… just a window (Rochester Cathedral). Chalk n charcoal on black paper. Tom x

Badly filmed, terribly edited. The idea was to make a short film to show a bit how the sleeves for ‘The Lost Belongings’ were made.  I’m not sure what happened, because I had a creature chattering in my head today, and I found it hard to concentrate. The song over laid has never been aired before, but it kept me company for a few strange days in the summer of last year. It was written on the corner of Crow Lane, well, between there and the Man Of Kent, though the recording came later, just last month. Hope you enjoy. If not, my tongue pokes out, fingers up, shoulders shrug and back turns. Mr Crook.

Lupen Crook And The Murderbirds
EP:The Lost Belongings
Label:Beast Reality
Website: http://www.lupencrook.com

“The sound of Lupen Crook And The Murderbirds is as likely to take you down a dark alley and kick the living daylights out of you as it is to look at you. Whilst it’s got a touch of the Anthony Newleys to it or even Bowie it picks up a harder edge that sets it apart, but retains the theatrics that gave both artists their early success. “The Lost Belongings” lashes out with punk sensibility, angry, passionate and overwhleming desire to rage against the bland. It’s dark almost Dickensian, dark stories fighting against hopelessness, because it’s stronger than that.”

Read the latest reviews on Fatea’s website here.

If you happen !!! Too stumble upon that part of the street you will find something tugging at your senses; the smell of delicate poverty arises from the gutters baked in paint fumes turning your head into a spin cycle of delirium and catastrophic confusion. One might say an ethereal delusion presides over that Unawarehouse. And if by chance one glimpses through the broken vision of its entrance you shall find words and truths hung by their neck as the hangman stands guard over the skeletons already packed away in his closet. Daytime begs night to be its companion as the brushstrokes torment the walls and lights beg for forgiveness. Canvases stand by awaiting orders form Mrs Crook and the paint rallies around organizing its troops, ordering them to stand by in serried anticipation.

Here’s a painting of the Mrs at The Unawarehouse. xxx

A song taken from the new EP, filmed by our good friend Hg on his mobile phone in Rochester. More videos to come soon, please let us know your thoughts. x

Solid blocks of light / 500 watts / Concrete colour / Walls that love to climb / Daze into the Night.

A few weeks back, Matilda got her sticky fingers on a fresh canvas. Yesterday I managed retrieved it. However, in view of preserving her efforts and because I had a genuine interest in what had been scratched like a abstract map upon the white wash board, I have incorporated every single mark that she made, completely following her lead, as all adults should – for their view is unmistakably blessed. So although neither of us had given consent, I guess this counts as our first real collaboration. I’ve taken the liberty of naming it ‘Mighty Battle maid’, because she is.

PS – Here’s me, the MRS, with Matilda Kilda just out of shot, just today, in our fresh family plot.

xxx CROOK

The band’s restless creative spirit is frequently reflected in its members’ sometimes nomadic existences.  Addresses can be articulated for official purposes, but the reality is often a joyous lack of fixed abode. However, over the past week both Tom and Mr Crook have firmly placed their respective pins in different spots on the map.

Tom’s lost belongings have finally caught up with him and he’s a now fully paid-up, barrel-rolling Londoner.  He lives opposite one of the most bizarre and dysfunctional pubs I’ve ever had the good fortune to drink in.  A visit from the crooked family is surely due, to return the proprietors’ odd interpretation of hospitality in kind.

Mr Crook, meanwhile, remains clasped within the estuarine embrace of the Medway Towns.  He’s moved into a live/work studio with MRS, steeped in history, within spitting distance of the river itself.  The Unawarehouse, as it’s now known, will be a place of paint and pain, whine and song.  As you can see, he’s settling in nicely.

A little “remix” of babies, weddings, and text from Sunday’s Daily News.  Awww.

So sweet that my teeth hurt.

Glue and scissors and sticky fingers,

Craig xo