Post Rock.

I've just been out to post an external hard drive to Lundun, so that the good people who recorded our show last week can send us the videos without breaking the internet.

Having just got back in and having had my afternoon plans cancelled at short notice, I thought I'd be really, really kind to you all and share my irrational fear of the Post Office.

I don't know why, but it makes me uncomfortable that one has to 1) hand an object to a stranger who grins at you from behind shatterproof glass (or otherwise slide it into one of those looming tubular satanic mouths), and then 2) no-one you know sees or hears it until the other side, when it magically appears through a gap in a door. While the thinking part of my head does know that there are a million processes and sorting procedures (and postal workers, each of whom I love dearly) that each troubadourial little object must go through, it seems that the part of my brain that is supposed to turn that fact into a piece of readily intelligible knowledge just skips past it, like a trailer on a DVD, and leaves a gaping void that my idle mind fills with images of my own violent death. So, I know that Johnny Depp will play Ian Eccentric in The Oversaturated Adventure, but I cannot tell you anything about the film's premise - leading to uncertainty, and therefore (naturally) my confusion, panic, and crushing alienation when I am handing over my money to see the film; meanwhile I don't know what I'm even doing in the cinema, and who are you?
To put it another way: I feel like I'm handling Schrödinger's cat. I have the cat, and then when I post the cat it exists in a kind of superposition until it miaows safely (or not) at the other end. It's my unwilling but forced confrontation of this kind of phenomenon that eers me.

I have tried forming a support group, but I have no idea how to distribute the leaflets.

Oh yeah, the band.

We're fine. Plugging away! The team is getting bigger - fans as well as those who appear above us, keeping us on course. Which is nice. Lawyers, agents, etc. etc. I wonder when our feet will start to burn.

Trewin and Jeb are currently bawling through the night trying to make the video for our first single Red, which we're trying to release proper next month. It's nice to be in a band where all this stuff is done in-house, as it were. They rejected my concept for the video on grounds of speculative extra-terrestrial biology. Ho-hum.

All this video stuff (Red, live recordings, Seryn Burden Nights) should be with you soon. I don't know when. Ask Jeb. Go on. Ask him. Go on. Do it. Go on. Ask him.

There's a lovingly made fan video for Red on our facebook feed. Check it out! Things like that make us smile like little children who have just seen Santa surfing on a lake of spaceships.

As always, stay warm and dry. I'll be huddled beside my front door, chanting, waiting for her to vomit paper.

Tim.

Van Halen's tiny sleigh.

Valentine's day, eh? That should be enough to bump us up a few google rankings. Now let's leave it there.
Tuesday night (Bloodworks launch party at Hoxton Bar & Kitchen) was a bloomin' banger! Thanks of course to Akira for having us, and thanks to Apollo, the God of music and medicine, among other things, for whatever and all the music and medicine. Kickstarter. Thanks to the other bands, too. Ed Prosek. Halflight. Hollow giants. Oh, and thanks to you intensely attractive fan people for coming down to check it all out and making loads of noise and heat radiation.
The gig was filmed, so hopefully some footage should emerge, in time. 
Let's all have fun and a great day. I'm going to push my camel of a brain through the needle eye of the after-party aftermath, and try to avoid anything related to FAILentine's day ('That is a great pun, Tim.' 'Yeah thanks I already know.') by locking myself inside a giant heart shaped greeting card (with real blood!), eating opportunistically priced chocolates bought in a forgetful haste from my local newsagent, and gifting that girl who keeps hanging around my face a bunch of near-dead wasp-magnets pinched from a petrol station forecourt.

Hope my great plan works and succeeds!

Tim

P.S. If YOU would like gifts and public displays of affection etc. from us/me then you don't have to do much. Just look at and share THIS. Please! Thank you! Sharing remains the key indicator of caring, as my Children's Book of Marxist Theory: Abridged Edition attests.

A live rock concert is happening tonight in Hoxton featuring the band Phoria which is us.

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.

He's alright, really.

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.