Several Stories, One Song, One Massive Tangent

I wrote a song this week, which started out as a song about things in my past that I had not written about before, and ended up as a massive polemic.

Halfway through writing, my mind wandered onto everything in the last few weeks that has upset or angered me in current events, or the world outside my house.  So here is my new song - see if you can spot where I lost it.

(If I Gave You Anything, I'd Guess It Was) The Confidence To Leave

If I gave you anything, I'd guess it was the confidence to leave

If you're trying to get better then it's best to do it far away from me

But if you want to be with him, then you can tell me something I'll believe (like the truth!)

Yeah, if I gave you anything, I'd guess it was the confidence to leave

If anybody needs me, I'll be lying in a gutter in the street,

With the ghosts of conversations seeping in and waterlogging both my feet

And if you can't be arsed to fuck me up, then I don't really want to take the lead

So if anybody needs me, I'll be lying in a gutter in the street

She's my sister, she's the only one I've got, and I had just begun to see

How she suffered at the hands of every mood and every whim that passed through me

And I always used to worry that I'd spoiled the person she was meant to be

But now she's doing well and all that worrying has turned into relief

Some people are nightmares and their bullshit takes its toll on everyone

They can run you round in circles 'cause it happens to be their idea of fun

Well you can take a horse to water but you can't make it hold a loaded gun

But you can make it choke on silence, and kill it with a lack of attention

I've been looking at the world outside, it's fair to say it's given me the blues

With its gunmen and its sexists running riot on the internet and news

So much misogyny and racism it feels like there's nothing I can do

Yeah, you could your breath forever, but they're never going to broaden out their views

All these idiots and bastards complicating life when it could be a breeze

Hassling women on the internet and wondering why they never seem that pleased

So it's okay to threaten rape at every woman daring to express her views

Well you're just wasting oxygen

Well, yeah maybe it's not all men

Like anti-choice and anti-vaxxers

And far-right racist rights attackers

People who don't do their research

Or realise how much their words hurt

All the chummy capitalists

And ignorant gun lobbyists

I think I've wandered off my point

So take me to the start and help me sing

If I gave you anything, I'd guess it was the confidence to leave!

An Exciting Occupation

  There's an odd feeling that sometimes sets in whenever I have to leave a city.  I love a big city, and during visits, there's a rush of adrenalin whenever I get a chance to plug into the energy of the it, and get a taste of its many flavours.  It's invigorating to be in a place so huge that the fact I am in it means very little.  I am one tiny extra part of the furniture, which means I can wander wherever I fancy, observing what I like, as life happens around me.  Which is how I like it.

  In a similar manner, last night I got the chance to go and see 'The Drowned Man: A Hollywood Fable', staged by Punchdrunk.  If any of you are familiar with Punchdrunk, then you will know that their productions are "immersive", and that in order to stage them, they occupy whole buildings, and completely convert them into elaborate, exquisitely detailed sets.  If you aren't familiar with Punchdrunk, then I rather think you should be.  I will try to be as vague as possible from this point onwards, because I want you to go and see/explore the damned thing, and so spilling all the beans is not going to help anyone, especially them.  Or you, come to think of it.

  It all takes place within the walls of 31 London Street, Paddington, opposite the train station.  Three floors plus a basement comprise the offices & film sets of 'Temple Studios', a saloon and a trailer park, and seemingly a wasteland (wear comfortable, and preferably sandproof, shoes).  You are taken into the building, given a mask, which must be worn at all times, and from the moment you enter, you must not speak.  At all.  What follows is a series of stories linked by the underlying darkness of 'The Hollywood Dream', accompanied by ambient sounds and clever, at times unsettling, musical scores - the use of sound is very atmospheric.

  Scenes happen across all floors, at once, on a loop.  While this is an intrinsic feature of the performance, it also means that if you don't see a scene when it is first performed, there's a chance you'll see it later (you are there, after all, for around three hours).  It is also possible to happen upon a scene and then later on, see the story leading up to what you saw in the first place.

  You are guided by nobody but yourself.  There is no right or wrong way to take in the production (unless you are a) pissed, b) determined to try and hijack the proceedings by heckling/dicking about, or c) wandering around with your bastard phone on, taking photographs) - if you find a character that intrigues you, you can follow their course around the building until they get to the end of their 'loop' (from which they return to the beginning of their story), or you can find a room you like, camp out in it and see what occurs.

  My tack was to explore the building.  This way, I hoped, I would get to take in as much detail of the production as possible.  (Seriously, the sets are stunning, I wanted to see as much as I could of the many rooms on offer.)  Also, I would happen upon scenes in an unforced, more natural manner, almost by accident.  Sometimes I would see an interesting scene, and would follow that trail, either until it seemingly reached an end, or until my curiosity waned.  (I saw the stories of several characters in this manner - a couple of full stories, where for others I caught only snatches.)  On several occasions I would be exploring a space when a performer would enter, accompanied by a phalanx of masked observers, while a further crowd of blank, grey faces accumulated in nearby windows - in one case, while snow fell from above.

  This, for me, is a fascinating part of Punchdrunk.  The mask's design adds a silent, eerie presence to the scenes, as if the play is also about the phantoms that haunt the world into which you've been flung - the crowd of masked onlookers almost appear to be some sort of benign Doctor Who creature that no one else can see, and then you remember that you're one of them!  You are a part of the performance.

  As a result of this revelation, and of the feeling one acquires from wearing a mask that renders one anonymous, I found myself moving slowly and deliberately around the building, and in scenes that took place in smaller spaces, I acted back at the performers.  Additional scenes take place in the form of 'one-on-ones', where an actor may take you by the hand and directly involve you in part of the performance.  (These are entirely voluntary, but I recommend going with it.)  I was invited by one of the actors into one such scene, which was a fascinating, intimate moment, and one where - almost in a trance - my focus was precisely where it needed to be, making it almost filmic.  I was spellbound for several minutes, and it took some shaking off.

  It is impossible that you will see everything on one visit.  You won't see the story, but you will see a story.  What you make of it is entirely down to you.  I feel I saw a broad spectrum during my exploration, and I'm sure there are things I saw hints of that I would have loved to explore further.  What you will see will be impressive, with some amazing choreography (the dance in the trees is spectacular), and as I have previously said, the level of detail in the piece is frankly astonishing.  You would be hard-pressed not to find yourself totally immersed in the world that has been created.

  It was invigorating to be in a place so huge, yet the fact I was in it meant a lot.  I was an extra part of the furniture, which meant I could wander wherever I fancied, observing what I liked, as life happened around me.  Which is how I like it.

My Heart's Had Enough

  I'm not very good at love.

  I've always thought I was, but all the evidence points otherwise.  I'd like to believe that I'm the Henry DeTamble, the steady reassuring force that gives someone the will and confidence to enjoy life, and who receives the same in kind, while in reality, I am Charlie Brown, holding on to the crayon left behind by the Little Red-Haired Girl, watching a world of possibilities rise and fall in front of him.

  I'd love for that to be the limit of my skills, but you can also add "Standing idly by while people leave" to my CV.

  The other day, I was in a shop while Al Green's  "Love Is A Beautiful Thing" played over the PA, and caught myself thinking, for the first time ever, "No it isn't, it's utter crap!" - the expectation of those who are not yet loved, the crippling panic, the loneliness it causes in its absence.  Thanks, but you can keep it, reverend.

  There is nothing like the emotional surge when you meet someone you like, who stands out from everyone else in the room.  Every time you're in the same room as them, there's an electricity, an elevation in the senses, and you'd do anything to put a smile on that person's face and make them happy.

  When that expectation nosedives into a bout of unrequited love, however, it knocks you sick.  There is, equally, nothing quite like that feeling either.  The aching sadness of one more special person in the world who doesn't like you 'like that' is a lead weight, no matter how philosophical you try to be, no matter how much you proclaim (as true as it genuinely is) that you're glad to know that person.

  And so you plod on, waiting for that exchanged moment of eye contact that could conduct lightning, hoping for a moment that sets the process off all over again, trying to be nonchalant (and occasionally failing).

  I don't know what I want out of life, I'm pretty sure it doesn't involve being a father, I'm also pretty sure it does involve music, but I'm heartsick now.  I've had enough.  My heart's had enough.  I'd be happy to keep going as I am and not have a care in the world, but that old loneliness stabs at my core whenever I have an unguarded moment (which occurs quite a lot, what with my head being in the clouds and such), and it can't be fought at every turn.  I just have to walk on and swallow down this empty ache every five steps.

  Mourning the past, enjoying the present, worrying about the future.  Why change old habits?

Yes, December...

So, it would seem December has arrived.  Jolly good.

  I am not, as I may have documented once or twice (I've written about so much nonsense since I started this thing that I forget what topics I've covered and what I haven't), a fan of the wintery months.  As soon as the night sets in before you clock off from work & the leaves start dropping, the rest of the world can bugger off while I huddle in my living room and eat biscuits.  Them's the rules.  Since the band's gotten together, I have been a mite more productive, but the rule stays more or less the same.

  This weekend, I saw December in with some friends, which was a jolly way to do it, it must be said.  We went to the ATP music festival, held at Pontins in Camber Sands.  Matt (from my band) and our friends Sam, John and Rose (along with many other folk along the way) have been going to the bi-annual festivals for years, and have a wealth of previous experience to look back on and compare notes, whereas I've been to this one and the one before it, back in May.

  I am really into the idea of a music festival being held somewhere entirely indoors.  I am not one of life's "outdoorsy" people, so to jump into a big building with stages upstairs & downstairs is precisely how I'd like to do it.  Prior to last year, ATP had been held at Butlins in Minehead, which I am told was a far more preferable experience, with four stages and electricity you didn't have to pay for.  Yes, as we struggled into our chalets following a four-and-a-half hour drive, we were greeted with a distinct chill and complete darkness, which then resulted in Sam (from Matt's band, Dead Radio Society) popping over to the shop to buy credit for the meter.  (I imagine this goes down really well with people coming to have actual week-long holidays there - three days-worth robbed £15 off us).

  This weekend's music was, by comparison, a far cry from the sheer variety of bands on offer in May.  Last time I attended, I was treated to CSS, TV On The Radio, Doseone, De La Soul, Unknown Mortal Orchestra, Tinariwen, Lone Cub & Wolf and Antibalas, plus much more besides!  Hip-hop, rock, rap, electronica, there was plenty on offer.  This time, I'm sad to say, was somewhat more one-note.  If I was going to shorten the pickings to one term, I would say "microphone-lite".

  I really enjoyed Civil Civic, Braids (they had a vocalist & lyrics!), The Magic Band and Mogwai - who ended the whole weekend, and had everything else not been so heavily instrumental, I might have stayed for more of their set.  As it was, they didn't stand out as much as they might have done, because so much of what was on offer was electronica and non-vocal music.  

  Now, I am back at home, my suitcase is awaiting a firm unpacking, and I have eaten a dinner.  The joy of time away with friends vanishes almost as suddenly as it arrives, and the mundane appears from behind a curtain, reminding you that it's almost the end of the year, and that all the stuff you want to get done won't happen, because who's going to have time in the run-up to the Festives?  How those people get through December with an "I LOVE CHRISTMAS, ME" grin perma-taped to their faces is a mystery I will never solve.  You can keep the long nights, the stress of finding "The Perfect Present", the late nights trying to do all the things you usually do on top of the extra stuff.  You can keep the hand-freezing temperatures, the uncertain safety of the pavements, the biting winds.

JUST GIVE ME DAYLIGHT UNTIL 9PM AND I'LL BE FINE.  MOSTLY.

  Hmm.  Yes, well I could rabbit on a bit more about the joys of living alone & feeling a bit lost and frustrated while the world turns inexorably on, but I don't think that will make for an interesting read.  It does mean there are things to cogitate on for the next time I sit down and slap my keyboard like an excitable word-monkey.

  In the meantime, have a lovely week, take care of yourselves, and let's all get through winter together, eh?  We can do it.

Speak soon,
Love,
John xx

PS: The fans amongst you will have noticed that the title of this blog entry looks awfully like a song by Nerina Pallot.  That's because it is one.  Here's a rather lovely performance of it, which was recorded by my friend Jenny:

Replacement Fanta Service

  Well, there goes my plan to write at least a couple of blog entries a month...

  It's always been the custom that I write my cranial noodlings with a hot cup of tea at my side, but I've fallen victim to Winteritis (you know the condition, when you come home from work and instead of going out and buying milk, you bolt the door, make yourself comfortable, and are hidden from the world until 8am the next morning) and as such, I haven't bought any milk.  I could have some green tea, but I'm never totally convinced by the taste, and trying to clean the residue from your mug makes you wonder what the hell's in it.

  So I've got Fanta.

  It's not the same, quite honestly.  (Excuse me while I just go and get a fleecey jacket.)

  I'm back.  It's evidently been so long since I did this, as I am continually hitting the comma whenever I try and type an 'm'.  Is that common for someone who uses a computer on a daily basis, yet hasn't used it for blogging?  I must ask around (unless you want to do it for me, of course).

  This fleecey jacket is well snug, especially for something I bought by accident.  Well, I say accident, what actually happened was I was looking for a coat, and on the page I was viewing, this looked like a coat.  So I ordered it, it arrived, it was a zippy-top, really, but a very warm one, albeit not what I was looking for.  I spent a full 24 hours preparing myself for the rigmarole of returning the poor thing, but no - I like it too much, and it replaces something I'm about to get rid of anyway, so... I kept it.  Anyway I've got a coat, a lovely winter coat, I don't know what I was thinking!

  Much like when I elected to stop in and not buy milk.

  So what was I up to when I last wrote?  (I'm stooping low enough to have a scan through my last entry now.  Has it come to this?  Ah, ok, it was September, for the band's birthday.  I didn't think I'd written that recently!)  We've had some nice little shows since we turned 1.  All electric shows, for which Matt surprised us all with a quite frankly stunning new musical instrument.  It's safe to say he's enjoyed all our shows what we've played in the last 12 months, but it's nothing compared to the delight he's experienced with a keytar.  Yep!  Most would scoff or scorn at the idea of a keytar (indeed, he's the only person I know of who plays one), but it fits.  He's more relaxed onstage, he engages more with us and the audience (at our last show, he turned off one of my guitar pedals during 'I've Still Got Your Blood On My Curtains', the japester), and the songs sound more focused as a result.  Never dismiss a keytar out of hand, is my advice to you.

  At a gig the previous week, we really bonded with an audience member.  The poor sod had been steadily drinking, so by our second (and last) set of the night, he was quite well-oiled.  I dedicated the song to anyone "who has lived in a terraced house next to permanently bonking neighbours during an intense bout of sexual frustration..." when this guy raised his hands skyward** and bellowed "SEXUAL FRUSTRATION, WOOOO!"

  It took a full two days before I realised how that was more of an insight than he might have intended.  I could not stop laughing.

  New folks have moved in to the house that has been gloriously empty for a few months.  There are people living either side now, neither are especially noisy, which is a blessing.  I had a bit of a scare last night when they started playing dance music, much as tonight when someone, somewhere, started letting off fireworks, but that all seems to have died down a bit now.  At least there's no awkwardness like there was with my erstwhile ever-shagging neighbours, like the time a letter for them got delivered to me by mistake, so I knocked on, and the boyfriend looked out of the upstairs window and said "Down in a minute!" and then answered the door in clothes that can only be described as "I picked these up off the floor just now, to prevent my opening the door whilst naked" (woolly jumper, bermuda shorts, slippers, bed-hair).  I think my mouth did a flappy thing as I handed over the parcel.

  But then I seem to revel in awkwardness.  I drew a cartoon this week, which is a representation of something that actually happened a couple of years or so ago, when boarding a rail replacement coach.  Pretty much an exact transcript of the exchange is in this cartoon:

It still baffles me that in my eagerness to join in with these two laughing employees, cheerfully stowing away the passengers' bags, I thought "Yeah, say that, it'll really make them laugh!"  Those three words were like a joviality vacuum.  I'd like to say I've learned from it, but in truth, the opportunity to deaden the mood like that just hasn't arisen since.

  I'm scrabbling for things to share now (presumably to put off another glass of Fanta), like some hapless idiot who doesn't communicate for weeks on end, then tries to cram everything he knows into a conversation over a cuppa.  But I should probably just sign off, and let more things simmer, and perhaps wait until I have a definite point to make.  In fact, I'll aim for the not-surfacing-until-tomorrow-morning.

Goodnight all, and stay tuned for more blogging!

John-to-tha-Mac-to-tha...
Okay I'm stopping now.
xx

*I wrote "brewing up" and instinctively glared at my empty Fanta glass, balefully.
**Or perhaps as Samson might have done when he was tied to the pillars.

How I Spent My Summer (or Happy Birthday, TJMB!)

  This time last year, I was a bit nervous. For the first time in a very long time, I was about to gather some folks together and attempt to play music with them. I knew it was time to do it, I had done three years of solo acoustic troubadoring which is all very well if you are well-disposed to doing everything alone, but I'm not. Mostly.

  I like my own space as much as the next man, and it's quite satisfying to write a song, sing it, and go "Yeah - I did that," but there's only so long until the novelty wears off. The train journeys with you, two acoustic guitars, a stand and two satchels are only worth doing once. Not the three times I did them.

  And aside from anything else, how is one chap on his own supposed to find the time to do decent recordings of his songs that can live up to what's in his imagination?

  And while we're about it, how is a lone fellow to get the attention of a crowd when he's playing in support of a band at very busy venue?

  These things were rolling around my head after a glut of solo acoustic shows, all of which were fun, but also leaving me with a need for more. I wasn't living the musician's dream, I was half-living it. I wanted to make NOISE, I wanted to prove what sounds I was capable of making when allowed to work with a bunch of musicians, I wanted to plough my musical furrow and give a nod to the artists who had inspired me to stick at it and not give up.

  I wanted, essentially, to not be alone in this. I needed the friendship and support that can only come from good people who wanted to do this with me.

  At which point Matt, Angela & Paul enter the frame. This summer we've been working very hard at making our debut record, "Unexpected Sunshine". We started it in February, and then had intensive recording periods throughout March, April, June, July, August and September. Not one second of our recording time has been squandered, and we're excited and proud of what we've made so far. We really can't wait to share it with you, either.

  There have been laughs and pure joy while making it, such as the really hot July afternoon that saw Matt consume four or five ice lollies and start chucking tubular bells, baroque organ and steel drums across the songs with gay abandon, which promptly caused him to run into the other room, giggling hysterically.

  There have been curious emotional eddies tugging at us, too. All too well I remember the sessions that ended abruptly owing to time running out, right after a vocal take of one of the more stirring songs on the record, and not being able to shake off the melancholy that accompanied it. And sometimes we're all trying to reach an end goal and slightly misinterpreting each other, whereupon the mix of noise, heat & creative endeavour means that everyone is on the verge of popping, and a collective silence drops in order to stop that happening.

  And it goes without saying that the friendship we've forged since last October means we aren't going to lose our tempers with each other anyway. My bandmates have been there for me when I've had bouts of lowness and forlornitude (no idea if that's a word, but I like it), and I like to think I keep their spirits going when they're flagging, too. We're a good band, because we take care of each other, we care about us, and we put the music ahead of ourselves.

  In the middle of this, we have signed up with Neon Tiger Productions (who, as a result, are now our management), we have played shows to full houses, half-empty rooms, and three people. We have played to a beer tent full of dancing people, and also a beer tent with some people in it, three of whom slouched off when Matt joked that I was chatting them up (I only asked them if they were relaxed around the boundaries).

  We have worked hard to make songs that scared us become not only an immense amount of fun, but different, challenging and exciting for listeners. What were simple pieces have suddenly taken wing and soared above us, leaving some truly beautiful four-part harmonies in their wake, and as we've played more, we have just started to write and generate material together. I think we have become in tune with each other, musically, which means that it won't just be my lyric book from which new songs emerge, and the songs I do write, I bear my bandmates in mind and think of things that they will have as much fun playing, and will suit their styles.

  This is the first year with Paul Hancock, Angela Lazenby and Matt Tyrer. I can't wait to see what the second one brings!

John xx

Studio Diary, 13th & 14th July...

  Hello, folks!

  So very much has been happening in the recording of our debut album, and it's about time I gave a few thoughts about our most recent session last weekend.  We went into Tremolo with the aim of recording the remaining five songs for 'Unexpected Sunshine', read on to see if we made it!

Saturday, 13th July
  Angela arrives at my house at 10:20am, with a car full of drums.  I add to the chaos with three guitars and my pedal board.  Oh, and me.  We get to the studio to find the door locked, which isn't a major shock, as we are a bit early.  While we wait for Dan to arrive and unlock, we wander around the neighbouring premises, which are holding a clothing & furniture sale.  Paul arrives, and the three of us peruse the items on sale, including a large, framed photograph of a gorilla giving the finger.  I expect that got sold quite quickly into the morning.

  Angela sets up the drums in the main studio room, Dan sets the microphones up around the drum kit while Paul readies his bass, and I set up my electric guitars & pedal board in the control room.  Dan puts a mic & stand out for me, and we start recording drum & bass takes, plus guide tracks of guitar and vocal.  We get through three songs, one of which being a last-minute addition to the album tracklist, a song we're deeply familiar with, but spend the longest time doing.  (It's always the ones you know the best that catch you out.)

  Matt arrives with lunch for everyone, and we eat a hearty lunch of baguettes, salad, salami and crisps, and fruit, followed by some rather delicious doughnuts.  ("These doughnuts are gooey," comments Paul, to which I reply "That is because they are full of goo."  I am not a food salesman.)

  One song left to get the rhythm section down, a song called 'The World Tonight', for which I have set a complicated rhythm, and a potentially fiendish drum part, and is a song Angela has been sort-of dreading taking into the studio, for fear of taking a long time over it & having to keep stopping.  She, as always, rises to the challenge, and knocks it out of the park.  In only a couple of takes, we have a really solid rhythm section down for the song.

  I then go into the main studio room with my acoustic guitar, and we set about dismantling the drums and doing a solo take of 'Imagine If We Fell In Love'.  We are still wondering how to tackle this song, and so I will play it solo to a click-track, and we can figure out how to dress it later.  While Dan surrounds me with microphones (I think I count six or seven), Paul and Angela go on an ice-lolly run.  They walk past the studio door (which is kept open as long as humanly possible, because of the heatwave), and Matt follows them, clacking two coconut halves and galloping.  Matt then returns to the chillout room to eat the last nectarine.

  I am ready to do a take of 'Imagine If...', which means Dan has to turn the air-conditioning off, because the sound of it would ruin the recording.  I do one take, which doesn't feel quite right, and in any case I fumble a verse, and there's a pause while he rewinds the tape reel, and I swig from a huge bottle of water.  I do another take, it feels much better, and the air-con goes back on, and Paul and Angela return with lollies!  Matt being the only one of us wearing a white linen shirt, he spills a Fruit Pastille lolly on himself.

  Matt goes on to have four lollies, and after the tape reels are transferred to digital, the heat mixed with a sugar rush causes him to add steel drums to The World Tonight.  He is perhaps surprised that I think they sound perfect.  He also plays some spellbinding piano on the last track, which is truly beautiful.

We adjourn for the day, pretty much 8pm on the dot.  It's hot, we've worked hard, and there's no need to overdo it.  We pop to the Sneyd Arms in Keele Village, and enjoy a nice pint of drink, outside in the warm evening air.  A man pulls up in the car park, and asks us if this is the pub that's doing kareoke.  We tell him we have no idea, so he goes inside.  Two minutes later he returns.  It isn't.

Sunday 14th July
  I wake up early, and send my bandmates text messages with a link to Queens Of The Stone Age's track 'Hispanic Impressions', with a caption "Imagine putting headphones on an excitable Labrador.  Now imagine piping this through them!"   Another 11pm start, with a plan to get guitar tracks done in the morning, then do vocal takes in the afternoon, followed by further keyboard jiggery-pokery, then some backing vocals.

  Dan & I set up an amp, plug my tuning pedal through the guitar, and start off with re-doing a lead guitar part for 'Yesterday I Was'.  It's been on the original demo, and was bugging me that I hadn't tried it on the record.  Stoked with success, I get through our last-minute song addition, and also add guitar to Matt's piano part that he did the previous day, not much at all, but it adds atmosphere and makes the song portray the feel of our album cover!  Matt arrives, and asks Dan to press the intercom button.  Through my headphones I hear: "Don't text Matt an hour before his alarm's due to go off, because then he'll arrive on time!"  Oops.

  I then move onto 'This Rod I Have Made For My Back', and have little bother with the rhythm part, and I then have an urge to try a guitar solo.  I fluff the first couple of attempts, and so Dan suggests that while I am trying to get that right, Matt starts working out keyboard parts for the song.  Cue forty minutes of going over and over a lead break while occasionally hearing MAD NOISES coming out of the headphones that I've left on top of a nearby speaker.  Matt calls me in at intervals to hear the sounds he's toying with, I give them my seal of approval, and Angela and Paul (who have gone out for a lunch run while I've been locked away in the studio room), return and announce that lunch is served!  I insist on getting my lead break down while it's fresh in my head, and after a few runs at it, am finally ready to eat.

  We eat a similar spread to the previous day, and it's the best kind of lunch when the weather is how it is.  We watch an episode of Adventure Time (the one with the Door Lord, in case any of you are into it!), and I am eager to get the last track done.

  I swap my Cort Sunset (which I play in standard tuning) for my custom Fender Squier Telecaster, which I play in DADGAD.  As it was the previous day, lunch immediately precedes 'The World Tonight', so I get tuned up and ready to roll.  Then the wheels fall off a bit.

  Now, when you're on your own in a recording booth, it's really exciting when everything's going well.  You race through rhythm guitar and lead breaks (even when you're stumbling a little and re-taking it's okay, because you're working through it), and it's thrilling.  When you hit a stumbling block, and everyone's having a crisis meeting that you can't hear, it's a bit frustrating.  This is has happened once before, and it's what happens to me now.  If you're ever having studio time, get straight to the same room that everyone else is in, it does help to stop you overheating and getting frustrated.

  My guitar's intonation, it is eventually revealed, is off, because no matter how much I tune the guitar, as soon as I go up to the 12th fret, it sounds slightly out and spoils the recording.  It's not the kind of problem that knackers the guitar for gigs etc, but for the album recording it could do with not having that problem.  I have two starts at recording a take, but get no further than the second chorus both times.

  I stand stock-still with my guitar while everyone in the control room is presumably saying "Yes, that sounds out, I don't know why," while I am in the studio room, just desperately wanting to get from one end of the song to the other.  I can't quite hear the problem with the guitar either, which doesn't help.  Dan comes in and fiddles with the guitar a little while I strum chords, I hope to heck that's solved it, do another run and we stop short, even after trying it with another guitar.

  I am starting to get a grump on, because I don't want there to be anything wrong with my lovely guitar, and I just want to play my part and have it work the way it has up until now.  Dan suggests tuning my bottom D-string to E for the time being, which might feel a bit weird, but it'll sound about right.  I do this, it works fine, and my mood eases back up after a stop in the pits.

  I work through vocal takes for all the songs we've done, which are completed with minimal fuss (thankfully!), and there is another lolly run.  We start to adding more keyboards for several songs, and in a further lolly-induced intoxication, adds marimba and tubular bells to 'The World Tonight', and begins giggling uncontrollably.

  We lay on backing vocals to one last song, then are forced to call the weekend's work to halt, mixing down the five songs that we wanted to do (and did get done!), and racing off to The Old Brown Jug for a show headlining Andrew Tranter's Song Club.

  What a night!  Some great acts playing, including Jim McShee, and Headsticks (of course), and we are more ready to bang a show out than we thought.  Two solid days working, laughing, even eating together, have bonded us more tightly than usual.  By the time we're set up, we're ready to play the songs we know backwards, and even the new songs, which we have never even gigged.  We burn through eight songs, including two of the new studio tracks, and they feel good.  Before playing 'I've Still Got Your Blood On My Curtains', Angela gets my attention and says "Really go for it!" and we do.  I am jigging and swaying everywhere during the set, more energetic than I've ever been, and the four of us seem to have one, long, out-of-body experience.

  The show ends, we pack up, chat to people, we make new fans who happened to be in the Jug by chance and really enjoyed us, and we hug, reflect on the weekend's work, and go home to listen to the mixes and form our plans for the next recording session.

  It's good being in this band.

John xxx

P.S:  Regarding my earlier reference to 'Hispanic Impressions', it's this: