Going into the studio with a band is a strange feeling. You look forward to it, understanding it to be an opportunity to get yourselves across - not just your song or melody but your ideas, your attitudes and your intentions. So it is important that it comes out right.
Come the end of the day, though, you have to wait an extra few days for the studio to mix and produce your work, so for the time being you walk away with nothing.
Nothing to listen to on the way home. Nothing to rave on about and nothing to show for all the effort; except blisters, a heavy caffeine comedown and a click, click, clicking in your head.
Recording itself is a blast; lots of hard work but a chance to behave like a real band and forget you have a day job.
We arrived at House of Mook in Leeds at 10am and worked solid until 10pm under the close control of producer Whiskas. He is not a cat. Disappointing. He does have a beard though. Posters covered every wall, cymbals decked the rafters and equipment littered every corner. Russ found a stray internet connection, Jonny found a sofa and Andy had even made sandwiches. As if that wasn't enough, we even had our own room to relax in.
Topics of conversation included Spotify, Ricky Gervais, keeping time, cover bands, rugby (league) and football, target audiences, keeping warm and guitar sounds.
So, now we wait til Wednesday for the first mixes to surface. I'm finding it quite an uncomfortable wait.
To totally give up two songs you've carried proudly with you for a year is a scary prospect. And leaving them open to the interpretation of a relative stranger means that they may never sound the same to you again - an exercise in trust to say the least.
Professional musicians probably get used to this process, or they have too much to be getting on with to let it play on their mind. So, in the meantime we'll find something to fill our time and concentrate our minds elsewhere.
Oh, like a day job.
Dan
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