Back in the Barn

Dear readers, despite unpopular lack of demand, the blog is back! Join us as we take an epic journey through the depths of subterranean Edinburgh and into Al’s Barn, where we prepare our latest batch of “sonic treats” to be imbibed by the hungry algo-blins.

To set the scene, let’s acknowledge that SOMB has been on a bit of a roll over the course of this glorious Scottish winter. Not quite a full 360-degree barrel roll — more like a fraction of a turn, hopefully (not) for the worse.

Our performance at Live and Louder went down without any formal complaints. The trip to London for the Wigwam Awards was suspiciously successful, in spite of the obvious mishaps. Finally, the release of our new single Chairman was mostly tolerated and has even managed to drag a few fresh souls into our cathedral of noise.

So, with our withered hearts full of hope, we conspired to build on this fledgling momentum by putting the finishing touches to the next set of tunes.

A predictably bleak, monotone February weekend was selected at random for us to rise from our crypts and descend upon Al’s Audio Barn, ready and (un)willing for a much-needed session of tidying, polishing, self-loathing, and mutual disdain.

Now, Al’s barn is located inside Music Base, which Edinburgh musicians will know as a sprawling wonderland of underground rehearsal rooms and recording studios. It’s a bustling hive of musical activity, with seemingly endless (and occasionally ominous) corridors and corners where people toil away at the business of making a racket.

The barn itself is a bit of an Aladdin’s cave, full of synths, drums, amps, guitars, cables, and a vocal booth. It’s awesome. Although, on our first visit, some members of SOMB (who will remain nameless) were disappointed by the lack of hay bales and livestock.

And, of course, there is the man himself: the Ableton warlock, the sonic alchemist, the master(er) and commander — our good friend Mr Ally Kelly. Thankfully, after many painful hours of working with us in the past, Al knows precisely the level of professionalism and organisation to expect when we dredge our way into his studio.

Location set, studio primed, synergy at maximum capacity — we were ready to hit the ground running. The plan, in theory, was to build on the work of previous sessions and get one or two tracks ready for release. This meant laying down final vocals and lead guitars, then sprinkling on enough extra seasoning to make our undercooked noise safe for consumption.

Step up to the plate, Tom (our lead guitarist) who, like all great divas, demanded top billing and an early exit, insisting (with no actual authority) that he record his parts first due to some “important business” in London. He refused to say what this business was, but the look on his face suggested that further questions would not be welcome (and possibly unsafe).

The procedure of recording the various lead parts and solos was fraught with tension and confusion. Al (a far more competent musician than any of us) began to develop a thousand-yard stare as the meaning and context of each note became the subject of intense debate. The stare grew longer every time we tried (and failed) to sing the notes we wanted but couldn’t name.

Eventually, after many lightyears, we got it done and Tom was free to return to his mysterious dealings. But not before we gathered some actual proof of our existence by hanging around in a dimly lit tunnel.

Uncomfortable posing out of the way, next on the rack came Lewis & Arthur to work on vocal harmonies.

The sound of their haunting wailing echoing around the eerie catacombs of Music Base almost certainly interrupted some perfectly pleasant drum lessons. From our point of view, however, this was a productive and relatively pain-free session. Unfortunately for Al, it also yielded a collection of unsettling vocal tracks he would one day have to confront.

So far, so good. At least one of the tracks was coming together nicely, and by some miracle, in spite of spending the best part of a day shuffling around below ground level, we were all still talking.

Then Andy piped up, sheepishly (as is his style), claiming that he wasn’t happy with his guitar tracks and that they needed to be re-recorded (no worries, man — we only did those months ago; it’s not as if you’ve had time to listen to them).

The mood dipped, as everyone knew exactly what this would involve. First, the long and frustrating process of watching old noodle arms lug his big orange speaker cabinet into position. Then, the equally taxing job of watching him plug in and switch on his Starship Enterprise of a guitar rig.

The next bit nearly sent everyone over the edge. Andy crumpled like old cardboard over his pedalboard, turning and pressing ever-changing combinations of buttons and dials in a futile search for a non-existent perfect tone, only for his spindly hands to produce the exact same sound after each minuscule tweak.

Dream tone dialed in, guitar tracks done (finally), and with Al’s mental list of things to fix growing ever longer, it was time to call it a day. Everyone could at last crawl home to spend the evening questioning every decision that was made, and wondering what they did to wind up in such shoddy company.

Morning arrived (far too quickly), and the band reluctantly dragged themselves from their slumber back into the studio. After a brief listen to yesterday’s work, everyone agreed it was time for Lewis to step back into the booth and bare his weary soul into the microphone.

The ordeal of recording Lewis’s vocals is simultaneously sinister and comforting (much like the man himself). The ritual begins by locking him safely away in the the back corner of the barn, then listening with apprehension as the warm-up begins.

You know the drill: “one, two”, “testing”, “doh, ray… NOOO, F**K’S SAKE!”, “can we go again?” — all piping in through the studio monitors. Witnessing the dramatic switch from serene calm to unfiltered rage in real time is a borderline religious experience.

In fact, if anyone were to innocently walk into the studio over the course of the next few hours, they could be forgiven for thinking SOMB was an emerging cult rather than an underground alt-rock outfit. Picture the scene: four “people?” staring blankly into the distance while an anonymous deity screeches its manifesto through some carefully placed speakers.

Indoctrination complete. KPIs met. It was time for the Brothers Grimm (Toby and Arthur) to begin their usual ceremony of nitpicking and deconstructing every detail from the weekend’s sessions.

Before long, Al was bombarded with requests to add effects to drum sounds and make adjustments to EQ settings. Toby, with the ears of a mole rat, began hearing dud notes left, right, and centre. It wasn’t long before he decided the guitar and bass tracks should be put on a performance improvement plan.

The communication of the PIP involved all of Jabba’s trademark pointing and grunting, followed (inevitably) by re-recording and the addition of new guitar and bass tracks for Al to wade through.

Somewhere along the way, sensing a lull in proceedings and his chance to escape, Al announced he could do a quick mix before we continued to pile on more tweaks and changes. The lightning-paced Ableton speed run that followed could easily be an Olympic sport, or at least an entertaining YouTube video.

In the blink of an eye, tracks were edited, effects were added, and the best takes were chosen. The sea of menus and plugins flying around the screen left us in a state of awe, confusion, and mild panic.

The end result? Will manifest before long.

No further comment,
SOMB