Sound/Waves
How incredible it’s been to work on all this new music right on the edge of the deep blue... My first morning in Brighton walking to Tim’s studio, as I was getting closer, and closer, and closer to the sea, I just remember thinking “Wow! I didn’t think it would be that close!”
With our time together in the studio spanning more than a year to date, I got to witness the imprint of every season on the city’s seascape. Every day, in fact, as I walked or ran the length of the front before we started work, there were changes to note in the colours and shapes of the sea, the sky and the horizon between. Serene summer days canvassed perfect lines, glittering sapphire and azure. The horizon sometimes virtually indiscernible. The water at times so sparkly it looked like a cartoon! Winter winds whipped up tumultuous frothing waves and hurled stones from the beach over the railings, sheeting whole stretches of the tarmac promenade - rather a pain for us pedestrians - and even landing as far as the road (and onto the odd unfortunately parked car).
One morning in November, I came across a bench that had been thrown over onto its back and skidded several metres away from its designated spot. On occasions, blowing gales held me stationary and almost knocked me off my feet; a couple of morning outings were aborted for lack of progress, and potential risk!
Many people have said to me how unappealing they find the winter months in Brighton, and pitied me “having” to be there through them. But however hostile the bracing conditions might have seemed to them, I loved it! In contrast to the people-saturated beaches of warmer months, I would have expanses entirely to myself. It felt invigorating and liberating. The sea is so full of personality during these times, and the sky sometimes so heavy and low with clouds you feel you might touch it. It’s easy to forgive the very salty lips and beachy hair.
I listened back to everything I worked on with Tim whilst walking along Brighton Seafront. If we bounced off a mix of a song at the end of a day, I’d usually save it up to listen back with fresh ears - frequently in every sense of the word - the following morning. Be it flaunting its vibrant turquoise or, more often, swirling bluey-grey, there’s something so awe-inspiring in perceiving the sea’s ever changing expanse. With its scale, daily gripes and niggles are frittered away, and the bigger, more important stuff comes into focus. I found that my feelings towards the songs would be very clear cut; I’d be either totally satisfied or know exactly what needed to change, in which case I’d head onto the studio with my checklist to pick up with Tim.
I remember one expedition in particular, walking with Tim in autumn-time along the Seafront path, past desolate beach huts and empty benches, and the (to my eyes) rather aesthetically pleasing barbecue bins, towards Hove Lagoon. We’d donned our coats - it was lovely and bright yet bitingly cold, in order to test out a few final mixes and check we were both happy with them. Headphones on, play buttons hit assuredly in sync, and off we went.
I’m confident that there’s still many an unwritten song to be tested out for the first time in exactly this way...
