The difficult fourth album! Part 5 (last part)

So why is the fourth album any more difficult than the other three?

Well, after we played the release party (see Part 4), we did one more gig as a six-piece before we disbanded. The reason was my realisation that this was not a band but a bunch of friends doing me a favour, not really a recipe for longevity. So I went back to my studio hole, started writing the next album, and wondered what kind of new twist it could hold.

In the ensuing months quite extraordinary events took place in my life, and inspired by this, I wrote a huge amount of new material. After the on-stage experience I noticed that I approached writing in a new way. I became more conscious of the arrangements working for live performances, and mostly made sure I could play the parts on the guitar and sing them as well.

The interesting thing was that I basically got closer to the musician in me. This sounds pretty banal, but it was quite a revelation. Looking back on all those albums what had actually happened was a slow reclaiming of the musician, or in other words, an internalisation of the music-making process.

The first album had lots of production features, lush effects and interesting editing, but there were no real drums, no real guitar amps and mostly not even a real bass on it. The emphasis was on studio trickery and programming (albeit on an underpowered computer) instead of musicianship. In addition, none of the instrument parts were played as complete takes, but carefully edited. Interestingly though, my aim was always to make it appear organic.

What made the second album more satisfying was the collaboration with other (better) musicians, because they strengthened the songs, and thus made them come alive. They added another dimension.

The highlight of the third album was the release party. Again, it was setting the tracks free on the stage that made the difference. And of course, playing live is a lot more immediate than playing in the studio.

So there is the challenge of the fourth album. I have since managed to form a three-piece, and I am committed to playing these songs with the band until they are alive and grown up as songs, so I can let them venture out into the world and have a life of their own. I want them to be charged with musicianship, the real thing, not the fake plastic stuff that is software instruments and emulation plug-ins. This means that I will have to practice a lot, play live a lot, take lessons and generally be unafraid.

I bought a four-track cassette recorder in 1985 when I was frustrated with the progress my band was making back then. When I started playing around with it, I had this idea that it could replace my band altogether. And thus my studio career began. I played all the parts myself, dabbled in drum computers, got Ataris to do the playing for me, almost replacing myself in the process.

The alienation from the musician inside me began there. I externalised the music making process. Today I have a Macintosh hundreds of times more powerful than that old four-track, but I never replaced those guys in my band, not in 25 years. So when I look at all the production gear that I have at my fingertips these days, it is slowly dawning on me that the real music has to happen elsewhere first, before it is captured. It starts in my veins. And everything that comes afterwards, the so-called signal path, is there to enhance the message, not replace it.

It feels good to finally have the musician cells back in my blood stream, on the inside where they belong, and where they work best.

Thanks to Caitlin for your inspiration.