Journal

Another step taken

More rain today; damp and much colder, with clouds hanging low over the mountains. There’s even snow in the forecast. I doubt I’ll tackle another big walk, and that means studio focus from now until I leave on Wednesday.

I slept terribly, awake for much of the night. I managed to get up at the usual time to grab coffee and pastries, and sort of muddled my way through the day.

I spent some time backing up, reviewing, categorising and labelling field recordings from my DR-40 and also Tape It app. I keep the file numbers so it’s easy to find what I want in the device (one or other is usually connected to Ableton via Move’s audio in) and add a little shorthand description. And so, I end up with names such as ‘tascam_0429 plateau flask noise and bee buzz .wav’. Working this way helps me spot connections and form ideas for tracks.

I’ve already noted that the conversations are always interesting here and how much I’ve needed that. Last night we stumbled into chats about collaborative festival performances, how everyone likes jazz now, the increasing redundancy of genres and why ‘Experimental’ is both a good and bad catch-all. I particularly appreciated Lukas’ thoughts about how music feels as an art form and how it can often seem more like painting, because I’ve drawn similar conclusions.

And there’s usually something happening in plain sight. A favourite moment was witnessing Greg and Dan working outdoors with Laura so that she could play the most soothing breathy sax through a delay whilst following a variable tempo derived from a wind gauge. I’ve also enjoyed hearing more studio improv jams like the one I noted yesterday.

There had been suggestions about coming together to share our work in progress, and I think a few people had already done so in spontaneous gatherings that some of us missed.

But tonight would be the big one. Greg pinged everyone:

Sharing session tonight after dinner, Elliott is game to do some readings and I’ll play a couple of quick recordings. Anybody else want to share something?

Oh shit, here we go. I’ve always been reluctant to share any unfinished work. And then, with music, and the levels of experience many of the campers have, that reluctance is more like fear. I thought about it for a good half hour, listened to yesterday’s work again to see how well it stood up, and then committed.

I’ve a rough demo from yesterday that I quite like and could share.

And so I worried about that for the rest of the day. But then again, I came here knowing I needed to find myself in this situation in order to grow.

After dinner, we made our way to the cosy attic space, with its old wooden beams, subdued lighting and mats scattered about. We enjoyed some excellent longform poetry, a brilliant improv percussion piece made in response to horse bells, a lovely fluid piano composition, guitar sketches with interesting tunings, and a superb glitchy modular tune.

I went fourth, and it was fine. Good, even. This is a lovely, supportive group and I received a warm response in the attic, and also a few generous comments downstairs, particularly about the melody. It was good to have an opportunity to properly explain what I do and why I do it. Getting a sense of approval from the folks I might be most in awe of made it entirely worthwhile. Another step taken.

Rain starts play

The weather turned. Aside from a couple of glorious sunshine breaks, it rained all day, including a very intense thunderstorm. I’m not sure anyone left the place at all, and most folks put themselves to work. I relished the opportunity to take a break from hiking and focus on music all day.

I spent the day working on something new that fell into place very quickly, possibly because I’m feeling relaxed (for once). I’m excited because almost all of the melodic components emerged from an early morning piano improv. It was spontaneous and the recordings are raw — I used Tape It — but all the better for it, with great room reverb, background activity, and tell-tale sounds of a real instrument. I have some great plugins, but the mechanical noises and rich resonance of a real piano makes a huge difference.

When I woke up, no part of this song existed, but I’ve now got something well-formed using material collected today: recordings of rain and thunder from my window, and what came naturally at the piano. I’m satisfied that I’ve captured the essence of how it feels to be in this beautiful old building on a soggy Sunday.

Thanks to today’s rain, you’re getting a break from mountain photos and I can write a little less and instead share some of the studio pictures I’ve been collecting.

Here are a few more miscellaneous pics. I love the modest library, and the equipment room is charmingly chaotic (to think I worried endlessly about bringing the right cables). And yes, I absolutely love that Yamaha U10 piano.

That’s all for today, except for a short update on my broken glasses. Brilliant person Daniel happened to pack some Nano tape, and that’s saved the day. It’s the kind of tape that goes a bit gummy, and the only thing that’s succeeded in holding my specs together. They’re not quite right and the bridge is obviously patched up, but I’ve been able to work without much issue all day. I went to bed a little upset last night but managed to turn things around during breakfast. Phew.

Coumebière and Col d'Agnes

It was probably silly to tackle another, bigger hike today but, eating breakfast in the garden, I realised we were getting one more beautiful day before the weather turns, and I needed to see the mountains.

In the village, I met another new bird I’ve fallen for: the dusky Crag Martin. We don’t have them at home, but here they barrel and twist with impossible aerodynamics, and only a few feet off the ground — like a little daylight bat.

Yesterday was still in my legs, but I was aiming to head as high as possible. I took the GR10 path, but in the opposite direction to yesterday. The ascent was largely identical, but with the added pleasure of boggy streams and several storms’ worth of branches — and even entire trees — blocking the way. In some cases, I crawled through on my knees and earned a few scratches or hooked my backpack. But I also had to perform reasonably difficult diversions around wet and steep banks. Clearly nobody maintains these paths on a regular basis. Maybe they just gave up.

And it’s a good job I didn’t twist something, or die, because I didn’t see or hear a single person for a full 5km and 630m of elevation — not one until I reached the plateau car park. All I heard in the woods were yet more Blackcaps, a few Jays cawing, and my own mouth cursing. I was thrilled to emerge from the woods and reach Coumebière.

On the plateau, at 1,425m and well away from the path, I claimed a big flat rock as my own. It’s at 42.782382, 1.388760 if you ever want to use it. I dried my sweat-soaked tee on the rock and enjoyed the coffee I’d brewed several hours earlier. The apple I’d picked up in the kitchen tasted French.

Keeping me company at the rock were lizards and an enormous beetle that I named George. Throughout, I could hear a Robin, Coal Tit, Chiffchaff — but no sign of any cool raptors yet. I guess I’d have to climb much higher for the eagles and vultures.

Suddenly, I heard immense rolling thunder from the high Pyrénées to the southeast. That’s disconcerting when you’re sitting on a high plateau, but thankfully all I saw were a few mean-looking clouds looming behind me. The weather changes fast here — and it’s always sunny when it rains, but still no rainbows.

I was reluctant to leave, but the sun was intense and I’d been there at least an hour. I couldn’t face a reverse traverse of that woodland obstacle course, so I opted to walk the road all the way back. That’s a good 8km of road, but much of it is the stunning Col d'Agnes, and so I traced all eight crazy hairpins, nodding at motorcyclists and ‘Allez!’-ing people in lycra. I had to encourage an exhausted young cyclist who spoke to me while walking his bike up the incline — and he was only approaching the second of eight hairpins, the poor lad.

I captured good and complete hike data today: almost five hours moving, 13.5km total distance, with 673m elevation gain.

Back at Camp, I cracked a cold La Brouche, put my washing in, had a lovely shower, and informed everyone that the strange noise they keep hearing from the garden is a Green Woodpecker.

And then my glasses broke; came apart as if they were made of fudge. They’re a few years old but it’s likely that too much sunscreen and sweat while hiking has further weakened any weaknesses. There’s very little to work with, the nose bridge now just two short nubs. I found a tiny amount of Ni Clou Ni Vis, which translates directly as ‘Neither Nail Nor Screw,’ and that’s infinitely more poetic than the blunt No More Nails I’m used to. I also found some slightly adhesive black pipe tape, so I used both.

When they hold, it’s as if perspective got drunk, and I dare not scratch my chin. But they’re not holding, and as I write, they keep sliding to the left and right and then fall off. And I’m only halfway into this trip. I have that defeatist feeling where I can never be allowed to fully enjoy something good, but I know that’s not helpful. Tomorrow, I'll rethink how I proceed and what to focus on for the remainder of the trip.

Towering falls and tiny Firecrests

I woke up feeling like I’d been steamrollered. I took my creased face to one of the prison showers and blasted it for 5 minutes, then met folks for breakfast. With the forecast suggesting this might be the last beautiful day for a while, everyone felt inspired to head out early. While most went in groups, I prefer to walk alone – setting my own pace, wandering off on side missions, and talking to myself. I also thought I’d move slower at alpine altitude, and I was right.

After another brief piano tinkle, I packed up and left the village, taking the pleasingly mossy but punishingly steep GR10 segment that climbs alongside the tumbling river through dense forest all the way to the big prize: Cascade d’Ars.

I only started capturing hike data when my watch reminded me, so I estimate that it was something like 11km with 600m elevation gain. Apple considers my hike “Hard,” and Apple is right.

But the main stat I have for you is: holy shit, what a waterfall that is. I’ve seen the big ones in Iceland and a few other places but I like Cascade d’Ars because not only is the main event a spectacular three-part wonder, you also feel like you’ve walked up the falls for several miles, climbing alongside the white water from the village all the way up the mountain. Big waterfalls can feel distant, but this one felt like a companion.

Soaked in spray but happy, I’d earned a slow descent and really took my time. The sun-dappled woods had woken up and Merlin Shazammed yet more Blackcaps (which seem to be everywhere) plus a new bird for me: a tiny Firecrest singing out for a long stretch of my walk. I also enjoyed the company of delicate mountain flowers and fluttery butterflies.

I had much better luck with my Oaka waterproof contact mics today, focusing on isolated drips and currents, or dragging the unit along wet rock, trying whatever came to mind. I did receive some strange looks from people wondering why I was wedged in a stream or lurking behind a tree.

Back in the studio garden with a thirst-quenching La Brouche sour, I reviewed today’s recordings and the contact mics material is great. I invited a couple of folks (consider them sound pros with extensive experience) to listen and they too were excited by the fascinating and quite eerie percussive noises.

I gather these sounds both for their authentic connection to the place and their potential as rhythmic inspiration, and also to create new sound layers as a way to “fill the air” and give a tangible dust to songs about memories. These recordings will definitely spark something.

May Day in Aulus-les-Bains

I was awakened early by church bells, ringing a surprisingly melodic ditty for 7am. Usually, it’s just an hourly ding, the means by which rural areas sync their humans.

During breakfast with fellow guests, our similarities struck me. Four of us arrived wearing Patagonia fleeces, and everyone embraced deep discussions about wiring things to other things. Three of us even packed the same book (Ben Murphy’s Ears to the Ground). The conversations here are wonderful, and curious creative discussion is something I’ve missed.

I went for an early walk and sat on a bench to watch Pied and Grey Wagtails flitting in the air and Dippers dancing around the rapids. I stood to walk on but time doesn’t matter here and so I stayed another hour, sipping coffee from my flask. It’s May Day and the French actually take their holiday on the 1st of May (we Brits use the next available Monday), so I watched hikers set off for the waterfalls and cyclists heading up the famed Col d’Agnes (1,580m, 10km, boasts the starting point).

I found what felt like a secret path that led only to a secluded spot by the river and a sense of calm in my head. At the top of the village, I rested under trees and enjoyed a few seconds of light rain that was enough to stir earthy scent. Three people pulled over to ask me about parking or directions (I assume), but all they learned was that I am a) English and b) sorry.

WhatsApp (alas, it’s impossible to live a meaningful life without frequently being required to “join the WhatsApp”) informed me that lunch was ready, and I returned to eat with the others before having my first go on the Yamaha U10 piano in the adjoining studio. I was aware that I could probably be overheard, but I’m gaining confidence and was desperate to get my hands on it. I did my best to respect some Radiohead things, before playing a song of my own that I’m excited about. I didn’t notice another guest enter the room, and was thrilled to receive a “that was beautiful”.

After lunch, Elliot and Laura gave us their relaxed but informative village tour, taking in the park, famed thermal spa, grotto tap room, and moving memorial to the village’s WW2 resistance role. I also met a cat with an attitude that I would describe as French.

Afterwards, I set up my modest workspace and spent several happy hours making simple sketches in response to this place. It’s a lovely big room, and I enjoyed a few breaks to sit in the window and watch House Martins dogfight and squabble. Happy that my first studio session had been relaxed and productive, I joined the others for dinner outside, but it was a little cooler than yesterday, and almost everyone retired with an equal score of one drink each.

Arriving at Camp

We met in hot sunshine outside Le Bristol, and the seven of us — plus our bags, a modular synth, a guitar, a saxophone, and several mysterious boxes — were arranged into the van. The two-hour drive from city to mountains felt shorter thanks to beautiful scenery, good conversation, and air-con.

Aulus-les-Bains is remote — the last village before the Pyrénées frontier chain, which stretches 450km and separates Spain from the rest of Europe. Sitting at 750m altitude, it’s around 10°C cooler here than Toulouse, but warm enough for us to sit outside in short sleeves until 10pm. Snow lingers on the mountains, but the valley is warming up.

CAMP describes itself as a “next-level residency project,” a place where artists can stay, think, work, learn and produce. Renowned musicians also come here to run workshops. It’s based in a renovated 19th-century hotel and has fixed facilities such as editing suites, recording studio, performance space, and an arts library, plus equipment that we can borrow and set up anywhere. My aim is to do lots of walking and field recording, bring things back to Camp, and see what happens.

I like residencies. I did several as a visual artist back in my twenties, and nothing beats the build-up: planning and prep, studying maps, thinking how to use the opportunity — and the reality usually exceeds expectations as you get to know a new place and find your way into it.

So, I’m finally here. I’ve enjoyed meeting a dozen new and very likeable (and smart) people, eaten hearty food, and got a feel for the building. I’ve also met a friendly old local dog named Chou-Chou, which I think literally means “pet.” But it’s time to turn in now ahead of my first full day.

Oh, and a bonkers follow-up to yesterday’s surprise sighting of Tricky: I met someone here who, I learned, had helped engineer several well-known albums. When I asked her to name a couple, the first one she mentioned was Maxinquaye. Couldn’t believe it.

Toulouse

I arrived in “The Pink City” mid-afternoon, having journeyed via fiddly Frankfurt. With music kit taking up pack space, it was necessary to wear what I’ll need in the mountains, but Europe’s hot this week and when I arrived all I wanted to do was cool off and snooze. Thankfully, a lobby espresso perked me up and I ventured out for a stroll around bustling streets, to the historic Capitole and along the waterfront.

The unexpected highlight was walking past Tricky. I checked when I got back and yep, he lives here now.

Breathing space

I’m increasingly grateful for work, but the last few months have been tough. Projects came thick and fast, overlapping with each other and a bombardment of life obstacles. This year has been almost entirely uphill.

But today feels lighter.

I’ve met my last deadline, and now begin a three-month period of leave to focus on personal art and music projects. This rare opportunity is made possible by Arts Council England funding, which covers R&D, field trips and a living wage during this period.

In a few days, I’m off to a village high in the French Pyrénées for a short studio residency and lots of walking. I’m considering posting nightly updates — at least from the various field trips I’ll undertake — and I’ll see how I feel about that once I’ve settled in.

Under Tangled Silence

The new Djrum album, Under Tangled Silence, is another captivating concoction of mind-boggling multi-genre club percussion scaffolding beautiful piano, harp and cello instrumental. Felix Manuel has become one of my favourite artists and this is surely my album of the year.

The current runners up are Barker’s Stochastic Drift and Eiko Ishibashi’s Antigone. My fave reissue is Rod Modell & Taka Noda’s sizzling Glow World.

Coffee fix

I fixed our ten-year-old “Lady” Gaggia Classic. Two weeks without espresso was two weeks too long during the most intense work period of the last few years. I’ve often regretted that I’m not someone who dismantles and repairs things, and all I’d ever previously done with the machine was upgrade the steam wand. But learning to fix old tape machines has given me some confidence.

The issue was almost certainly accumulated scale and a clogged three-way solenoid valve. I’d watched a video demonstrating the necessary teardown and it terrified me, and so I put it off. But, working endless days on knotty client problems forced me into impromptu Saturday night action. I went for it.

I’m documenting this because of how I went about things. In these situations, I’ll typically be impatient, become frustrated and start swearing. But, I made sure I had the right tools and products, and addressed each step methodically. I maintained my composure, stayed organised, and followed the video precisely.

The old machine could still benefit from a new pump and gaskets for optimal performance, but... I got it working and we have espresso again. I don’t know, I guess I was proud of myself for doing things slowly and carefully, and I learned something about how to tackle these things going forward.

The colour of spring

A few pics from a short trip to London for Geri’s birthday. Highlights included lunch at Session Arts Club, cocktails at Tayēr + Elementary, Record Store Day at Rough Trade East, The Craft of Carpentry at Japan House and my fave Nishiguchi Kutsushita socks.

The Comic Strip Presents...

A special screening of four classic episodes at Broadway Cinema, hosted by Robin Ince, with guests Peter Richardson and Nigel Planer.

Read the full article

Salt’s Neck

Geri and I have made several trips to the Bonavista Peninsula whilst visiting her home province. It’s probably my favourite area of Newfoundland, with its wild coastlines, root cellars and plentiful puffins.

When I took these photos in 2016, I couldn’t have known that these locations would later appear in one of the best TV shows ever made.

In Severance, S2E8, Harmony Cobel returns to her hometown, Salt’s Neck — revealed to be the location of one of the original Lumon factories. She first appears at the Drippy Pot Cafe, which is actually Neil’s Yard Cafe in Bonavista.

Later, she meets Hampton near the ether mill, clearly filmed in Port Union with its distinctive red-slat buildings. Founded in 1916 as the headquarters for the Fishermen’s Protective Union, Port Union is one of the eeriest places I’ve visited.

Other filming locations are familiar but harder to pinpoint without research, though I know they filmed in Keels. We’ll likely track down more spots next time we visit.

As someone “from away”, I realise it might appear disrespectful to point out how Newfoundland has much to offer scouts looking for remote, dilapidated communities, so I won’t.

Back to spool

I found these old tape recorder books a while ago and they’ve proven surprisingly useful. It’s good to see looping was a thing in the ’50s.

• - The All-in-One Tape Recorder Book, Joseph M. Lloyd, Focal Sound, 1959 edition
• - Modern Tape Recording and Hi-Fi, Ken Peters, Faber, 1963
• - Composing With Tape Recorders, Terence Dwyer, 1971 (Joan, 2023 reprint)

Arts Council funding

Some good news: I’ve been awarded Arts Council England funding to expand my field skills, gather new source material and develop conceptual ideas. The highlight will be a short residency at Camp in the Pyrenees. Then in autumn, I'll resume work on the album and other projects. Lots to come!

One year

I took this average iPhone photo of Pen-y-ghent one year ago today. I was probably intending to share it on Instagram or here on my site, but as it turned out, I couldn’t bring myself to share anything from that trip.

With around 30 minutes of the drive remaining, I’d glimpsed the famous peak between stone houses. As we turned the corner, it came clearly into view, dusted in spring snow below a crisp blue sky. I pulled into the tiny village car park, and Geri and I jumped out to stretch our legs, breathe the cold air and appreciate the landscape. I took the photo in a rush, aware the subject was too far away for it to be worthwhile; I just wanted to capture the moment.

Mam stayed in the car.

She was very ill after four years of gradual decline and one month of rather sudden decline. I’d booked the cottage two months earlier, before things deteriorated. She was recently out of hospital, prematurely discharged and determined to make this trip — a three-hour drive up north to a remote cottage in the Yorkshire Dales. When we arrived at her house, I took one look at her and told her she didn’t have to go, but she was characteristically stubborn, and I was angry with myself for booking somewhere so far away.

It was to be her last trip anywhere. Despite the difficulties, I will always be glad that the three of us did something special for her 80th birthday. The evening was cosy and warm, with good food, fond memories and plenty of laughs. The day had drained her energy, but we all went to bed happy. Or, well... perhaps she went to bed really worried.

The next morning was heartbreaking and I won’t talk about it. I don’t even let myself remember it – right now, as always, I switch to thinking about something else... anything else. She needed attention but insisted on returning home. She slept all the way, and I drove those 160 miles with such exceptional care that I could’ve balanced an egg on the roof.

Later that day, she was back in hospital – a better hospital, eventually graduating from the corridor to a comfortable ward, staffed with good people who cared for her. It was there that she spent the last two weeks of her life.

I’ve been dreading 4th March, but it’s been ok. I've been preoccupied with an unusually dense period of client work and today that stole my focus as it has for several weeks. This evening, I’ll dig out a few favourite photos and think about my Mam, and my Dad, and our best times.

And one day this Summer, I’ll drive back up to Yorkshire, and I’ll climb Pen-y-ghent for the three of us.

Gifts

Last year, I finally watched Coda, having previously only caught a few scenes cut into other documentaries or exhibitions. I was captivated watching Sakamoto collecting sounds and trying things; making the music he wanted to make for himself. It’s particularly thrilling to see one of my favourite pieces, fullmoon, come into existence. I also watched Opus, the intimate film of his final performance — he’s so frail and it’s devastating to see his exhaustion.

A few months ago, I prioritised a back-to-basics, curriculum-minded approach to learning the piano. I’ll write more about this later, but it’s going very well.

When I sit down at my (digital) piano and compose myself, ready to do my best, I think about the artists that inspire me. I often think back to that morning with Sakamoto’s digital ghost in Manchester. As I wrote at the time:

I’m self-taught and lack a mentor. It dawns on me that something about this encounter feels like being given something. “Here, Simon… watch me play; watch closely.” And I do. I make sure to take it all in.

Geri recently returned from her latest trip to Japan with a couple of modest gifts — a recent issue of Brutus dedicated to Sakamoto, and /04, the first of two beautifully-designed volumes of his official song notation. She apologised that she hadn’t brought more, but I couldn’t have been happier.

And I can now play an amateurish interpretation of Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence, which feels like magic and makes me quite emotional for several reasons.

2024 in music

Here’s my 21st annual roundup. Despite pledging to reduce this obsessive cataloguing, I continue to go all in because exceptional new music just keeps on coming.

Read the full article

Listening stats 2024

I continue to document my listening stats, even though my Year in Music roundups are infinitely more valuable. Tomorrow, I’ll publish my meticulously curated 2024 in Music (update: it’s now available), but if data is your truth, read on.

Read the full article

Paul McCartney

A remarkable journey through an extraordinary life, with an overwhelming emotional connection that brought me to tears. Oh, and Ringo joined him on Helter Skelter.

Read the full article