Recording Studio

What Woman Really Want

by Enormous on March 9, 2010

I was accosted by not one but two annoying men this morning.

First, punk drummer Sonny Starr who is so thick that light actually bends around him rang about eight o’clock this morning pleading for some ‘emergency studio time’. Apparently, his band Vince World and the Powertoys whose songs about ‘hot chicks’ with long legs and large ‘Zeppelins’ have been attracting some industry attention lately. I don’t believe for one minute that any record company would ever sign his awful band but according to Sonny ‘somebody massive’ is showing some interest. There again, like a lot of musicians, he is always telling stories without being unduly burdened by veracity.

‘You’re not using the studio,’ I repeated. ‘You’ll have to record your emergency demos somewhere else.’

‘No offence, Davy, but you are a bastard,’ he hissed over the phone.

He’s probably right on that one.

I have just about had it up to here, however, with bands and their songs that not only objectify women, but often belittle and demean them, too.

Next, while Audrey and I were running home over the rec’ to get out of the rain, Nigel-the-dickhead came bounding up to us to tell us what a wonderful night everyone had had in the pub celebrating the return of his wife. ‘She’s not lesbo any more,’ he proudly informed me. ‘Just couldn’t live without me.’

‘Did she realise what she was missing, Nige?’ I asked, tongue firmly in my cheek.

‘Of course. You see, unlike you, Dave . . . ‘

‘Davy.’

‘ . . . unlike you, I know how to treat a woman. I know exactly what they want. Dave.’

I can’t help thinking his errant wife must have had an ulterior motive for going back to him. Something to do with money, no doubt. Or am I being cynical? I simply don’t think any member of the female sex would ever find that tedious man with greasy hair and a face like a bag of frogs – ugly frogs – attractive in any way whatsoever. But that’s just me.

Once again I had been forced to spend a wonderfully edifying few moments being lectured at by Nigel on the subject of women and their desires. I was so happy.

When I got home all my teeth fell out.

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Agony Uncle

by Enormous on June 25, 2009

‘Why the long face, Davy?’

‘Oh, good morning, Reg.’

‘Don’t tell me, you went out in the village with young Nelson over the weekend, got drunk, got some bird pregnant; got a heart full of regrets and a head full of hangover. I’m right, aren’t I? Tell me I’m not wrong.’

‘You’re not wrong. I mean you are wrong. I was just thinking about – ‘

‘You young lads these days, you have no respect for women any more. Not like in my day – we knew how to treat a woman, we did. Like a lady. Always treat a woman like a lady, Davy.’

‘Reg, I was just – ‘

‘I was treating women like ladies while you were still in short trousers. Before that, even – while you were still a bubble in your dad’s beer, actually. I know what I’m on about, me, when it comes to the female sex. Sex in general, actually.’

‘Reg, have you had your medication this morning?’

‘What medication?’

‘Nothing. Thanks for the advice. About women.’

‘Don’t mention it, Davy. As I say, I am something of an expert on the subject, and I do like to share my experience and knowledge with others. Now, tell your Uncle Reginald why you look so down in the dumps.’

‘I’m fed up with my pathetically bad business skills, Reg. While my brother was here over the weekend – apart from drinking too much again, I managed to turn down two bands who wanted to book the studio. I keep turning bookings away, trying to get the new Enormous album finished. I just can’t seem to find enough hours in the day. I should have taken the bookings. My finances are in a terrible state.’

‘Who were the bands?’

‘You wouldn’t have heard of them.’

‘Who were they?’

‘Progression, a jazz-rock band from Derby, and This Machine, heavy-metal four-piece from Coventry.’

‘Hmm . . . jazz-rock, you say? Heavy-metal, you say? Coventry, you say?’

‘That’s right.’

‘There is nothing wrong with your business skills, Davy – or your taste and integrity.’

Thanks, Reg.’

‘One thing, though . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Finish your bloody album!’

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Distant Drums

by Enormous on May 28, 2009

Sonny Starr, drummer with the Modern Men rang me last night begging for studio time again.

‘Can you hear me OK? I’m in Dubai!’

‘Good for you, Sonny,’ I shouted over a bad line, ‘but I know what you’re like. Besides, I keep telling you, the studio is too small for a big kit like yours.’

‘I got rid of that, Davy. I’ve just bought one of those cool little Fibes kits. Four-piece.’

My ears pricked up. I love those old 70s drum kits. They are quite unusual: they are made of fibreglass and have a lovely fat, heavy punchy sound that reminds me of the Sweet or Slade. They are quite sought after.

‘This Arab swapped it me for some speed.’

‘You smuggled speed into Dubai!?’

‘Nah. Of course not.’

I breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Minty did.’

‘Minty?‘

‘New bass player. Very cool. Bit, though, you know . . . mental.’

‘When you say an Arab swapped the Fibes kit for some speed, Sonny, were you sure no one was watching you? From any parked cars or anything?’

‘Hee hee. Don’t worry, Davy-Boy, it’s only crrrss zzrkkk crkkz.’

‘I can’t hear you, Sonny. Tell me . . . oh, look, it doesn’t matter.’ I carried on shouting into the phone. ‘You definitely are not coming into the studio! Especially with Minty in tow, and especially with a set of drums you acquired using nefarious means from an Arab in Dubai – even if it is an old Fibes kit.’

‘You need some excitement in your life, Davy. Remember what it’s like being in a band?’

‘I’m in a band.’

‘No, you know, I mean . . . a proper band. On tour.’

‘I have enough excitement in my life at the moment, Sonny, thank you very much.’

‘Really? I doubt it. What you gonna do right now after talking to me, for instance?’

‘I’m about to take Audrey for a walk.’

‘Hah! See what I mean? You should be coming with us to this secret booze club near the Australian embassy where they have topless belly dancers.’

‘. . .’

‘You’d love it! Nelson Galaxy would. What you doing after your stupid walk?’

‘I’m going to listen to a little Burt Bacharach and then go to bed.’

‘With your Marks and Spencer’s pyjamas on?’ The line was still bad but I could tell he was laughing on the other end of it. ‘I saw Bacharach on the telly over here the other night,’ he went on, ‘and I’ll tell you this . . .’

‘What’s that, Sonny?’

‘He’s not little.’

‘Very funny. I wish I’d said that.’

‘Don’t worry, Davy, you will. See ya.’

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Tempo Hell

by Enormous on April 27, 2009

Here is some advice for all you budding audio engineers and DAW recordists out there: if you are working on a track with tempo changes make sure they are all correct before doing any overdubs.

I have been working on a project over the weekend that features several specific timing variations. I realised, after the whole track was nearly finished, that some of the tempo changes were almost, but not quite, exactly different to the way they were supposed to be.

Oh, what joy I felt when it dawned on me that after correcting them, everything else on the track would be out of synch. (Yes, I know I could have tried warping and time-stretching some of the audio, but, trust me, it wouldn’t work.)

Sometimes, when it hits you with depressing realisation that everything you have been working on for two days needs re-recording, you feel ever so slightly like giving up.

In fact I did. I spent the whole of yesterday with Audrey and two cold bottles of Chardonnay sitting upstairs at the control-room window watching the local twenty-six-stone spheroid women of lively odours and obliging virtue as they waddled by on the rain-soaked streets below.

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Every Cloud

by Enormous on April 16, 2009

Boy, it’s grim weather here today: heavy cloud and constant drizzle.

Looking out of the window I can see a massive, black, anvil-shaped monster of a thundercloud to the north just idly waiting until Audrey and I leave the house for our afternoon stroll around the park. It looks as if it is about to collapse under its own weight of grey.

Hum, I know that feeling.

We already got soaked to the skin when we were out by the old railway tracks this morning at eight o’clock. I didn’t mind, though, because we encountered a gorgeous female jogger who we often see down that part of the village. I was going to introduce myself but I messed up as usual.

‘Lovely morning,’ she panted as she drew near.

‘Is it?’ was my inspired reply.

Is it? Good grief, no wonder she frowned and just carried on past us, puzzled and slightly frightened. Is it? I was frowning too. The way I blunder through my lonely bachelorhood is a constant source of amazement to me.

My dissatisfaction with my awkward and depressingly charmless personality was tempered somewhat on the way home by my recollection of her tight Lycra jogging bottoms.

I just couldn’t get them out of my mind.

Their image remained there for most of the morning, in fact, precise and perfectly represented (I have a pornographic memory), suggesting to me all the stimulating possibilities for sexual mayhem that two healthy adults might enjoy together on the floor of a small recording studio on a wet and misty morning in April.

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Birthday Zombies

by Enormous on February 20, 2009

To everyone who wished me a happy birthday recently: thank you, I didn’t know you cared.

In case you were wondering, I spent the day with Audrey, trying not to do any work, eating pizza and drinking beer.

During the afternoon I watched a couple of zombie movies that Nelson recommended to me. (Mr Galaxy even blogged about my special day over on his site. He posted a photograph he took of me at Christmas with his new SLR camera.)

Birthday review:

The pizza and beer were good, the movies were . . . well, I’m sure you can imagine.

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Morning Starr

by Enormous on February 12, 2009

Sonny Starr, punk drummer extraordinaire, has just paid the studio an early morning visit. Once again, he came to ask me for some advice.

‘I’ve given up playing the drums, I’ve given up punk,’ he paused for effect, ‘and, you’re not gonna believe this, but . . . I’ve formed a synthesizer trio.’

‘That’s totally amazing, Sonny,’ I sniffed, ‘and I’m incredibly happy for you, but I’ll have to bid you farewell and get cracking upstairs.’

‘You busy on a mix or something?’

‘Not really.’ Now it was my turn to effect a careful pause. ‘Thing is, you see, after what you’ve just told me, I think I’m ever so slightly about to slip into a coma.’

He went on excitedly: ‘We’re called Sonny La Rue and the Modern Men. You’re looking at the singer.’

‘The singer? Where is she?’

‘No, it’s me. I’m the singer.’ His smile was so full of pride I feared he was about to fall over.

‘But you can’t sing; you have a voice that sounds like a goat in distress.’

‘That never stopped you, Davy.’

I had to admit, he did have a point.

He carried on as I was closing the door on him: ‘I’ve just bought an old Prologue synth and I was wondering if you knew how to get a nice violin sound out of the thing.’

‘Impossible,’ I informed him. ‘You just can’t make a nice violin sound on a synthesizer; violins can’t do it, why should a synth?’

I watched him wander confused and disappointed down the street towards the bus stop. Audrey brushed up against my leg. ‘Looks like the weather is improving at last,’ I told her.

Clouds that had earlier seemed a permanent feature in the winter sky were melting away to reveal a promising orange sun hanging low on the horizon. ‘Come on, girl, time for a nice cup of Earl Grey.’

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