Thursday 29 May 2008

"Here we go again, on another great trip..."

something's got me (re)started. again...  
this afternoon, i took a couple of hours off work and went to Iguana Studios in Brixton, South London, with a demo-copy of my album in my bag, to sit down and talk plans through with the owner and main producer at the studios.  
it wasn't at this table. but i love this shot. the space, the freedom, the lighting, the pregnancy, the possibilities it holds... it looks like a stage set, to me.  
instead, we went and settled into the back room of this complex, just the two of us in a cramped little office, a demo-version of my album playing on one of the pcs, as we discussed ideas track by track...  
i really hadn't expected us to listen to the whole thing (and felt kind of bad, *making* someone go through all that?!), but he seemed to like it, so we did. i've recorded there before, and he seemed to like my new direction. he was honest and frank about what he thought worked and which tracks he felt didn't quite sit right with the rest of the album. he also said some totally crazy things, i mean such outlandish stuff, i blushed and moved the conversation right along....hmm... much like this...
there's something about working with a warm, friendly italian guy who has built his own studio. he is brutally honest about the 'industry'. nothing he said surprised or disheartened me, but instead reinforced my personal reasons for doing all this.  
he's a talented guitarist, who decided to build his studios within the shell of an abandoned WW2 bullet factory in South London. boxes and boxes of copies of his own album piled up and lined the walls around us, his beautiful acoustic guitar - handmade by a friend - lay on the sofa behind us...  
it has to be here.  
anyway, before i knew it, 2hrs had passed and we'd laid some rough plans to record the album... 
most likely we'll do it in 3 chunks, seeing as i haven't won the lottery (yet) and so, have to budget for all this... 
but like i told him, my main, central reason for doing this is my own sanity. this dog will not leave me alone, won't cease barking, yapping & snapping. but he did manage to talk me down from 12-tracks to 10, and suggested we record an e.p. first, and see how i feel after that...  
i am well aware that i need a realistic, calm partner in almost everything i do, and feel very lucky to have found such a great, honest producer. i reckon it'll take a year. but with Andrea on my side, i know it'll be a fun, if emotionally & financially draining ride!  
wish me luck!

Wednesday 28 May 2008

there's a light...

I've been listening to a lot of music recently. Probably more than usual.  Lots of old tunes; some rediscovered, some new to my ears.  Lots of new music, too.  All of which made me re-think what i'm doing musicwise.
 
I've been struggling and weighing-up a lot over the last few months; trying to work out exactly how i feel about it all, trying to work out why i write. Is it 'worth' anything? Is it 'worthy' of anything?  I've only ever written for me; to me, the songs i write are a kind of diary; a map to an emotional past. A kind of therapy. 
 
I think a well-crafted song, a well written line, can drag you right back "then & there"; to an ephemeral moment from decades ago. Like a scent or taste... it only takes one molecule, one note to transport us...
 
I've been painfully aware of how little I've been recording or writing recently.  So am booking some studio time v soon, with the firm intention of finally finishing "the album". (Corny, I know. But this dog will not leave me alone.)  There was a time when I worked to afford studio time or equipment.  Now it seems work barely affords me the energy or time to spend on the music.  How can that be right?
 
When I first started recording (oh dear, a very long time ago), it was with my best friend.  We'd make a night of it, swapping stories, telling jokes, dissecting the latest offerings from whatever band was bothering the cover of that week's NME.  Discussing ideas, or arguing about whether the bloke who produced that album would have been able to save this album, how this engineer went on to produce that album because of this guy, etc. We'd automatically fall silent, mid conversation, knowing that we both wanted to hear that lick, that chorus, that glorious bassline, that unbelieveable mistake again, then fall back laughing, discussing, learning, sharing...
 
Back then, we were neighbours.  He lived in the flat beneath the one I was sharing with my then girlfriend.  He had a tiny old tascam 4-track tape recorder, mysterious vinyl and a few guitars, including a very nice Epiphone semi-acoustic. I had my gorgeous black fender acoustic...
 
We'd spend the first hour or so of the evening debating what we were going to record. Generally, we took it in turns, one of his this time, one of mine next time round.  Whoever's turn it was, that guy would 'audition' songs for the other - playing them on the acoustic 'til one was agreed on. 
 
Occasionally we did very, very carefully selected cover versions.  Often we argued these matters out; if you had an idea or choice to put forward, you'd better be able to quantify and qualify it; we were incredibly hard on eachother and ourselves in all our musical choices and decisions.  But it was all fun, and we learned more about ourselves and eachother from each song we sang or heard, and from every conversation we had...
 
We both had different skills.  There were things we both loved in music and things we hated. Most of these we agreed on. Passionately.  One of the things I always admired about my friend was the way he always seemed to manage to maintain a cool overview of the night's proceedings.  Whereas I'd be jumping up and down getting so, so excited as another layer gently fell into place, revealing slightly more of the final picture; he'd stop and assess the situation, as if taking a step back from and out of a wall-encompassing hunting scene.  That was the difference between us (and probably still is); he would be standing back, calmly measuring our progress; while i ran, rabid and frantic, from the dogs in our pictures...
 
We seemed to have great respect and appreciation for eachother and for the songs we wrote and shared.  Although we never actually wrote anything together, we would play live together from time to time. Either helping eachother out at gigs, or having the time of our lives playing gigs & belting out the cheesiest of setlists - covers, harmonies, free beer, girls winking, beery-eyed from the corner of the bar, as we sang (wincing at this next confession) and on occasion, singing harmonies, back to back, into the same mic, finding new, if sometimes ironic joys, to play the corniest of songs, with two guitars, two mics, all the beer you can handle and your best friend at your side... Hell, we even got a dressing room at one gig.
 
"...the past is so beautiful, the future, like a captive snow..." (as someone once sang).
 
....so, pan forward 12/13 years later.  Time has passed, things have happened, relationships have ended, new ones begun, children have been born, lives have begun and ended.  Sad to say, we rarely get the chance to speak these days, but when we do, we always fall back into talking - and laughing - about "the old days" (doesn't everyone?); the gigs, the songs, the recording sessions, the peculiarly-close-closeness that comes from making music with another person.  We've shared a lot of history together.  Things have happened between and around us, that would tear other friendships asunder, but somehow that connection is there, and stays; whether we like it or not.
 
When we do talk, we always talk about how great the harmonies were. (Damn. It always comes back to the harmonies. I'm feeling *so* Phil Everly right now.)  How we seemed to tap into something new, something different, something greater, other, than either or both of us.  It seemed to flow... 
 
Everything must flow.
 
I know he's in the studio, recording an album this summer, and we've talked about how he'll let me know dates, I'll take time off work, go down there for a few days and we'll do our thing.  I've told him I'm booking some studio time this summer and he'll have to come up to London for the dates.  There are songs that I wrote during that period, that he heard before anyone else. Songs we recorded together on that 4-track all those years ago.  I only know those songs with his harmonies.  We have no choice in some things...
 
Typing these last few words, I can suddenly hear Neil Young singing. And it makes perfect sense...
 
"can we get it together, can we still stand side by side?
can we make it last, like a musical ride?"
 
 

Monday 26 May 2008

shelter from the storm

Aldgate Station.  this was the second photograph i took with Bessie (full name "Bessamatic Voigtlander"). sheltering from the torrential rain, enjoying torrential sunshine around lunchtime on Saturday 26th April 2008.
 
Aldgate Station has a strange and sad past - both in fact and fiction... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aldgate_tube_station
 
for some reason, this is probably my favourite shot taken on our first roll together. not sure why. there are a couple of others i'm also very fond of, but this one sends me...
 
i'll get this - and the others - up on flickr as soon as my dominant dongle dictates.