(And a Lot Worse Besides…)

Last weekend saw Stuart and Steven sneak back into the studio with Dave to layer up the guitars on the first six tracks, and for Stuart to re-do the vocals (again). It’s not as though Stu needs lots of attempts at it, it’s just that once the vocals are done it gives him (and us) a better, more objective view of them, and more often than not a re-write or two is prompted – that’s unfair, not so much a re-write, more of a tweak of the odd line here and there. Although I’m not saying his lines are odd as such, well, I am, and it would be fair to do so. Indeed, there is a line in While I played Misty for You that had us all pissing ourselves laughing in the control room, even the post delivery explanation induced a hefty dose of mirth.

Sometimes it’s just like that.

Still, with the songs steadily growing and becoming what you’ll hear on the finished album the whole feel of the record is becoming more and more apparent. It’s easy to have plans about how a record should sound when you set off recording, but I think it is fair to say that the songs evolve themselves and dictate themselves how they should turn out. If I were writing for the Guardian I'd call it 'organic', to try and do anything else with them would be disingenuous to the way that the band work. There are often hours of fractious frettings about arrangements, parts and tempos, and these issues are almost always ironed out with a couple of run throughs in the studio – the song itself will suggest how it should be, if it feels right then they don’t fight it. Maybe that is what makes it sound so good.

So with the bulk of the work done of these first six tracks attention has turned to what and when will make up the rest of the album, as always with Decoration being a long distance relationship diary issues are the hardest to resolve, but out of the roughs and demos there are any number of contenders for the record, and already the band are compiling the final set of songs in their heads. Just exactly how it’ll turn out is yet to be seen, but feeling that it’ll leave in your gut is already being formed in a studio in London.

Well It Feels Like Something to Me…

So after a clean but restless sleep the routine starts up again. Everyone is grateful for a hot shower and we head out as usual to find a café. Today we find a nice little place run by a clown, still, beggars can’t be choosers – at least the coffee is hot and they have some kind of bacon on their muffins.

Back into the studio, and Dave is running late, it affords us a nice leisurely start to our last day of this session. The mood is one of quiet optimism, creative types are generally (in my experience) the least confident about their efforts, but there is an all round good feeling about what they have done this weekend – we all know that it is a long way off being finished, but the groundwork has been done and everyone is pleased with the way things are going.

As soon as Dave arrives the band crack on with getting the bulk of Misty tidied up, with the pressure off now they relax a little knowing that they have the feel of the song just right. Throughout the day we re-visit the other songs, performing little tweaks, overdubs and changes here and there, making sure that the basics for all six songs recorded this week are as solid as they can be. Future sessions are already being planned in our minds, there are further guitar parts and new layers to be added and lyrics to be finalised and sung. Stuart will be back with Dave next weekend to put vocal tracks down, but we all envisage him returning to them at the end of the process to revise and re-record, it’s just the way that things work round here.

Mid afternoon we take a break and all head out onto the fire escape out the back and take some photos, looking back at the images later I am struck by how relaxed everybody looks. I load up the car and head off, I have a long drive ahead of me but I have that warm, fuzzy glow in my gut that tells me that we have done something good.

Once I am gone the band continue with the studio work, with Sam and Stuart staying until after midnight finishing things off, eventually though a line is drawn and it is left for Dave to start work on the mixing. As I said previously, there is still a lot of work to do on these tracks, but a damn good start has been made.

The next day we get rough mixes from Dave, all instrumentals so that Stuart can work on his lyrics/vocals without any distractions for when he goes back in next weekend. They are all sounding good, it’s the shape of things to come - and I like it.

Just Itching to Let Fly...

…And a pretty unpleasant night it was. As I shuffled through the murk for a 5.00am visit to the bogs I was greeted with a liberally vomit splattered bathroom, it sort of summed up the place in one puke stained act. Departure could not come too soon.

Depart we did, as soon as we were all awake – we had nothing to pack as none of us felt it the sort of place that you would want to leave your belongings hanging around. We soon enough found a café which offered us sustenance and the ever vital caffeine. All positively relieved to have seen out the night we soon turned our thoughts to the studio, what had already been done and what was planed for the day. Even after sleeping on it the band were visibly boosted by what Dave was pulling out of them, and how he was doing it. It was in this frame of mind that we re-assembled in White City and set to work.

The first things to be tackled were last nights run throughs of Silent Kisses, in the cold light of day they held up just as much as they had the night before. The basis for the drums and bass were there, if in need of a little tweaking. Each part was worked through meticulously, Dave has a great ear for both pitch and timing and whereas we might have considered something to be good enough he would keep the boys at it until it was much more than that. As this progressed the lure of Brazilian bacon proved too much to resist, so Stu, Stick and myself wandered up to Harlesden to stock up on supplies for the day. Realising where we were going Dave got all passionate about the Brazilian deli items that Sam had got so excited about yesterday, and the two of them had a verbal love in on the matter. Still, the rest of us are from the north, so we resist culture at every turn.

Getting back I throw myself into finding new digs for tonight, the horrors of Willesden shall not be revisited, the best I end up with is a Travelodge just off the North Circular Road, nothing if not glamorous. Still, we are all relieved to know that we’ll get a good night sleep and have a nice hot shower in the morning, to be fair we are all starting to stink a bit.

As the songs are rotated to keep them fresh we revisit Blink, and 97 Pound Weakling through the afternoon, all goes well until the spectre of While I Played Misty for You starts to loom over everyone. It is perhaps the oldest song to be tackled this weekend, and has been complete in arrangement for the best part of 18 months. It is because of this that the band seem to have had problems with it whenever they have played it recently, it had lost a lot of the fizz and bounce that went along with those first demos from the Gatehouse in Bolton. In short the band were close to losing faith in it. Before they began there was a lot of debate, which was finally and expertly concluded when Stick suggested that they just forget about how they had played it before, forget that they had even written it, just consider it a song by someone else and approach it as though they were doing a cover version in their own inimitable style. So, by the time they went back into the live room at 11-ish they were all back in the right frame of mind. I stood out on the balcony that overlooks the cemetery and watched a fox mooch around the graves, even from out there I could tell that the fizz was back.

Again, a couple of blasts through and then all back into the control room to listen back. It was obvious to all that they had finally managed to drag the song back form wherever it had wandered off to in their collective imaginations, it was fresh and exciting once again, more punchy than it had been for a while, in short a triumph.

The elusive cleanliness of the Travelodge beckoned, but despite driving past it three times on the North Circular the entrance eluded us. Eventually we got booked in and settled into the bar, the news channel was Czechoslovakian for some reason, but Stick was entranced. I turned in only to be kept awake for a good 45 minutes by the noisy sex people in the next room, still they knew that they were beat when they found themselves hammering on that wall at 4.00am to try and get Stu to stop snoring. I tell you, you couldn't make this stuff up.

Sucking Coffee Through the Froth...

After a semi-decent night in Shepherd’s Bush we all gather in the bar downstairs for breakfast, the idiosyncrasies of the toaster confuse us for a while but soon enough it’s strong coffee and hot toast all round. We debate the recent performance by U2 at Glastonbury and quickly come to the conclusion that whilst the rest of the band are still cutting it Bono has slowly transformed into a tractor repair man from the arse end of County Kerry – his rendition of Jerusalem being a specific when it came down to ‘most cringeworthy moments’. Still, that was them and we were us, so it was off out into the city again, we had a cab to flag and songs to record.

In typical London cabbie style, our driver had an ample selection of rock and roll tales to tell, the most recent encounter was of the manager of Metallica who he had just taken to Claridges to pick up the drummer. They were on with four nights at Donnington at a million quid per show. So what? We’d just spent ten minutes staring into a dodgy toaster and swilling cheap instant coffee –and all that after a night in a room full of backpackers who didn’t take lightly to our singer and his snoring. I know where I’d rather be.

On arrival at the studio we are shocked to find that The Cabin Café across the road is closed at weekends. Steve has already befriended the proprietor, Nellie, who he charmed with his northern wit and propensity for multiple bacon butties and he is gutted that his fat intake maybe severely restricted. We try and distract him with music and before long the boys are rushing headlong into Blink [which was called Stuffy this time last week]. It is a thumping, driven song whose rhythm owes more than a nod to certain Canadian influences, and despite it being perhaps the least prepared song, the guide tracks and drums are nailed in no time. After Steve’s sterling work on the drums we decide to wander off and find a café and leave Stick to do some guitar parts on Poster Boy and Blink.

Harlesden High Road is a hot spot for Brazilian fare, as we soon found out. Spotting South American delicacies through the window Sam dragged us in the first place we saw and insisted that this was where we should eat. Fortunately for Steve the staff were very accommodating and we were served up with bacon, sausage and egg butties while Sam joined in with the local cuisine.

A stroll back and there is a lull where we all just sit around and talk – inevitably about music. Key discussion points are based around The Cure and The Chameleons – two bands that have been important to all of us and were both produced by Dave. He gives us some insight into how things worked and the sort of things that went on while both those bands were recording with him. He is a very insightful kind of bloke and it is thrilling to hear these anecdotes – it’s a welcome break form the intensity of recording (and bacon).

Now, onto I Was a 97 Pound Weakling – it is a song that has been demoed but it is a song that has provoked much debate around how it should be arranged. The lyrical sentiments of the song are laced with despair, but should that be reflected in the music or should there be a fight back, a defiance if you like. We have all found ourselves on either side of the fence at any one time, but today the feeling is that the song should fight back and not be brow beaten. It’s a very Decoration attitude and one that works well in this instance, the opening section of the song outlines just how bad things are, whilst the denouement is a great big ‘fuck you’ to everything and everyone who ever trampled all over it.

To end the day the band run through Silent Kisses for Quiet Goodbyes, a few unclicked live takes are done and it is sounding good, it’s upbeat and free and has a nice flowing feel to it. It is testament to Dave’s working structure, where everything is constantly being rotated and moved on, so nothing becomes stale and the band don’t grow bored of certain parts or songs, it just keeps everything fresh and everyone thinks it is a great way to work. Silent Kisses will be worked on in the morning, but for now we have new digs to find - in Willesden.

We find the new hostel, in Willesden, and are immediately horrified. To say the least, it is a shit hole – it was all booked at the last minute due to the possibility that the studio might fall through, so we had little choice – but this place was terrible. I spend a while online trying to find alternative digs, but it is late on a Saturday night in London and there is nothing going. We numb our senses with alcohol and brace ourselves for an unpleasant night.

Tempting Fate with the Commentator's Curse...

So, this is where it all started getting complicated. Rehearsals were over and we were just two weeks from the recording session in London - and that is when a chunk of shit flew within inches of the fan, we knew then that something was wrong. As it turned out the problem was at the studio end of the piece, Dave was in the process of juggling his kit in between studios, and as these things seldom run smoothly he was becoming increasingly aware that his studio would not be fully functional by the time we arrived in the big city. With this in mind he began a search for an appropriate alternative.

Eventually the message came back that we could have the four days in Shambles Studio at White City – the news that it was the former private studio of Joe Strummer not only coated the news with a fair old layer of icing but pretty much put a cherry on the top as well.

Come Friday morning, we headed towards London from all points of the compass. It was a dull and miserable day in the west of Wales and took me three hours to even reach the motorway, but by the time I ambled up Scrubs Lane the sun was cracking the flags and the boys were pretty much all set up. I ran into Steven, Stuart and Sam in the car park, and through the open fire escape door I could hear Steve giving the drums a thorough working over. It seemed to go on forever, but being aware that Dave Allen was the man who had allegedly spent two weeks getting the drum sound right for The Cure we were not overly concerned. After a while however, Dave decided that the kick drum on Steve’s kit just wasn’t up to the part, and so he and I set off on a mad dash around all parts of Kilburn to collect a Gretsch kick drum and a Fender Precision bass for Sam to have a crack at. The band used the time to have a run through of a few of the songs selected for this weekend in the live room.

Incidentally, the songs lined up for recording were: Kay’s Catalogue, Poster Boy [formerly Clanger], Blink [formerly Stuffy], I Was a 97 Pound Weakling [formerly This Kills], Silent Kisses for Quiet Goodbyes, and While I Played Misty for You. It was an ambitious collection, but with a fair wind behind us we should get the rhythm parts complete and some guitar parts down – that was the plan anyway.

The afternoon went well, with Kay’s and Poster Boy being sketched out, a re-write of some of the parts on the latter meant it was a bit time consuming, but well, it’s worth getting it right so the investment is worthwhile.

At the end of the first day we were all really pleased with the way Dave was working, his methods were different to how the band had worked before, but proved productive, entertaining and insightful – the fact that he was the man responsible for moulding the sound of much of the soundtrack to out teens also helped.

We pack up for the day and all six of us squeeze into Dave’s Mondeo, he drops us off at Shepherd’s Bush [where we are staying the first night] and we arrange to meet half an hour later in the Defecting Weld pub. We spend ages wondering what the hell a defecting weld is before we tire of knowledge and get onto drinking. Unfortunately Dave gets refused entry by the over zealous bouncers and we don’t see him again until the morning. After a few drinks I go in search of food, the best I can find is some fried chicken from a place called ‘Bush Chicken’ – I kid you not. It tastes of neither bush, nor chicken, but it’s late and I head for our hostel and turn in.

Shortly after the rest of the band come in and settle for the night, within minutes Stuart is snoring like an asthmatic stag, it goes on relentlessly until through the darkness a continental accent yells ‘oh just shut up, please’. It makes no difference, but it makes me smile…

The Very Words I Ad Lib...

So, eight weeks or so had passed since those initial demo recordings in Colne and an array of issues had been raised and resolved. Most importantly, after living with the new songs for a while it was felt unanimously that they were worthy of being much more than a basic, stripped back affair. It was decided to look at the new album and how (and where) it would be recorded. It had long been touted amongst the band members that the producer of choice would be Dave Allen, who fettled the sonorous output of much of the alternative eighties [The Cure, The Chameleons, Depeche Mode, Altered Images etc.]. It was perhaps with these records in mind that the band started to feel how the new record might sound.

Initial correspondence was moving apace when we realised that we were talking to Dave Allen, ex-bassist from The Gang of Four, in short, the wrong Dave Allen. Still, we eventually tracked down our man and all the small talk was settled and a date to record in London was set for early July.

With that in mind, Decoration met up again in late June to thrash out some more new songs that had been floating around as ideas. The plan was to have arrangements etc. all settled by the time the band would converge on London to start work on the new album in earnest. The band descended on the decommissioned old folks home just off the A666 and set about knocking songs into shape.

First to be tackled was 'Silent Kisses for Quiet Goodbyes', which over the course of the morning developed from a rough demo to a melodically rolling pop song already thought of as a strong contender for an early single. Following on, a track provisionally titled 'Stuffy' took a nosedive and was proving difficult to progress with, it was put to one side and the three tracks recorded in April [Misty's, Kay's, and This Kills] were fine tuned. More run throughs and tweaking saw off Sunday morning, and then to work on 'Clanger' [probably to be called 'Poster Boy' by the time you read this]. A darker tune, washed over with emotion and discord; and then a return to 'Stuffy' which given the break came together perfectly. It's more of a driven, pounding march than the other tracks and therefore stands out from the crowd, it's a real treat. It seems that there is no entrenched aural theme developing with this set of songs like there was with the effervescing pop of Don't Disappoint Me Now, or the angry melancholia of See You After The War. These songs seem to be coming together as a composite of all that Decoration are good at - ups and downs, highs and lows, the ebb and flow of the everyday events that go together to make up an album...it's all there if we look hard enough.

The Shape of Things to Come (and Go)

By last autumn it had been a while since Decoration had played live or recorded any new material, despite this the cogs had still been turning steadily if slowly. An ever growing batch of rough cuts and demo recordings had been continually developing, sent to and fro through the ether on an insistent flow of email communication. Then out of the blue the last minute offer of a gig seemed to sharpen the attention; there had been very little rehearsal during the preceding months but for some reason it just seemed to be the right thing to do. It would also be the bands first ever hometown gig.

The assembled throng at Butterflies in Bolton were treated to a set that was fine tuned during the day in a rehearsal room converted from a decommissioned old folks home. I have a feeling that it was that gig where the spark was re-ignited, all agreed that the next album should become a work in progress rather than just an idea that would probably some day be got around to. With that, the demos were worked on, tweaked, changed, re-written, discarded, revised, resurrected and re-evaluated. The momentum grew steadily and new ideas flowed and flushed. Over the winter things settled and by early spring the band was ready to step back into the studio.

By the time the band converged on Modern English, a studio in a mill basement on a Colne hillside, there was a pretty good idea about how the new record should feel. There had always been issues with previous records that the compositions, with layer upon layer of sound had been hard to replicate live. This was a new set of songs and should be structured so that they could translate to the live setting more readily. That was basically the mantra, the only rule that would carry any weight.

An evening rehearsal ensued prior to recording, and of the new songs three were selected:

While I Played Misty for You
I Was a 97 Pound Weakling
Kay’s Catalogue

The weekend flew by, old structures were soon settled back into but with the new ethos of a stripped back, almost live feel to the tracks a once lost lively nature was rediscovered. Things were sounding fresh and exciting, and whilst retaining a rudimentary feel there was still the sophisticated elegance that so often has done battle with the edge of the seat dynamic that has gone before.

By Sunday evening everyone was satisfied that progress had been made, we were a way off perfection but without doubt solid foundations had been laid. A driving and deliberate Kay’s Catalogue was tempered perfectly by a melodious Mistys with each balancing opposite ends of a scale teetering around the melancholic desperation of 97 Pound Weakling, which by this point had become This Kills. All would require future tweaks and maybe a quick coat of emulsion, but if nothing else this all too short session in the studio had proved to the boys that they really could do this – but then again I’m not entirely sure that there really was ever any doubt of that.