From a series of short form fictions taking inspiration from collage
Finally… after months of managerial negotiations and organising, the band found themselves amongst the palatial surroundings of Priory Studios, attempting to cut their ‘difficult’ second album. Most of Nick’s material up to now, had gone onto the first, the success of which – and resulting storming of the charts, had taken everyone by surprise. Not least of all, Nick himself. What material had been left over, he felt dissatisfied with, certain something more sophisticated and progressive was required. The problem? No one else in the band seemed to care or understand what was needed. All the other members had demonstrated a clear intent to indulge their new-found lifestyles to excess, without any thought for the future, as far as Nick could tell.
Everyone that is, except Giles.
Over the recent months of touring and appearances, a symbiosis of minds had taken place between Nick and Giles. It was something they had achieved unconsciously and had only come to openly acknowledge, since arriving in their current location of north-west London. Here, from the off, their creativity thrived. As a multi-instrumentalist, Giles stood in on percussion, keyboards or bass guitar, whenever the other band members were absent – which turned out to be often. Nick concentrated on the song-writing and song structure, with the two of them staying on late into the night, into the early morning, just to get an elusive detail right. And, when they had it, they felt that moment at the exact same time.
Several weeks into recording, the other band members began to recognise a change in the dynamic they’d previously been familiar with. Granted, they had wafted around town for much of the time, frequented bars and attended parties. But they had expected to be called in, to put time into the sessions. When this didn’t happen – and when the band were all together, the atmosphere was noticeably different. Initially, complaints arose – they felt marginalised, they said. Accusations and protests followed, resulting in extended sulks and absences. The situation could not be sustained.
Finally, with the two of them stood smoking outside the studio, early morning sunshine gently laying warmth on both of their faces… the inevitable happened.
“Giles,” Nick said, taking his time to form his sentence, “I think, this is the last recording the band will put together. It’s time we split, and formed our own band, just the two of us.”
“Yeah,” said Giles, “totally agree.”