S*T*U*F*F* Reloaded

I’ve just finished a recording session up at our studio with Jules Maxwell - he’s producing my new album. We got really stuck in this week, digging out the sessions from last year and trying to make sense of what’s been done and what had to be done. Jules is just amazing - with such a clear vision of something I can’t see until its there, and it is all just right. He has been getting me to sing in my bass register, which is great… it sounds like, well, me. I never really had the bottle to do it before, but he is conquering every demon. “Turn the drums down… no, mute them completely… ah - THAT’S IT!” or “No, the vocal just isn’t happening. Don’t perform it. Don’t even try. Just let it be.” Infuriating advice, but sometimes its just what I need to hear.

Its very stripped back - mostly just guitars and vocals, with a little bit of bass and the odd bit of foot stomping or clapping. Quite a remedy to the bombastic overblown sound of Angels In Drag, but it just seems the right thing to do. Its having a much more profound effect on my audio guinea pigs - they are bursting into tears, gasping in amazement. I’ve been fortunate enough to have some wonderful guitar magic added by my great friend and ally Leo Abrahams whose website I’m currently designing and building… its been a great creative experience and will be lovely when its done.

Recording on a Friday night is good. Especially when followed by heading back to where Jules is staying - in the rectory of St. Olave’s church in Fenchurch St., a 12th Century church where Samuel Pepys is buried. THe church was open so we went in and looked - although it was dark it had a wonderful sense of space, and the silence was pure magic in the London night. He heated up some spaghetti bolognese from last night and we tucked in over a Leffe Blond. That’s a beer by the way, not a variety of woman.

I love the drives home from the studio late at night. I stick Radio 4 on and catch the shipping forecast, usually as I cross Tower Bridge. There’s something really special about driving through London late at night. All those magnificent buildings and world famous monuments, bridges, just yours for the taking. You take a snapshot in your mind and just keep going.

I’m drinking a last glass of my Corton Pougets 2000. I had most of it last night as I cooked dinner for Diane and fancied a bottle of something beyond the ordinary. I had bought a nice bottle of Faugères as an excuse to talk French with the guy from Nicolas in East Dulwich, but eventually decided to go for something a little more on the special side from my small collection of special keepsies. The chap was amazed when I chose the Faugères the first time I went in there. “C’est pas bien connu…” Funny, it was a Faugères that made the guy in Le Savour Club in Paris stop treating me with disdain and more like his only son. I asked if he had any “Abbaye Sylva Plana” and he said “Vous connaissez ce vin?” - You know this wine? His smile was something I won’t forget. If you ever see Abbaye Sylva Plana - Le songe de l’Abbaye I think is the name of the wine - buy it. Its about €12 and tastes just fabulous. Do yourself a favour and leave half of it overnight. When you come back to it next day you will weep with delight as it touches your lips. Magic.

Diane gave me a Valentine’s Day gift of a wine tasting in June… a special tasting of the “Whites of Burgundy”. Brilliant, as I haven’t got much of a clue about whites, really. I was advised that 2006 Burgundian whites are a great investment, and while I don’t dispute the authority of the person who told me, I’d like to discover a bit more by means of the nose and tongue. Though I fear for the effect on my bank account.

Right - must sleep. I have to get up and deal with the amazing little fellow that makes me laugh my loons off - my wee boy Luka… and he could be up as early as 7am. If only 2 years olds could grasp the concept of “a lie in”.