nicholaswire @ :
Ah, it's been too long!
I'd love to say I'd spent my time being a wonderful house-husband like I promised I would, but as always it lasted a few days before the guitar was back out the box and I'd start texting James lyrics (yes, I can text, holy fuck! My seven year-old taught me. No, really.) and he'd leave voicemails of crackling riffs through bad reception.
We jointly wrote a song for Shirley Bassey, which was an absolute fucking honour, I haven't quite got my head around the fact that it's actually happened, she actually liked it, she actually put it on the fucking album. She's a legend, and a Welsh one at that, a total diva, and I couldn't be more thrilled with the final product.
( Here it is. )
It's odd, writing for someone else. It's not really something we've done before - James has done a few bits for soundtracks before, but it doesn't really compare. We've always wrote from the heart, tried to create something painfully honest and personal - I think there's more of me in my lyrics than I could ever put in a journal or memoir or whatever. So, to take that and transfer it onto someone else - it was a challenge, not least because she (obviously) has a very different voice from James. In more ways than one. I think we managed to find a common ground - our heritage, our home - and worked on it from there.
But, it's finished, as I said - and we were just left with all these ideas flowing and nothing to channel them in to. A late night phonecall had James and I come up with a working title for the next album, only months after the release of our last one. Poor Sean is only just getting to spend time with his newborn, and he's got James and I hassling him every two seconds. He fucking loves it, the slag.
I could go off on some romantic ramble about how writing music is like my lifeblood, and I get pleasure out of knowing people are listening, relating, connecting, making love to my words, and all sorts of other shit, but the truth is I'm just so used to writing now that I feel all weird if there's not something in progress. As much as I enjoy sitting about watching TV, picking dog hairs off the sofa (no, that's not sarcasm, I'm an expert at doing nothing) there comes a point when I just have to write. Maybe it's the equivalent of having a journal or a therapist. Yeah, I think it's my therapy, actually. Sounds about right.
Anyway, Gavin & Stacey is about to start, I should go back to doing nothing again before the missus starts worrying about my health.
I'd love to say I'd spent my time being a wonderful house-husband like I promised I would, but as always it lasted a few days before the guitar was back out the box and I'd start texting James lyrics (yes, I can text, holy fuck! My seven year-old taught me. No, really.) and he'd leave voicemails of crackling riffs through bad reception.
We jointly wrote a song for Shirley Bassey, which was an absolute fucking honour, I haven't quite got my head around the fact that it's actually happened, she actually liked it, she actually put it on the fucking album. She's a legend, and a Welsh one at that, a total diva, and I couldn't be more thrilled with the final product.
( Here it is. )
It's odd, writing for someone else. It's not really something we've done before - James has done a few bits for soundtracks before, but it doesn't really compare. We've always wrote from the heart, tried to create something painfully honest and personal - I think there's more of me in my lyrics than I could ever put in a journal or memoir or whatever. So, to take that and transfer it onto someone else - it was a challenge, not least because she (obviously) has a very different voice from James. In more ways than one. I think we managed to find a common ground - our heritage, our home - and worked on it from there.
But, it's finished, as I said - and we were just left with all these ideas flowing and nothing to channel them in to. A late night phonecall had James and I come up with a working title for the next album, only months after the release of our last one. Poor Sean is only just getting to spend time with his newborn, and he's got James and I hassling him every two seconds. He fucking loves it, the slag.
I could go off on some romantic ramble about how writing music is like my lifeblood, and I get pleasure out of knowing people are listening, relating, connecting, making love to my words, and all sorts of other shit, but the truth is I'm just so used to writing now that I feel all weird if there's not something in progress. As much as I enjoy sitting about watching TV, picking dog hairs off the sofa (no, that's not sarcasm, I'm an expert at doing nothing) there comes a point when I just have to write. Maybe it's the equivalent of having a journal or a therapist. Yeah, I think it's my therapy, actually. Sounds about right.
Anyway, Gavin & Stacey is about to start, I should go back to doing nothing again before the missus starts worrying about my health.
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