Sunday, 18 December 2011

Free Re-mix EP by Ste McCabe with re-mixes by Owen J!

Why not liven up your festive frolics with this free download from Ste McCabe which features two tracks remixed by Tingle In The Netherlands synth genius Owen J (yes, it's the woman one writing here and of course I'm biased - HT)

If listening to the pope's Christmas message makes your blood boil then why not listen to this instead.

Afterwhich, you could have a public debate...

You can download the entire EP from

Or via the widget below. Enjoy!

Saturday, 3 December 2011

More Fun and Surprises in the Blogosphere...

Disclaimer: If you're under the age of 18; easily shocked; are a puritanical, religious pain in the arse (Ann Widdecombe) it is suggested that you leave this blog NOW.

Thanks to google alerts and the occasional 'self google' - it feels so wrong but sometimes it's SO right - we have discovered a recent rash of blog appearances. We're not sure what's caused this sudden spike in our blogoshere presence, but we're extremely flattered as we always get a tingly thrill when we find that we've been written about nicely in a blog. Oh, the fragile ego of the artiste...

We copped an eye full (though thankfully not literally) when we stumbled across this latest blog which is for indie bears and we were very pleased to see that 'The Housewife's Lament' was featured. Unfortunately, there was no way to say thanks in the comments, so if the blogger concerned is reading, thanks for the mention - it's very much appreciated.

We also clicked on the blog's title and archive and found a lovely array of manliness that may appeal to any bear appreciators and voyeuristic heterosexual women out there (sorry about that...Mrs. Tingle)

Anyroad up, Mrs Tingle also saw fit to share the link with one or two facebook friends that she thought might appreciate the photos on offer and has now learned what NSFW means. Apologies to all concerned... but anyway, see if you can spot us in the November archive...(scroll down, no, further, go on.)

Here's our track 'A Forest of Cocks'. xx

A Forest Of Cocks by Tingle In The Netherlands

Tuesday, 15 November 2011

Another nice write from the blogoshere...

Hopefully word is spreading....hello world...we are here...Check out number 7 on this start the week chart....

'Prostitute's Handbag' seems to be having a renaissance in the wonderweb....I do hope people will listen to our other tunes as you know the drill.

Friday, 1 July 2011

Space Is A Vacuum But Where Are The Cleaners?

Owen and me were discussing where the idea came from for 'I Lost My Heart To A Starship Cleaner'. Here is a blog that I posted many moons ago on myspace that supports my theory that my rambling blog inspired Owen to come up with the title. Not that it really matters. We're all going to die. HT (The woman one)

Space Is A Vacuum But Where Are The Cleaners? 

Current mood: confused
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

I was watching 'Star Trek: The Next Generation' the other night and I noticed what pristine clean carpets they have in the spaceship's corridors. It looked like the interior of a lovely hotel with powder blue shag pile fitted throughout. I suppose they can risk having powder blue shag pile seeing as no-one goes outside much and there aren't any kids. Or are there kids? I think they've let the crew have kids in that version of 'Star Trek' where there's a woman driving and they've all got lost. What's she called, Captain Janeway? (I've just googled her - I actually thought she was called Jane Way). She should be called Captain Jane- which-way or Captain Jane-we've-lost-our-way. Anyway – yep she could be called Jane-anyway or Captain Jane-any-which-way-but-loose, but either way, she's on that version of Star Trek where they're all floundering round the universe like a gang of girls looking for a parking space (Ooops, I appear to be channelling Jeremy Clarkson again) so I think she's allowed them to procreate so as to avoid a mutiny. 

I've gone off the point now, like Captain Janeway. Oh that's it, I was marvelling at the powder blue shag pile that looked as if it had been lovingly shake-n-vacced, but by whom exactly? I've mentioned space dust before in this blog and also the fact that women are superior to men when it comes to space travel and cleaning because men can't see dust and women use less oxygen. (There's obviously a Hollywood conspiracy at work with the Janeway story line which implies that women can't read maps). However, I haven't seen any cleaners of any gender on 'Star Trek' – do they exist? I was expecting to see a trolley full of cleaning products and rubber gloves somewhere in the background, left in the corridor by the cleaner currently doing their rounds. You always see that sort of thing in a hotel corridor. I'm no Trekkie, as you can probably tell; I only really watch the occasional episode, so I'm hoping that someone will be able to enlighten me as to who exactly has the cleaning contract on The Starship Enterprise because, given how efficient they are, we could really do with beaming them down to the NHS

Come to think of it, I'm not even sure that the TNG lot, lead by Shakespearean baldy actor Patrick Stewart, are even on a ship called The Enterprise. I wasn't really paying attention, though I did notice that they're still splitting that infinitive during the opening title sequence. I suppose anything's possible in space. Perhaps they have to split infinitives in order to generate a unique type of fuel that powers those things that help them to understand all languages. I know they got a fish to do it in 'The Hitch Hikers Guide' but I think it's a machine in 'Star Trek'.

You'll have realised by now that I'm a bit of a late arrival to the joys of 'Star Trek'. I was most impressed with the episode that I saw because a Kanye West lookalike was in it in his funny Venetian blind stylie sunglasses, and, being a geographer, I was quite taken with the contours of the cling-ons' foreheads, which looked like mountainous terrain. I don't really recall much of the plot except that one of the visiting delegation of cling-ons was complaining about the quality of the food – he didn't like the replicated turkey. He obviously hasn't tried the Quorn variety, which I think is rather tasty and nicer than the real thing. I wondered why the cling-ons hadn't packed themselves some butties wrapped in cling-on clingfilm because they must have known that replicated human food is not to their taste, but you always get one don't you? 

After that I drifted off into a reverie as I pondered the identity of the people, or ETs, who do the Hoovering in space. I also noticed that all of the characters had very neat hair, so there's obviously a barber-shop and a hair salon on board so I found myself wondering what they do with the clippings. I know that, in most of her episodes, Captain Janeway does her hair like Princess Ann, so she probably doesn't bother with hairdressers. Well you wouldn't would you; that's the last thing you want if you've lost your way in space: some bloody hairdresser asking you where you're going on your holidays. She's a bit full of herself though isn't she? I know that if I was responsible for a spaceship full of human souls I'd be ashamed of myself if I'd gone and got us all lost, or maybe it wasn't her fault - I didn't see that episode. Does anyone know? Anyway, if it was Janeway's fault that they lost their way the least she could do is hand in her notice and offer to do the cleaning. Here's a tracks inspired by women in space...


Friday, 24 June 2011

Owen's dark ambient project 'Air Fracture' now on soundcloud.

Long, long ago before Owen met Helên, there was 'Air Fracture' Owen's solo music project which dates back to the early noughties.

The music of 'Air Fracture' is a total contrast to

These tracks are eerie and evocative; beautiful, dark, soundscapes that wash over you. They are lush, dissonant, melancholly. If you were to take LSD on your deathbed you might wish to stick this on.

'Air Fracture' tracks have recently been upload to soundcloud to make it easier to share, so please, if there are any that you like, do share them with friends on facebook, twitter etc. 

'Red Shadow' from the album 'Air Fracture 4' 2008. Available as single download from Nerve Echo.

'Dark Water' from the album 'Air Fracture 4' 2008. Available as single download from Nerve Echo

'Arrival' from the album 'Air Fracture 4' 2008. Available as single download from Nerve Echo. Arrival by Air Fracture

Also on youtube:
'Fragile' from the album 'Air Fracture 4' 2008. Available as single download from Nerve Echo

 You can hear all tracks by 'Air Fracture' if you visit the  

You can also 'like' the  'Air Fracture' page on facebook.

Friday, 3 June 2011

A Forest of Cocks: Lyrics.

We've been asked to post the lyrics to 'A Forest of Cocks' presumably so that people can sing along whilst they're doing their chores or putting their make-up on before heading out for a night on the tiles.

As for the inspiration for the lyrics. For the most part, they are a collection of stream of consciousness status updates, from an old myspace profile, written by HT. There are also a few lines from some deliberately pretentious poems that HT wrote for a wanky poetry page, and a couple of killer lines added by Owen i.e.
'When they opened up his heart they found it was full of urine' and 'crow beaked horses gallop through a forest of cocks'. Owen edited all of the status updates and harvested the poetry lines so that they would fit his vocal style and neatly accompany the music, so it's a bit of a splice and dice. Make of it what you will.

A Forest of Cocks

Meadows glean chided braveries in their smiling rook caution, sipping ether in their tea,

Temperate hedges the sidelines of corporate philanthropy emitting a visceral cry of slaughtered heartache 
that sweats your guilt onto the linen.

Passwords flinging my ripped brain matter onto the point of pointlessness 
jab into reality with a Brompton Cocktail please,

The scanner doodles ape words onto the sky of November 
withering with glee at the hirsute clouds of it all as we filter the earth,

The tock tock of unsynchronised clocks mocks the nightly weather reporters’ patterns of meaningless,

Fur lined faux temptation rustles the chill of jigsawed teeth at the entrance of the metallic cave,

Bubbles taunt the static heads of wax coated eels hot spitting hiss flared incantations from diluted sun,

Molten teeth drip magma smiles into moth eyed hollows,

Tethered rain forces its sadness into the guffawing mouths of coutesans and oafs,

Eyelids froth the bile of yesterday’s tears into the metal lungs of remorseful dogs,

And so the darkness blinds the overhang of fleecy meadows 
that float through the tripesque skies of dappled withering.

Chlorine cackle follows starfruit metamorphosis,

The tarmac face mask of old cannot hide the laughter of winter
whistling through panes like coiled spent automatic toys,

Snow prompts ringside cold princess into feral games of sadistic stage psychokinesis,

The wings of hope splutter dry their nuclear dream mistaken for snow bringing shadows to Japanese pavements,

When they opened up his heart they found it was full of urine.


Feathered dogs breathe velour into their masters’ pulmonary ephemera 
transplanting eyes into the sockets of a blind doll,

The nuthatch winks at the one eyed half moon, its mimic re-boot 
stirring the hedgelings to the rain of their forefather’s ire; 
no-one hears,

Canal mouth of a lake of wires,

Tentacles of daylight retracting into space,

Dusty crash of a voice sensor strobe,

Fat neon words like modelled balloons advertise has-beens, clowns, sex-shops, 
and distorted strip tease in the deep lake of a hall of mirrors,

The dearth of woodwind finds ribboned heartache dribbling down the walls of blue crystal hotels in Siberia,

Bomb a sky of clouds for a single drop, swallow at source your smile and walk away,

Red lips for eyes cry holes full of laughter into the rotting eyes, ears, hair and mink coats 
of the skin and bone rich bitch old ladies of The Ritz.

Devilish thoughts proclaim the spire of night as fingernails sail the sky in a flotilla of new moons 
traversing the witching hour sea with their venomous cargo,

A starburst revolt of bilious dreams and ego roasted spittle eroding hard leather of annoyed, brave face 
hears crop sprayed crazy pave sound wave from frozen fog cotton mouth,

Crow beaked horses gallop through a forest of cocks. 


Or just listen on Soundcloud.

03 A Forest Of Cocks by Tingle In The Netherlands
Copyright H.Thomas and Owen J.

Friday, 22 April 2011

Prostitute's Handbag EP by Tingle In The Netherlands

The 'Prostitute's Handbag' EP was released on the Nerve Echo label in 2010 and features the original version of 'Prostitute's Handbag' by Tingle In The Netherlands along with a remix by Atomizer. The song reached Number 11 in the Dandelion Radio Festive Fifty 2010.

Track Listing:
Prostitute's Handbag
I Lost My Heart To A Starship Cleaner

A Forest Of Cocks
A Forest Of Cocks (Instrumental Mix)
Prostitute's Handbag (Atomizer remix)

Available on CD and MP3 Download

Review of the EP 
from Ripped In Glasgow Blogspot:


Here's a screen shot of some nice comments 
from an online blog:


UPDATE: As of February 2013, and the release of the album, 'Why Can't You Write Something Nice For A Change?' the EP will no longer be available. All tracks from the EP are on the album except for the Atomizer re-mix of 'Prostitute's Handbag' which can be bought as a download single from
The album is also available to download from i-Tunes and Amazon.
Download and CDs can be bought from
 as well as