I ’m driving along a narrow lane in rural Devon, looking for a recording studio. According to the satnav I still have a mile to go, and I am very much hoping I won’t meet a car coming the other way before I get there. A bit further on the satnav tells me to make a left turn, which proves to be unexecutable: the angle is too sharp, the incline too great.
I drive for another two miles before the road widens enough for me to pull over to read the directions I was emailed. I haven’t looked at the directions before now, but there’s a handy line about ignoring your satnav to avoid the impossible left. I turn around and drive back to what is now an abrupt but perfectly navigable right.
By the time I get to Middle Farm Studios the band has set up. I just have time for a strong coffee before I unpack my banjo, with no chance to describe my difficult journey in any detail. Middle Farm Studios is run by a man named Pete, who has long hair and a laid-back demeanour.
The place is filled with vintage equipment, and we are here for what we believe will be a more organic recording experience. Normally we record our parts separately, on different days. Here we’re all in the same room, standing in a circle around our seated singer.
“How come you get a chair?” I say. “I don’t know,” he says. We all play together, live, and the track is recorded through artfully positioned microphones on to old-fashioned tape.
The result is mixable but not fixable: if anyone makes a mistake, .