Taren McCallan (PLEASE) Moore



I can go for months without speaking to him, not see him for a couple of year’s. Yet as time passes and circumstances have proved, he’s like the big brother every crazy little sister needs. He’s the one I phone in the middle of the night, pissed and miserable after splitting up with a boyfriend. Collect call from some foreign island, cause I’ve run out of money and got myself into yet another hopelessly tricky situation.


Alas, whilst the word chaos and my first name have forever been linked, just as you’d consider black and white or dark and light. There aren’t so many characters in my life that stand without judgement of the trouble I get myself into. Taren McCallan Moore is one of my small few.





While we could say it takes one to know one, each of us knowing what it was to party hard.  Yet its not really like that, instead I write about something I can’t really find the words to explain, but can only liken to a matchbox, lined with cotton wool, in which something small and very special is kept. Stowed away, kept safely away from prying eyes at the back of a draw of miscellaneous under garments and odd socks. That in the unfortunate event of a house fire, remains the one thing you wouldn’t leave without. That little box of mates, that have 'got your back.'





Still whilst ours is a bond formed over nearly twenty years, of whisky drenched evenings and poached egg breakfasts. However, beyond his friendship and unbending loyalty, to truly describe what an extraordinary character Taren is, then really, he should be recognised for being one of the most prolific artist’s of the 21st Century.





While if you ask his mother, Taren’s creative mind was apparent from a very early age. As he dug up and moulded an entire warren of interlinking tunnel's under the lawn of his family home in Suffolk, England. As credit to his seven, eight year old ingenuity, some forty years later, remarkably this ‘Taren’s first creative warren’ still exists, albeit he’s a bit tall and lanky to get into it these days.


Yet tunnel engineering is just one thing this guy is good at, for myself, as a woman with a lazy sub-personality, personally I stand in total awe of Taren’s art work. While his talent, abundant and developed style speaks for itself. His productivity, his body of art is beyond anyone else’s I know. The hundreds of black Moleskins, filled with sketches and literary ramblings, the piles of canvases and boards. Whilst this remains the same for many artists and nothing unusual, yet Taren retains a consistency, an agility of mind, an ardent commitment, that is somehow present in almost every moment of his day.





I don’t have this, instead my own artistic expression works like a traffic light. Ever courting some red period of doing fuck all, ambling thoughtfully on amber; then, when the green light eventually turns on, I’ll run with it like some crazed nutter, until I’ve exhausted all fuel supply and blown my head gasket. Perhaps this is why I hold so much respect for my friend? I live a life surrounded by creative souls, brilliant, talented, amazing – but actually, not so many of us appear able to retain the same consistency Taren continuously maintains.





It is as it is, yet whilst the neatness of his Moleskin notebook’s express a side of his character, it is through his passion for music, I hear his soul the most. With a few thousand tracks on my music list set on shuffle, I have to admit that Taren’s music left foot’s me every time. Yesterday, headphones on heading up the street, a cough in my ear, someone telling me I’ve got yellow teeth?? Wtf…


‘Of course, of course, the quirky crazy of my analogue friend...’





There lost in his studio, multitracking on tape, playing all the instruments himself, producing a sound, a style, a uniqueness that could only be produced by Taren. Reminiscent of perhaps some of Pink Floyd’s very earliest tracks, maybe a little Ian Dury like, or perhaps Pascal Comelade?? Yet no, none of these quite capture, the uniqueness, dark humour or lush eccentricity, being produced by my old mate. Wandering aimlessly through a vast musical shuffle, and still, he manages to catch me, my ears out. The ‘What’s this…?’ Then, the ‘Oh yeah, Taren...’ which is always duly followed by a laughing, inner sigh I can’t stifle; the affirmation to this man’s clever musical eccentricity/strange weirdness, his unique 'disco-m-Bob-u-lated' genius.





Yet this is Taren, as with the fine detail of his artwork, his music, the careful and elaborate production behind it, it is all of the same mind. The same mind that is capable of building a warren of tunnel’s, painstakingly making everyone different to the first. Yet with every thing this man does, his drawings, his literary ramblings, his music; it all takes us on a remarkable journey, an amazing adventure into the crevasses and recesses of one of the most extraordinary and brilliant creative minds I know…





Taren McCallan Moore I praise you!


Shine on old mate!