Hell O there. An quick update . . . for this week, like last, I am having to sacrifice the appeareance of crooked treasures at Camden Market in favour of creating the Dark Crafts that will be making their own appearence in these box sets . . . with love . . . Mr CroOK

Since last weeks storm of newsprint and PVA glue, things have come along. My front room has been momentarily freed from chaos. Two and half days – solid sticking down of the weeks headlines yet I’m none the wiser about what’s actually going on in the world. Rather than get caught up in the worry, I turned to red acyrlic and black spray paint, which has replaced any anxiety in my mind with a fine layer of fumes. However, having perhaps learnt a lesson from ‘The Lost Belongings’ limited editions, this time I took to spray painting with a make shift mask. Don’t think these old man lungs can handle another thick and sticky gloss coating, and for sure a lack of vocals with which to call out and complain with made this particular man a true psychotic misery. On this occasion, history doesn’t have to repeat itself.

Anyway, plan to today is to record a set of new songs so’s those murderous little fuckers have something to get their teeth into. After that, the next stage in my wonky plan will be to fill these little chests with crooked treasures, so keep in touch, and be sure, I’ll let you know how it’s all going down. xxx CroOK.

Beautiful Daze marked the end of The Crooked Family’s Festival Season 2010. Other news, completed album and artwork, as I speak, is now on route to the manufacturer – no thanks to the fucking French who were too pussy to print the artwork due to ‘blah blah blah’ content – what a load of bollocks, but we’ve dealt with that anyway, for after a moment of profound panic someone over this way, with a pair of balls big enough, agreed to take the job on, so all is well in hell and right on target for the 4th October release. Anyhow, my attention has now turned to making a limited amount of special edition boxsets . . . phase one: the material blag.

Wednesday morning Matilda and I fleeced Mornington Cresent station of its last remaining copies of The Metro newspaper. By 9am we were lurking around the recycling bins just outside Sainsbury and managed to pick off a few old dears, relieving them of their soon-to-be-dispensed-with outdated daily rags. Next mission was striking a deal with a ‘not to be named’ takeaway place up Camden High Street. Once done, we dragged our hoard back home, stuck on some Johnny Cash, and made a start on prepping the materials.  Come yesterday morning and the real work began. As you can see from these happy snaps taken only moments ago, everything we plundered is being put to good use, though admittedly it looks like a bloody mess at this particular moment. Hopefully, with a bit of luck and hard graft, my front room turned art factory will slowly begin to make more sense. I’ll keep you updated as I go . . .

However, this means that the Market Stall is not gonna be appearing in Camden today. Sorry for anyone who was planning a trip, but I’ll be getting it together for next Friday, I promise – just that I really need to make a aggressive start on these broken arts before their darkened crafts have their wicked way with my daft sod brain.

xxx

Yours SINcerely

CroOK

Heading down to Devon for the Beautiful Days Festival 2010, there was an unspoken anxiety that each of us held silently inside, I could feel it in myself, and sense its presence in everyone else also. Latitude had been a riot of sundrenched pleasure and musical lunacy, and it would be interesting to see if it could be recreated again. 7am last Friday morning, the sky was colourless and empty and a brisk and lonely chill that threatened us with typical British rain, the kind that washes away any scent of enthusiasm – a weekend best spent under the covers watching piss poor action movies? Fuck no, not for us anyway . . .

5 Hours later and we’d made our peace with the weather, and so too accepted that Beautiful Days might well be a very different festival than Latitude. No matter, we had our medicines, we had our instruments, we had the constant aggregative nature of each other’s company, so we were ready. On arrival we witnessed two burly security man handle some poor teen, release him of his tickets, and drag him away to some place I hoped never to stumble upon. Then en route to our parking place we managed a wrong turn into a field lined with police riot vans and hungry looking uniforms – at which point Bruce turned white with fear, reversing the hell out of there, luckily unnoticed.

By 3pm we made temporary camp, and for the next few hours, like trolls lurking on the bridge, led campsite folk into the main festival arena with our stripped-down gypsy set. This began what would turn out to be a whole weekend of performing, and as wonky as it may have been, by 12.50 the following day our efforts on that bridge seemed well worth it.

The Big Top tent was gently buzzing with excitement and nerves, ours and theirs, for it was obvious that hangovers and comedowns were aplenty. Apart from a general consensus that I should never ever be allowed to speak to the general public between songs, the gig was a joy. We appreciate everyone who made the effort and took a chance on us bunch of misfits, you made our weekend. And for the record, what I actually said, trying to explain my obvious sweats and shakes, was “we got on some 4 year old Mandy last night” meaning MDMA, rather than “. . . 4 year Maddie” which is how some of the audience apparently took it. Hmmm, well, moving quickly on . . .

3pm we headed over to the Dirty Dave’s stage where I punk rocked a short set between main stage Q and A. Perhaps the most diverse and interesting stage, more arts than music. We later saw ‘The Agitator’ here, who is well worth checking out if you get the chance, and also ‘British Sea Power’ providing an instrumental noise sound-track to some strange Black and White film. All bloody good stuff. As the weekend drew over we witnessed our dear Hg go all twisty and momentarily turn into a crooked question mark, whilst Bruce did his best to lead us into bog and huge filthy hog infested swamplands. The rest is probably best left where it lies.

So, turns out that Beautiful Daze wasn’t one bit like Latitude, but without a doubt equally as brilliant. Many many thanks to all those we had the pleasure of meeting and getting messy with, t’was a dirty and delightful weekend, some great memories, and many lost on the hills of that place in Devon. Whoever you were, we hope you keep in touch.

Xxx Mr CroOK.

. . . goes to Camden market this Friday again, looking like a regular thing from now on. Look for the LUPEN CROOK sign swinging in the breeze, underneath find ‘weird man’ with a lack of loose change, trying to catch the eye of every passer by, head scratching, feet twiddling, coffee consuming, and then some selling if moods meet and the people agree.

Can’t Bear paintings, greeting cards, postcards, thee back catalogue, the new single and maybe this week some hand cut and fucked t-shirts (because the black ‘straight’ ones are annoying us). Also, two new charms are on sale, with a restock of the two other little treasures as well (see above, pictures by jenny hardcore). All this nonsense will be available in the website shop come next week, but its far nicer meeting in the real world, hand to hand, eye to eye, so come down and have a sneak peek. Mines a coffee with 2 sugars before 11am and any can of lager from then on in. Fair trade. Cheers weirdos . . . CroOK?

Click To See Full Image:

Firstly and foremost, thanks to everyone who worked the Latitude Festival 2010, it was a pleasure to be part of, to be allowed to go fucking nuts and explore those beautiful surroundings, better still that we got to play in front all those brilliant people. And to those people who we met along the way, those who witnessed the obvious chaos of our Crooked Cart gig, who took part, showed their support, enjoyed our music and general madness, and to all those who turned out at the Sunrise Arena on Saturday to witness some proper Fight Folk – massive appreciation, thank you. Keep in touch innit.

Old Blue Last in Shoreditch this Sunday – Free Entry – Come fucking ‘ave it, again!

It’s been a good few years since I’d really ‘had it’ at a Festival – long time since I’d felt that transformation that takes place inside a person when life becomes a bizarre carnival of strange faces and free spirited madness. It doesn’t happen to everyone in the same way, but it does happen nevertheless. Worker bee’s morphing into wandering earth creatures – nice to know that that part of us is still in attendance, hasn’t been completely quashed by the awfulness of the New World. This is where people find parts of themselves they forgot existed. The place where feet are better dirtied, hair matted, faces painted, finger nails full of camp fire soot and strangers making friends with other strangers, smiling for the simplicity of a moment, because there needn’t be any other reason. Better still that here at Latitude it felt entirely genuine.

I must admit I haven’t had the pleasure of the mainstream Festivals for quite some time, but one thing about Latitude that set it apart from the other festivals I’ve been to in the past, and this includes the small ‘independents’ we’ve played over the last few years, is that there was no trace of the intrusive advertisements that congest and drown the senses day after day, the presence of commercials that have long since threatened the very essence that once made festivals like Glastonbury what it was, and now is not. As well the aggressive stewarding and ridiculously strict rules on drink and drug use, they were simply not presence. The affect upon every single living creature was immediate and postive, and whether they knew it or not, it was in part due to the absence of these strict lines within which we normally have to live life between, the bastard trailer’s stuffing their latest and greatest produce down people’s throats without them even having known.  The result was not negative or dangerous, but a free form atmosphere of friendliness and willing carelessness that was given precedence over all else. It ran through the pine forests, over the lake, up and across the winding paths and across each field in one continual and chaotic motion. It seemed people were genuinely happy. No one was being sold anything, except for that which they had already bought into. There were no policemen, no placards or flags or speaker system announcements sporting the usual Vodaphone’s, Orange’s, o2’s or general signs of warning – no festival insurance policies being aggressively sold to some scared hippy whose mind had been bent out of shape by herbal highs or inhaling one too many joss sticks. There didn’t appear to be any rules at all, and everyone reacted positively to this. Even the stewards appeared pleased to be on hand, willing to laugh alongside the wasted and weary and wonderfully high as flying kites – service with a smile, so very rare.

As I’ve said, I’m unrehearsed in these ways of full-on festival survival. I had no tent, no food, no drink, a change of socks and a few tatty t-shirts. I was of the festival goer class that wanders wasted on day one, tripping over tent wires, glass eyed and ecstatic to be witness to this collection of weird and wonderful sights and sounds. If this was a village, which it kind of was, then I was one of its idiots. With just my artist pass and a loose plan of Crooked Cart guerilla gigs throughout Friday daytime, leading up to our official gig at the Sunrise Arena on Saturday, it was no surprise that as soon we landed on site, at around 1am Thursday evening, Bob and I took it upon ourselves to charm / blag some industrial strength Cider and get to work – meeting, greeting and bleating wildly to every creature that happened to catch our eye. The Crooked Cart Guerilla gig kicked off around 4pm Friday afternoon, a little later than we’d expected, but Cider and other such chemicals meant by this time we were very much feral, had been turned into animals at home in this new land – glorious anarchy, just as it should always be.

From then on, the rest is pretty hazy. All I know for sure is that by 8am Saturday morning it was very obvious that all of us had spent Friday going completely fucking mental. Perhaps we had peaked too early. Had we done too much, too quickly and all in one greedy go. I guess it was never gonna happen any other way, and so we all decided it must have been a good thing – now we were not only present at this festival, we were part of its spirit. By midday Saturday, despite my vomit, our collective shakes, paranoia’s and glitches of body and mind, we managed to pull off the gig at Sunrise Arena, and to the biggest crowd we’ve ever played in front of. It was fucking great, and so we celebrated the weekend proper, Medway style innit.

Festival highlights:

Bob being blown over by the wind – fucking hilarious

Bob trying to stab me in the neck with a Tent Peg during some drug induced psychotic episode – frighteningly real

Hg and I getting down and dirty to Beyonce in the Dance Tent – bizarre

Kristin Hersh reading extracts from her diary in the Literary Tent – gorgeous and genius

Anyway, enough of my silly rambling – if you were at Latitude or any other festival for that matter, let us know what your highlights were.

Xxx

Mr CroOk.

I have always believed that great ideas are like invisible strikes of light, floating up and around, filling up the wild unknown atmospheres of this grand universe.  Millions upon millions of the little buggers, all of them hoping that one day some visionary hand will pluck them down and make good their potential. Many ideas, having been plucked by some foolhardy dreamer, find themselves dried out, derelict and sadly unrealised. Perhaps lain on some bedsit floor, other times in ashtrays in public houses; more often than not, lost or forgotten, let loose on the wind until maybe some other being dares to take advantage of it. God knows I have lost many to mindless idleness and other such misfortunes over the years

The streets of Britain are full of the ridiculous and revolutionary, ideas that have fallen just short of pure brilliance. Nevertheless, those who have the courage and determination required to attempt to realise even one idea, those individuals who dare not only to enjoy the prospect of an idea over a few beers in the pub with mates, but to urge it into something actual, are to be wholly respected. Whether their endeavour is deemed a success or not – whether it flounders and falls flat on its face in a fit of hysterical calamity, or whether it is simply misunderstood – it matters not, because at least that great idea has been given the opportunity to exist and others the chance to witness its potential.

The Sharabang Tour, on which we played two shows over the last week, has, for us, fallen into the category of those great ideas that weren’t quite sea-worthy when they left shore. Perhaps the idea itself was too youthful, or perhaps the visionary hand that plucked it from the ether was itself lacking in the experience necessary to take on such a mammoth task, or maybe it is us that have simply misunderstood. Either way… that the Sharabang idea has been given a shot, and hopefully, will continue its quest over the following few weeks, is a damn good thing.

However, regrettably we will not be joining them for the remainder of their journey, so our performances in Liverpool, Coventry, Manchester, Nottingham and London have been cancelled. Sorry for any disappointment, and we wish the Sharabang Tour all the best.

CroOK

xxx

Hey punk rockers.  The Crooked Family are massively excited to announce that the first Lupen Crook release of the year will be a limited edition double ‘A’ side 7″ single and download comprising World’s End and a re-recorded version of Devil’s Son, available on Monday 12th July.

This single is the first proper taster of the new material from the forthcoming third album, The Pros and Cons of Eating Out, which will be released later in the year and which forms the basis for most of our live sets this summer.

The album was recorded at Ranscombe Studios with Jim Riley and remixed by Howie B. It’s been a long and wonky road but the album is now finished. All your support so far has been massively appreciated.  We hope this first offering begins to make it all worth while. Long may it continue.

World’s End and Devils Son is being released by Label Fandango and the 7″ Vinyl comes with a Crooked lyric insert for each track. It’ll be available by mail order from the label and direct from this website. You’ll also be able to buy the tracks via download and purchase the 7″ at gigs after the release date.

I mentioned the trip we all took down to Dungeness to shoot a video for World’s End, which is proudly presented above (also available on YouTube).  Dave Wise has done a fantastic job.  He’s also put a great pinhole shot of us at the beach on his blog. If you manage to get your hands on the vinyl you’ll also see I’ve bastardised one of Hg’s Dungeness shots for one of the lyric inserts, which all form part of this lovely little offering.

So, with the single set for release, album ready to rock and a healthy string of festival appearances lined up, our Crooked Summer Of Hate is all set to start. It would be wonderful if you can join us!

xxx

Yours SINcerely

Lupen CroOK

PS – in case you haven’t spotted, you can listen to both tracks right now on the player.

Update (9th July): the Devil’s Son video is now available here.

At the last couple of gigs a few of you have been asking about jewellary. Each time I scratched around, failing to respond with any level of promise. However, I was paying attention! Today I took myself back up to Lucy Langridge’s workshop where we got melting and making, finalising Master Copies of both the Missing Piece puzzle charm and the Curious Kitten Design. We will be getting these cast over the next few weeks so keep your eye on the Shop because these, and some other bits and pieces will be made available shortly. Here’s the best of a bad bunch of photos that we took during their conception.

Xtra Betrayal from Dave Wise on Vimeo.

New video from our homegrown creative and film maker Dave Wise – in my opinion his most potent piece of work to date – Great soundtrack, shocking content. Well worth a moment of your time and precious attention.