitcase; just carry it with us for the time being, occasionally opening it to remember that: Oh yeah! We did that! Line-up changes, tracklist changes, the struggle to get the right take for the right song, the good gigs, the...other gigs, the people who came and went, the deadlines that came and went, the loss of sanity, the despair, the little wooden bear, the lost, forgotten Iveco van, my Snickers bar that melted, that time I 'lost' my trousers... It can all be packed up, now, and carried with us as we spend a little time in the town, soaking up the atmosphere we created.
That's all I can think of for now, but there's loads more for another day.
I'm off to the bar.
Tim
P.S. Of course I'll give you another Kickstarter link, but ALSO I'll remind you that we're on at The Prince Albert in Brighton tonight with Ed Prosek and The Physics House Band, both of whom are great. It's part of OIB's SeaMonsters festival. Last I heard, tickets were selling fast, but, if you do make it, be sure to give us a WAVE. Do you get it? Do you...?
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.
IT'S SNOWING EVERYONE, IT'S SNOWING EVERYONE GET OUTSIDE AND PLAY IN THE SNOW WHILE IT'S SNOWING. We'll be inside, working, emailing, sorting stuff for Abbey Road and then our awesome SeaMonsters gig on 26th Jan. BUT AFTER THAT WE WILL COME AND PLAY IN THE SNOW WITH YOU! I hope you all listened to the useful television news advice that amounted to 'build a snowproof laser defence system around your house and loved ones, if you can afford it. If not, wear a coat.' We did. The house looks like a Pink Floyd concert.
BUT WITH MORE SNOW THAN A PINK FLOYD CONCERT WHICH AS STANDARD EMPLOYS LITTLE OR NO SNOW.
The puppet thing is almost done, just so you know. Hopefully the grace and beauty inherent in true destruction will shine out above the mangled car crash of media, so it'll actually be something enjoyable. That'd be nice.
'OK, you've mentioned these puppets several times now, but we still don't know what in the heck is going on with them and we've got enough to think about as it is. Can't you just tell us what's going on, if only for the sake of the moonlit night, whose sweet cerebral pageantry we daily entreat to envelope and discard our waking worry, but, without puppety explaination, rests dolefully upon its ancient haunches, never finding calm and still sea of mind on which to skim its precious stones?'
No.
Right, so, yesterday we spent the day working on NEW SONGS. That's good, ain't it? We took the big 'live room' at Brighton Electric practice studios, and filled the thing with brand spanking new big glorious sidechain compressory catchy beaty melodious symphonionicity. Refreshing. I played the egg-shaker, for a bit.
Our manager, Ciara, was doing a 'meetings in Lundun' yesterday, whatever that means, and apparently there's loads of stuff to talk about now concerning 'the band's future', whatever that means.
I'm not sure what everyone else is hoping for, but so long as we concentrate on puppet shows and light percussion, I think we'll be alright. Play to your strengths, I always say, in self-reflexive reference to my skills at spouting hogwash.
It's friday (it's imperative that you get down on friday), so whatever you're up to (blocking out all natural light and repeatedly refreshing the Phoria facebook feed, I assume), do have fun, and remember, you don't have to click refresh - just hit F5 (which stands for FUN 5). You're welcome.
That title is about our spending yesterday doing more work on the puppet thing that I mentioned a couple of blog posts ago. We haven't made proper marionettes with strings or anything (a couple of pics of our creations have surfaced, like dead fish, on facebook and other sites, should you wish to view), but it's the best pun I could come up with right now. I'd say I've been awake for...seven minutes.
The 'string' that was 'attached' (but not really, as already mentioned) was the need to learn the skill of voice acting in under 30 seconds as we recorded the audio for our doppelgangers' demonic dance. I'll allow you a guess as to who landed the plum role of 'narrator guy'. Did you get it? It was me. If you didn't get it, have another guess. There. Is everyone on board?
So last night (friday night) - friday night - the night when most super-cool band people are gigging around town leaving a tangible trail of envy in their wake, or hanging around in bars looking to 'pick up a blinder', as I once overheard (which I assume has something to do with window fitments, a subject concerning which I have on more than one occasion been left in the dark (again I emphasise that my nightly dreams have not yet entirely ceased)), WE, keen artists as we are, spent the wee hours, and the small hours and the medium hours crouched in Trewin's attic, shovelling words into a mic and trying not to laugh at one another. This was a task, it seems, that became all too difficult when I, the anti-Stakhanov, was handed the spade. We got to the point where I had to imagine I was trying to convey a complex message to a baby in a crib on the verge of sleep, just so as not to revert to my brash 'sports reporter' voice.
We're back over there in an hour or so to finish the filming and voices, though I passed through my own door barely six of those all-too-short rotations ago.
Because of this, there's not going to be any fancy ending to this entry, no wrapping up of events, no apologies for the 'blinders' joke, or the horrible reference to obscure Soviet propaganda. Not even my name, a P.S., or a full stop
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.
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.
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?
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.
