On March 10th 2006, popular Plymouth-based rock music combo
Wishlist embarked on a momentous journey of self discovery and musical anarchy
as we entered PMC Studios to record our debut album.
OK that's the 'professional-esque bullshit intro' out of the way...
Our critically acclaimed EP of 2005 earned much positive feedback,
including a 7 out of 10 review in Metal Hammer of all places, and marked our
first recorded material since securing the services of vocalist Tom Boutwood and
drummer Rich Robinson. However, since we replaced Rich with previous drummer
Matt Epps, it was felt that more recorded material was long overdue. Yet more
psuedo-journalistic style word play...
You're all no doubt expecting debauched tales of 24 hours a day
studio-based partying, snorting 'sherbet' from the voluptuous curves of
strippers hired from local pole dancing venues, fist fights over the last pork
pie in the pack, puking up stomach lining and the inevitable splitting up due to
'musical differences', resulting in losing the entire recording to the record
company in some loophole in the contract that grants the label exclusive rights
to the music and the motion picture, leading to the Sugababes releasing 'The
Reopening of Old Wounds' as a dance remix... I'm sorry to say that almost
none of this happened - and besides... what happens in the studio, stays in the
studio! I'm sworn to secrecy. So you'll have to be content with this hearwarming
collection of anecdotes and insights of the making of the album of the
year.
Anyway, the music is besides the point, and nobody is interested in that
stuff anyway... The most memorable event of the entire session was the
farting... As anyone that's half honest will tell you, get a group of five men
in a small room together, and it's almost the law that they compare their powers
of flatulence. This occasion was no exception - it was truly a master class in
'baking brownies'. 'Doc' Collins, studio head honcho and engineer extrordinaire,
set the benchmark (or should that be stench-mark...) with some truly
eye-watering emanations. And we have it on good authority that this was the
tail-end (if you'll pardon the pun) of the worst of it, he almost gassed himself
to death under his duvet. You gotta respect the guy. Almost immediately upon
entering the studio, a chorus of 'butt trumpets' was raised, harmonised in
an awe inspiring display of almost
celestial beauty. At the very least, it sounded like the best Bee Gees harmony
they never wrote. Bassist Matt was a worthy competitor who only just fell short
of The Doctor, and guitarist Dan's nostril scorching reek was akin to an adult
baby desperately in need of a nappy change. The only person in the room free
from this curse seemed to be drummer Matt, who (almost) never raised one peep.
Most worrying was Doc's gleeful exclamation of 'I'm going out for a curry
tonight', which was met with a collective groan of the condemned band, who had
to share a studio with him the following day. A man inflicted with an arse like
the Japanese flag and uncontrollable wind is not a good combination. I'll lay
claim to the ultimate and oft-repeated WWF trash talk bastardisation - 'Can you
smell what the Doc is cooking?!' accompanied by the patented 'hand on the ear'
gesture that made The Rock such hot property in both the squared circle, and the
Silver Screen (even though he blatantly nicked it from Bruce Campbell in Army of
Darkness). Maybe a 'hand on the nose' gesticulation would have been more
appropriate.
But let's not dwell on the smell as it were, for besides the anal alchemy
(and it did seem as if Archimedes himself was brewing up the sulphurous,
sewer-like stink by combining the most piquant aspects of each persons 'musky
scent'), some serious musical mastery was also going down. I suppose some poor
misguided souls might actually be interested in the recording itself... so this
part is for you guys...
Friday was 'Drum 'n' Bass' day, the band recording 8 songs as live takes,
from which the drums and as much bass as possible was kept with minimal
overdubbing. The remaining four were blitzed on Saturday afternoon, before Dan's
guitars were committed to digital hard drive. Everything was recorded in
separate rooms, making for as little 'bleed' as possible, which should give a
professional and quiet, well defined end result. Special attention has been
given to the drum sound, (which was one of the criticisms of the original EP),
the bass is sounding cavernous with the Tobias bass / Hartke stack combination,
and guitars were handled courtesy of Ibanez RG and S series guitars (the same
guitar used by Dragon Forces Herman Li, guitar geeks! Look out for it on one
particularly face melting moment...) and the disgustingly heavy sounding
Marshall Mode Four half stack. Timekeeping during the many dynamic interludes
was handled by a mixed bag of Tom's hand clapping, a Metro-Gnome, and a coin
gaffa taped to Dan's shoe, tapping on a piece of plaster board into a microphone
(Tom's hand clapping was abandoned for being too limp wristed to come across
with any conviction... haha). So there you go, technology being used to its
fullest extent. After a carpal tunnel syndrome-inducing 14 hour blitz on axe
wielding duties (split between a few hours on Saturday afternoon and an
exhausting 10 hour day on Sunday), the weekend was up, and we were tottering off
home to hide in our caves until it's time to lay down the tribal grunts (the
weekend starting 18th March)...
Doc's excited ('I'm
excited about this guys, I like being excited', he deadpanned...), we're
excited, you should bloody well be starting to feel the same way! Early
indications of scorching songs include two of the newest tracks (one of which
being the heaviest and fastest thing we've ever committed to cd, the other being
the most sprawling, ambitous and diverse offering yet), along with,
surprisingly, old favourite 'The Way the Lies Land', which is sounding at the
moment as if it'll turn out to be the heaviest, catchiest pop song ever written.
Sugar-coated vocal harmonies (which aren't done yet but bear with me...), slap
bass and face melting, two handed guitar solos butt heads over an anthemic track
that will make you think the Lost Prophets (and the entire music industry)
have got it all wrong... Honestly, this shit is Eurovision Song Contest worthy,
even your mother will like it, but not in a way that'll embarrass you. Whew, I'm
getting light headed from all this bending over and kissing my own arse. Look
out for Studio Diary-ah part 2, coming
next week!
Oh,
and to cap the weekend off, Matt Epps finally proudly unleashed a monstrous
trouser cough, the likes of which we'd never witnessed... well, OK, it was a
squeaker delivered after much ceremony, which sounded more like the plaintive
whimper of the losing dog at Crufts. More Ginsters Peppered Steak Slices
required next time around, me thinks Mr. Epps.
