Sarb sat down in front of the amp. I sat there in front of the Mac. The recording session on the screen. Empty cups of tea from the week scattered across the tea-stained desk. Lyrics drawn on envelopes.
‘Marriage is fucked innit.’
We spoke for about an hour. This was the ritual. Sarb picked up the guitar. We spoke about life. And then we made music. I did vocals on my own. And then he’d come and we’d work shit out.
‘Everything changes after marriage. She changes. I change.’
And then the music.
‘Listen, I’m not a guitarist – Tom would work something better out no doubt.’
I allayed his fears. Sometimes I over-egged him. But, truthfully, I just knew he was going to – we were going to – do something special. And more importantly, we would have a good time doing it.
I messed around with the pedals as he played, i messed around with the amp. And we hit record. ‘Richer’ played on loop and he recorded loop after loop of different things. When we liked something I pointed at it. Or he smiled. We just knew. And everything he did was beautiful. And it was right.
We had built a real trust in this time. I knew he was going to deliver. He had a real knack of doing a really simple thing, at least making it look simple anyway, but doing the right simple thing. It wasn’t complicated, but it sang. And I think he trusted me to write the right song. To mix us into the right sound.
And then he went home. And we went back to married life.
