Tuesday 17th January
Day one ambled to a fairly productive close, Jake having laid down some pretty solid takes for 5 of the proposed 9 or 10 tracks. The customary post-recording wine was quaffed and we were treated to a brief tour of hip-hop courtesy of Chris D. Day two then, free as we were from the time consuming woes of arranging microphones and tuning drums, got off to a swifter start. So however did the builders working on the church tower, lending some occasional clangs and bangs to proceedings. They sound pretty hideous but I think we can get away with calling it avant garde.
Jake had polished off the remaining tracks in time for lunch and Will’s Auntie once again provided us with a hearty meal of homemade soup and sandwiches. We haven’t eaten this well in a long time. Chris D set about editing the drum tracks leaving us a couple of hours free while he got on with things we don’t fully understand. We had a stroll around the countryside, had a sword fight with some sticks and nearly had an accidental game of ‘What’s the time Mr Wolf’ with an old man. All in all good old fashioned hijinks. After resisting the temptation to nap, we busied ourselves with other things. One such thing being the piano in the house. A real piano nonetheless, it would be rude not to play it.
One of many brilliant houses in and around Dormston
Shortly after Chris D had finished the editing and we had made our way back into the church to add some occasional percussion Will arrived back from a hard days thinking at uni and told us how according to some theory everyone is racist by default. Psychologists are the worst kind of people. We soon overcame our crushing sense of existential guilt and Jordan soldiered on with some bass guitars.
|Shakey Jake (or the artist formerly known as 'One Take Jake')|
On a side note, being in the countryside we have seen some cracking place names. The following is a list of my three favorites in no particular order:
- Ronkswood - Pleasingly deranged. Undeniably comical sexual undertones.
- Peopleton - Sounds like a fictional town in a kids TV programme. So bland it’s almost sinister, I imagine it to be inhabited exclusively by morph-like, featureless, asexual clay people.
- North Piddle - Like a big ol’ puddle of frozen piss. Rumor has it there is also a ‘Middle Piddle’ which would most certainly take the place of it’s northern counterpart were it not for its current mythical status.
After a food run to a non-existent service station which turned into an aimless and dizzying tour of the local roundabouts which then turned into a trip into nearby Worcester in search of sustenance Jordan had finished all seven songs. By this time it was nine o’clock and we were all getting weary, not least Chris D who had been slaving away all day behind the desk. It was time to head back. Tomorrow, guitars!