Last things last
I'm updating this website to accompany an album that we are about to release, or have released, depending on when you are reading this and the likelihood of me updating this sentence. It's an album that's called Last and it's called that because that's what it is. It's an album of migrations and goodbyes. It's one last crash of all the cymbals. It's the last instalment in a string of musical projects my brother and I had worked on since we first started writing songs on our Dad's old acoustic guitar and recording them onto a Casio cassette recorder in our shared bedroom as kids maybe twenty years ago.
For most of our lives we had been recording in our bedrooms, or struggling to transport and set up all our studio gear for a weekend session here and there. Then, a couple of years ago, I moved into a house with a basement and we were excited to finally have a place to build a permanent studio. For months our weekends were spent working on it: we put up a partition wall with a window, ripped the ceiling down and built a soundproof one, built benches to fit our mixing desk, tape machines and other gear. We even had colour coded microphone leads between the live room and the control room, which gave us way more satisfaction than it probably should have. And when it was complete, we recorded Last.
For all the music we worked on over years, we were never really brave enough or focused enough to create the album we heard in our heads; an album swarming with tape-hiss, compressed noise, distorted vocals and smothered in feedbacks. And to be honest, I don't believe we'll look back at Last and think we achieved it either, but it is closest we'll get to it.
And then life got in the way and I left the house with the studio. And I guess I took it as a sign: time was up. A different life awaits.
Thank you Natalia, Chris, Hugo, Brian & Nick. Thank you Emile, Tom and Jamie. Thank you, if you listened to our music. Thank you if you came to one of our few gigs.