Late of the Pier
We are the most prepared we have ever been for a recording yet there are things you only find out about yourselves until you’re in the studio.
For instance, I’m often slightly late to the beat. I see this as an extension of the lateness I commit on a nearly daily basis to my understanding workmates and my more beleaguered band members.
With work, I don’t call in if I’m going to be ten minutes late, for that is my normal time of arrival. They get a call when I think I might be later than late. I became a manager so I couldn’t sack myself.
I’m not the manager of our band though, so I could be sacked. (Actually, we do have a manager who keeps sacking himself. His name is David and he is our manager even if he says he isn’t).
I know I infuriate Shrag with my lateness. I know this because they told Marc Riley during our 6music session as they regaled him with stories of my legendary lateness. I forget these stories. Boring.
But I do remember I nearly missed the beginning of our second song for Riley as I wanted pictures of me doing a funny face next to a painting of Riley and Mark Radcliffe they have hanging in the 6music corridors. What a funny guy I am. Dickhead.
(Pierre, if you’re reading this, can you send me that picture? I’ll Blog IT!)
So Andy Miller, our producer, has spent a lot of time staring at threads of sound on his computer moving my bass around until it arrives on time. Even though we are talking in nano-seconds my pride is a little hurt.
You start to wish that you could be a full time band having day long rehearsals for weeks before recording. Or some such nonsense.
Last Saturday in Glasgow, Bob and I met up with John Mckeown from The Yummy Fur and 1990s. He gave us a great pep-talk, something along the lines of “producers always want things to be perfect, so what if it speeds up at the end – it’s a fucking rock n roll song! That’s how we like it!”
If you didn’t already, re-read that quote in a Glasgow accent. See how comforting it is.
And so I think, so I’m no Bootsy Collins, what the fuck, I’m not at work. I’m 37. Doing this is a fucking treat.
I will consider wearing some Bootsy-style star-shaped sunglasses at our next gig.