Shoot.

We had our first magazine photo session yesterday.

Train to Lundun @ 09:49 lol

I sprinted into Brighton station at 09:51:39, according to the wide, disciplinarian departures board. Not, however, according to my wristwatch, which still chipped away gleefully at a large brown stone taking on the appearance of a happy man on a train.
My technology now corrected, I called Ed again. I'd already phoned him from aboard the bus, which ran late, telling him 'I have five minutes...I reckon I'll be there in three', as he relayed his plan to leave the tickets in a hidden place. It was all very Bourne Identity. Not that I've seen that film. Or read that book. But I have seen a trailer and this was a bit like that only with a greater testosteronic desire to kill. Also: somewhat more immediate

So, I missed the train.

Luckily, I suppose, Jeb missed it too - though his story reads more like a children's picture book called The Snoozy Adventures of Captain Horizontal, than any Hollywood thriller.

Still, after stomping moodily around the station concourse doing the 'I have missed my train' act for the good of the general public and frantically calling everyone I knew for advice, I got Jeb's voice in my ear.
'Nnngh. Sorry mate /yawn/...I'll be there in ten.'

And so we got the next train up together, hoping to be no more than a half-an-hour late to our very important date.

Train, a morning wee, coffee and a baguette, navigating simultaneously sensible yet baffling menus on automated ticket purchasing systems that resemble impeccably dressed, handsome, fantastic smelling, intelligent and funny yet not overbearing tour guides who insist on holding the map upside down and screaming incorrect directions at you (you, who are to blame for all that has so far gone wrong) all led us by hook and crook to our destination of Lambeth North tube station. We were running very late, but those punctual persons who arrived ahead of us had successfully wangled an extension to our time, and a later start. All was not lost then - we would have our photos taken, be a part of this very exciting feature, and not be exiled by the popular press; labelled as layabouts.

Then, with one toenail poked from the station exit, it started hammering it down with rain.

So we tied jumpers to our heads and sprinted to the studio, where, on the moment of our arrival, in a turn of events I had anticipated, it stopped raining as quickly as it had started and the burning hot sun leapt out at us again.

Nothing much more typical.

Still, there we were.

Quick, then! Make up! Better clothes! Cover yourselves in some acceptable something! People want their musicians to be foolhardy with their money (Trewin was eased into a plain blue jacket. Apparent value: £600) and covered in slap, it seems. No instruments in sight. Here is a picture of musicians. OK. We'll do it for now. It didn't last long. It was a fun and new experience. We got free crisps.

And they didn't touch my hair.

It was all done. Crisis confronted and averted. Band photographed. Expensive borrowed cotton sullied by the bodily fluids of the unkempt now handed back, hanging on their rails like automatic weapons, waiting to pass on a dimishing feeling of poverty and one of somehow being the lesser, like some scared straight programme for the normal, perhaps aimed at people even more unwitting than we. I don't see what other emotion those things can spike but an unhealthy materialistic awareness: their intended purpose of course, both for wearer and observer. Cigarettes smoked. Chats hadded. Train caught. Five words to Ed as we left the train, back in Brighton.

'I need a f*cking drink.'

Spectacular day.

Tim

P.S. Giggly-goo tonight at the Blind Tiger in Brighton for Soundcrash. Trewin's still got no throat, so we're doing something a little different. Whether it will work we are yet to know, but know we will.

Bean can salad.

Everything's been cancelled. We were supposed to have a gig tonight. That's been cancelled because Trewin has no voice to speak of/with. We were going to be interviewed this evening by a very nice person from some very nice magazine. That's been cancelled. Or at least rearranged. I was going to go out for a drinky to celebrate my life, but we've got a photoshoot tomorrow morning, for which we have to look 'pretty', so...that's been cancelled. I was going to smile, but my facial muscles have gone hunting, so that's been cancelled. I was planning on living, but that's been cancelled...

Everything's been cancelled.

I was going to apologise for another missed gig, and let you know that we're currently formulating a contigency plan so this kind of run doesn't happen ever again, but that's been...

T(can)i(celled)m

Phoria: A thanks/apology.

Dear Great Fans,

We are very sorry for cancelling our recent gigs. We like to play gigs - spending all day hanging around in a bar; fighting off hoards of screaming fans; setting up the live feed to the secret govt. base on Titan (whoops!) - and love meeting people who enjoy our music, so cancelling any gig is always seen as a big bum of pain splitting the canvas seat on the director's chair of joy. It was Trewin's throat, you see. He takes care of himself, but there's been yet another round of G.I. Influenza (or some other little viral spiral) worming its way into each member of the band through orifices unkempt. He's almost fully recovered now, I think. His voice has returned, anyway. Oh good.

So we've been doing...stuff. All kinds of stuff. New stuff. Interviews! Promotional mixes! Scrawling 'Phuria ar gr8' on toilet walls! Setting up a giant mirrored 'P' on the pebbles of Brighton beach, hoping to catch enough moonlight to beam it against darkened clouds in the hope that such a sight might spark some youngster's innate curiosity to type 'P' into any given Internet Googling Field and thence discover the 'P' that rests at the start of our band name (Phoria). The 'P' is all we could afford once Seryn took most of our mirror budget. He must take a long, hard look at himself.

We are sorry for cancelling our gigs this week and will come back to play gigs and play them better than if we hadn't cancelled the gigs.

Bloodworks. Don't forget your pre-orders via iTunes, even if you've listened to the whole stream online. You want to own it, right? Right.

Thanks for all your support on that front, by the way. We really appreciate it. The Red remixes are still coming in, and the track has reached 100,000 listens in less than a month. That's some good fanning, Great Fans.

As always, there's loads more in my pipeline, but it's all bunged up, so that's your lot for now.

Soon: more.

Regards,

Timothy Frederick D-lo.

Bloodworks, sweat, and...gigs.

So, the Bloodworks EP is streaming in full. Even my mum likes it. I can't link to soundcloud, where it's hosted, but I can link you to ThisIsFakeDIY, where the EP premiered the other day.
I joke a lot, but we're all really proud and so happy to finally share it with all you young bucks. Aw, ain't we sweet? No, is the answer. Still, moving on...

We played SoundScreen on Sunday night at Brighton Dome theatre. It was a blast! Thanks to all who made the trip; our collaborators Philip Mayne, Florence Barkway, Louis D'Aboville; and to our dancer Marie. Well done all. Flavia and Ashleigh deserve a big hand also, you little organisers, you.

So, that's it really: Bloodworks is live and streaming, good gig on Sunday...

We're playing a freebie at the Old Blue Last in Lundun tomorrow (18/4) at which pub you should arrive, enter, and remain. It is FREE. You don't get much for free, nowadays. Unless you're an aristocrat. In which case: satire.

This is the goodbye, now.

Tim

P.S. The official video for Red is still being bundled together like liquid sticks. It's looking grand, and will be with you in a week or so. Something to look forward to, no?

about it

Have a good time, then write about it - that's what I figure the best thing to do is.

Last Saturday we blocked traffic down one of Brighton's busiest streets unloading for our session on BBC Introducing. We set up in the BBC shop, at pavement level, looking out into one of the more high-rise, metropolitan areas of our city. Also: people. It was fun, then, to set up and make loud noises whilst being observed like an oddity in a kind of urban zoo. Pedestrians were knocking on the tall panes of glass, smiling, waving, and many would thoughtlessly admire their own reflection before shifting their focus to find a gaggle of hairy men giving them the eyeball. Those were my favourite strangers.
'I can only take two of you into the booth.' was the rather worrying yet disappointing opening statement from our very forgiving host, Phil Jackson. It was democratically decided that myself and Ed were to martyr our reputations as dashing young go-getters to the cause of publicity, revealing our stunted and ragged personalities in the interview that would take place during the show. I was told I answered one of the questions well, but no-one saw the aftermath of that dialogue - my plastic cup, filled with water, shaking like a First National regional service as I tried to wash down the sand that occupied my throat. Ed and I shared a high-five following the interview, because we're cool.
We played three songs live, a delicious buzz of adrenaline fueling each one. Strange to play to an invisible audience, surrounded (being in the BBC shop) only by cut price DVDs of The Catherine Tate show and LazyTown. We weren't bothered, though. Nor did we appear as such.

Then, barely a wink having passed (since the Introducing after party, that is), it was time to hit Hoxton Bar and Kitchen for another Akira gig. Lovely stuff, yet again (it's by far one of our favourite venues) marred only slightly by the absence of Rory, our usual sound engineer and keeper of stagebound sanity. We miss you, Rorhide. Come back soon. The house crew did a top job, though, with metaphorically large shoes to fill. Not much else to say about that. Nice gig. Thanks to those who came down - squeals of approval are always appreciated following a stressful week or two.

Now we look forward to SoundScreen tomorrow (14/4/13) evening, which I hear has sold out, and a Lundun gig on 18/4 at...Old Blue? Is that it? I can't be bothered to look it up now. You do it. And make me a cup of tea. Bla bla bla.

Loads and loads of exciting stuff happening behind the scenes at the moment. We'll keep you up to date when we know what in the heck is going on.

Until then...

Radio killed the internet star.

Hello? Hello?

Ah, there you are.

Good gig the other night at Sticky Mike's in Brighton. Thanks to those who came down! We've been up and down and in and out of, to, and from so many places recently that it was nice to play a lil' half hour set just around the corner. Home in time for Newsnight.

We're practicing this afternoon for our live appearance on BBC Sussex tomorrow evening. 8pm, I believe. You can listen online, if you're outside of the area.

Whenever I've done radio things before, the performances/interviews have always been pre-recorded - all the better to cut out any remarks I might make about...anything. Tomorrow night, though, it seems it's all going out live. I'm arming Seryn with a tranquiliser gun to be pointed at my head throughout the interview, lest any discussion of domestic politics or the illegal snail-fighting industry rear its steaming ugly head from a car parked in a disa... You see what I'm talking about? I can't let myself get sidetracked onto things like that. Stick to the music, Tim. Stick to the subject. Smile with closed lips and sound like you're nodding. Pretend like you're having a good time. Let the sedatives do their work...

So, yeah. Grateful for the opportunity.

We're looking forward to our gig at one of our favourite venues. Should be a mega blast, I tell thee.

And I won't have a microphone anywhere near my face. Something which could be a good or a bad thing, depending on your imagination.

Have a great Friday. Not like last week's, which was merely...

Tim

00:14:59 remaining.

So, we're all famous now, it seems. Something like 50,000 plays on Soundcloud in the last week, No. 2 in the HypeMachine worldwide 'most blogged about songs' chart, a play on BBC introducing, review after review after review... It's,been an interesting few days, I don't mind saying.
So...yes. I give it a week before we're on the cover of 'Good Band magazine' (or whatever's out there at the mo), and performing in specially erected multi-million seat arenas: Trewin abseiling in to play a grand piano made from some platinum-diamond composite, Seryn flying like David Copperfield to each mile high drum-skin, Ed conducting a whole skinny orchestra of slave-played synthesisers, Jeb controlling live glowing bacterial visuals using a five-necked guitar (the power from surrounding towns having been re-routed, despite protests (they always seem to be ignored?)), and me, covered in layers of ham, sat in the corner, bloated purple and violently choking on chewing gum.

One week, I give it.

Thanks to you all for your constant support. The video for Red will 'drop' this month. More goodness. Give up food and upgrade your internet connection. You won't regret it.

We're at Sticky Mike's in Brighton this Weds 3rd April with the awesome Balmorhea. THE FACEBOOK EVENT PAGE

And that's about it for now. There's plenty in my pipeline, and it will all be revealed soon enough.

For now, though, ignoring whether or not that previous sentence was appropriate, just concentrate on having a good bank holiday.

I'll be indoors, feeling gratitude for the good things because, you know, you have to.

Tim

Kickstarter, Amazing Radio, Flu, and an Advent Calendar.

I'm here, isolated, away from the band, away from broad-bean internet, and stuck, immovable, in bed with yet another bout of a particularly icky strain of influenza.

Day 4: The carpet refuses to sing.

From my disadvantage point, then, it's both pleasing and easy to get excited about all the stuff that's happening while doing relatively little of the work involved. I wouldn't have it this way, despite public conception of me as lazy or whatever, but, alas, this is the way it must be. Hold on while I just snuggle deeper into my quilt and quietly sip my tea.

Here is a link to amazing radio, who are currently running a poll to see who gets on their playlist. This wouldn't be a Phoria™ post without asking you to do something now, would it? Click. Vote. Reward: Slice of cake; sense of wellbeing.

Red will be played on their show today.

We're also putting a little bit of stuff up on the Soundcloud, a few jingles here and there, a few jongles fere and ghere, and all-together splitting the atom in the lead up to the Bloodworks release - no longer 8/4/13, but about one month from now, 29/4. We're sorry about that one, folks. Truly. It was unavoidable. What it does mean, though, is that rather than a Christmas day of 8th April, where you gorge yourself on Phoria until your belt bursts and your intestines just explode everywhere and kind of sop out the candles that everyone was enjoying and put that away and go to bed. And leave your teddy-bear somewhere where I can see it...

Instead of that you get a kind of exciting Phoria advent calendar. I envision it as a giant picture of my face, each adolescent blemish providing a doorway to a delicious treat of one type or another.

'Mummy! Mummy! What will Phoria give to us today?!'
'Well, my child - just open up one of Tim's facial wounds and find out! Wear your protective kevlar mask!'

That's just my vision of it all. The powers that be insisted we go through the more traditional YouTube, facebook, online media channels, etc.

Anyway - it's all done (the final master was delivered this morning), it's all coming out, it's all ready to be fired into your skulls using computer guns...

...and (FADE IN: Bryan Adams) we couldn't have done it without everyone's support, particularly through the Kickstarter campaign, which ends today, and which has exceeded our goal and our honest expectations and even Seryn's dreams.

I'm not often honest (that's a lie), but I tell the truth when I say...

...I'm off to Mexico.

Srsly.

Tim.

P.S. Actually actually thank you all very much for your support. It means a lot, and we all really appreciate it.

P.P.S. At time of posting this came up! Something I meant to mention, but didn't. Imagine me on one knee, begging forgiveness. That's what I'm doing right now. Cool though, eh?

The Master.

We do what The Master tells us we must. When The Master is speaking, all doors are closed and conversation dies. The Master promises greatness. We must obey the aural whim of The Master.

We're making a few tweaks to the latest master of Bloodworks. Unfortunately this fact, along with one or two other spanners in the toilet, means we're pushing the official release date back by about two weeks. Take that look of shock and utter disbelief off your face - those of you who have been with us from the start should know better by now. Those of you who are new: Welcome. This is how it is. Ask the older kids for advice.

Still, the tracks should shortly be returning to our Soundcloud (not too sure when, but very soon), all fresh and sexy sounding. It's difficult to link to Soundcloud on a phone, so google it (exactly why is it not in your bookmarks?) then click and share our Kickstarter, which, and do not ask why, is very easy for me to link to. Why, it's so easy, you could even link it to your friends and family! Easy, convenient, affordable, fun for adults and children alike! Get yours now!

What have we been up to? We spent last Saturday in a warehouse with a very brave model, a thermometer reading that merited a concerned phone call from Pingu (though I think he was just trying to get in on the act - he hasn't had any TV work for years. I hear he was trying to avoid being typecast.), and a very powerful pressure washer. Red music video. That was fun. Ed and I were in charge of the ambient music. My favoured track? Travis's Why does it always rain on me?

From that day on, then, it's been a mixture of blind panic and editing. Trewin and Jeb are taking our other model, Gab, down to some seaside location today to get a couple more shots and we're practicing tonight in prep for our Wednesday gig at The Old Queen's Head in Lundun on Wednesday at The Old Queen's Head in Lundun (Phoria gig, Lundun, T.O.Q.H) at The Old Queen's Head. We've also been liaising with some great visual artists with whom we'll be collaborating at next month's SoundScreen festival at Brighton Dome studio. Should be a larf. It all looks very promising indeed.

That's Munday, then. Newsy. No jokes. Goodbye.

Tim 

P.S. Please do what The Master says, and spread it around again. We need one last big push in this last week to take us over the edge! The edge of glory! Sung by Lady Babar, the French elephant popstar king.

I'm not even going to leave. I'm going to wait here until you share that link. Tum tee tumm.

*whistles*

*hums Antiques Roadshow theme*

I'll be here.

Audio-Retinal Sensory Experience.

Yesterday (Friday) was day one of filming for the Red music video.
So, of course, Thursday night...who should receive a mysterious telephone call?
'Mr. Douglas?' The voice on the other end of the line was stern and betrayed a lack of empathy for the sleeping patterns of others, particularly members of the band with cars.
'There's something we need you to do for us...'
And so the next morning I bounded gleefully from my front door before the sun could make its predictable appearance, heading into the heart of London to pick up a 'special' camera that can film back in time, or something.

My battered old car finally shuddered its way to the shooting location at around 11am. Fresh from a caffeine-free cruise through the capital rush hour and a long and winding jaunt to this industrial part of the East Sussex coast, I was met by Jeb, Trewin, cameraman Thom and our brave model Gab in howling winds and stinging, pindrop rain. I hadn't one leg out of the door before I was soaked through and frozen, and was met mostly with the downtrodden glare and grunt of people 'at work'.
'Camera? Ugh.'
It was like delivering a precious nut to a group of squirrels. I thought I was about to offer the cargo in my outstretched hand, but upon looking I saw that it had already gone, and the gang were already in the van, poring over its every detail and wondering where best to bury it for winter. Jeb shook his hair around, and we filmed it.
'Oooooh. That is well cool.'

Step two, then, without giving too much away, was to slap bits of wet fabric onto Gab, the insane fool who volunteered to stand on this freezing quayside in nothing but skin thin bits of muslin, and also to jump off it into the raging waters below. The wind was acting as a call to freedom for the smaller portions of Gab's new suit, so it was deemed necessary that I drive to the nearest superstore and pick up a little PVA glue, all the better to stick the little blighters to the body hair of our shivering volunteer.
'Anything else?' I inquired.
'Whisky.' Gab replied.

Filming resumed, Ed turned up. We sat in the van and smoked, drove around the quayside looking for locations, said hello to a fisherman, and ate sweets. Our manager and resident restorer-o'-sanity Ciara arrived at around three with sandwiches, crisps, and, most importantly, oh, how most importantly, the means to make hot tea.

The remaining hours were the most productive, and most pleasing for the technicians; full of food and, if you'll excuse yet love the pun (bun), on a roll.

The day ended hurriedly. Not an unpleasant situation for someone who wanted to curl up in bed since the moment he woke up. Jeb and Thom were off to see Sigur Rós in London, Ed had...something to do, and Gab was heading home for a 'warm bath'. Good call, Gab. Good call.

Tim

There's literally no good title for this post.

It's difficult to put everything together in some easily digestible round up of what we've been doing for the last week or two.

The hard drive arrived back at mine, safe and sound. The incantations worked, it seems.

Jeb's got an avalanche of stuff to be dealing with right now. Two different recorded live performances are being edited - one at Brighton Electric and the other at Hoxton Bar & Kitchen. I don't usually get to see much stuff as it goes through the mill, as I tend to catch up with people during a practice or over a drink but rarely sit around in the Phoria tech-zone while new footage is being tested or audio tweaked and twisted. We spent a long time a couple of evenings ago re-aligning audio to video by one single frame to get the best sync.
'Does that look right?'
'No, look at his leg.'
'Yeah but maybe his leg's out of time.'
'Alright put it back one.'
'...no, that doesn't look right.'
'His leg does.'

Also Red, as if you're not yet sick of seeing it in italics, has been working a wicked influence on the world. The video's on the way (more work, JEBBY!) and there are one or two little niggles with the release that's changed the shape of fingernails throughout the band. Everything's going to be fine, we're sure. I can see the song living in some little songy dimension, reclining in its big wheely leather chair and laughing as it throws its head back, fingers splayed vertically with touching tips. Everything's going to be fine, we're sure. Genuinely. I have to make that clear - we're just so excited about releasing it that every day it's not officially released is painful.

Otherwise we've been booking gigs (yaaay!), practicing, emailing, sorting. There's been a lot of office work this week.

OH and a photoshoot! How did I forget the photoshoot?! New pictures of me, you lucky people. There's lots of work with silhouette and light and stuff, which means you can't really see my face. That's alright, though - I'm launching my own brand of correction fluid pen, so you can just scrawl my collector's item of a frontispiece onto any shadowy image you like. Improve your art's aesthetic qualities AND improve the value and desirability of your home, with...whatever. My face in Tim-ex, I guess. I don't know.

All this stuff is slated for this month. We'll let you know.

So, Sunday. Strong coffee and a concession to mindless television, I think. That ought to do us good.

Have fun, whatever you're up to.

Tim