Sophie's Encore (7 page)

I sprang to. “Let’s do it.”

Half an hour later, I had listened to some of the most amazing raw material I had ever trained my ears onto. While only roughly put together, there was a new edge, a melodious ferocity to the band’s latest work that made me tingle all over.

“Where did all this come from?” I burst out before I could stop myself. “It’s… I don’t know, different. Edgy, but in a different way than the older stuff. I…” Words were failing me and I shrugged helplessly.

Dan looked pleased. “I take it you like the songs?”

“Heck, yes, I do.” I rubbed my nose, a nervous habit I picked up since having the children and that came to the fore whenever I wasn’t sure how to say something diplomatically.

“But?”

“Is this
finished
material?”

Whoa; that didn’t come out as planned
. But Dan wasn’t offended.

“No, it’s not. Some of it isn’t even mixed yet, and none of it has been mastered.”

“Ah.” I tried to look intelligent. Having heard these terms used many times before, I felt I ought to know what they meant. I had a rough idea, of course, but I didn’t understand what was
missing
from the recording I just heard.

“Sit down.” Dan pulled a second swivel chair into position next to his own in front of the mixing console.

I sat, taking in the buttons and displays. A few years ago, Dan had conned me into recording a song for him in this very studio, and I had watched him mix and master without really understanding what he was doing. He had been so quick, so efficient, that it all gelled together beautifully. If, indeed, gelled was the right word. The song had been mastered properly in a professional studio later, with the band recording instrumentals and vocals in addition to mine. Anyway, I had watched Dan in action at his console at the time, but today, it seemed, I was to receive a full demonstration.

He hit a button and one of the songs started playing. “Describe the sound for me,” Dan challenged. I closed my eyes and leaned back.

“Dull,” I eventually offered. “It’s kind of… if it were a color, it would be gray. It’s… I don’t know, it’s kind of lifeless. It’s a great song, of course—”

“Of course,” Dan cut in dryly. “That’s not up for debate.” Cue cheeky grin. “I want you to tell me what it sounds like, and what you think it
should
sound like. You’re critiquing the sound, not the song.”

Sound, not song. Right.

“I want more… depth,” I offered hesitantly. “Something richer. More…” I still struggled to explain.

“This is good,” Dan encouraged me. He was taking notes. “Just throw out some adjectives. Whatever comes to mind.”

“Okay,” I agreed. Adjectives. I could do adjectives. I thought back to other Tuscq albums, trying to think what made them unique and distinctive.

“I want warmth, and depth. Reds and yellows. Heat. Spark. I want this… dullness gone. Vibrant, that’s what I want. You have a gorgeous voice, but everything here sounds muffled. The guitars sound like they’re somewhere next door, and the drums are too loud, like they’re right in front of me. The bass is like a migraine, pounding away without definition.” I was on a roll, but caught myself short when I noticed that Dan had gone quiet. I opened my eyes and sat up straight.

Dan regarded me open-mouthed. He had stopped taking notes and stared.

“I’m sorry.” I laughed uncertainly. “Did I go too far? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Upset? I’m not upset. This was awesome. You are awesome. I had no idea you had such great ears. I’m totally blown away.” Dan shook his head and scribbled a few things down.

“Right, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” Dan replayed the song, but this time, he started adjusting some of the buttons and dials.

“Sound is made of waves, and the waves come in certain frequencies. Making an album sound great is about getting the mix and balance of frequencies right.”

I nodded my understanding, and Dan continued. “I think you’ve picked up on a couple of distinct issues. One is that I haven’t mixed the tracks together properly. So—”

“What does that mean?” I interrupted before I got lost. ”You haven’t mixed the tracks together properly?”

Dan ran a hand over his face and rolled his shoulders while he contemplated a simplified answer for me. “Okay. So this is a 24-track console, meaning I can feed in twenty-four different bits of sound. My vocals make up a group, and the guitars, and the drums and so on. When you said the guitars sounded like they were next door and the drums were too loud, you were commenting on the mixing, or the lack thereof. I haven’t yet balanced the different tracks properly so they work together as they should. Here.” He pulled a slider and brought it toward him. “This is taking out some of the drums and this…” He pushed another slider up. “This brings the guitar in more strongly. Listen to it now.”

He played it back and the song sounded much more like… a song. More balanced, for want of a different word.

“Amazing.” I clapped my hands.

“The other thing that you picked up on is that I haven’t
mastered
the track yet. Mastering is the fine-tuning of the sound where you really play with and perfect the frequencies. There are all sorts of things you can do here. For example, you said you want more warmth, and there are dozens of ways of achieving that. It’ll take some time, but listen…” He turned a dial. “This is the song with a touch of reverb on the lead vocals. And look, I can bring the guitars into the same room as well.” He played with another slider and smiled a boyish grin at me. Already, the sound had improved.

“This is only the beginning. There’s all sorts of things we can do to this. We can play with the equalizer, and we can compress and add more reverb or delay…”

I held up my hands, feeling completely overwhelmed. “You’ve lost me now,” I admitted.

“No worries. My God, it takes weeks,
years
to take this all on board. But that’s beside the point. You can learn all this stuff. You’ve got great ears—that’s the most important thing.”

Said ears were glowing with pride, even though I didn’t understand exactly what I was doing so well. Dan’s eyes were full of admiration, which was both a new and exhilarating experience. It felt good.
I
felt good.

With a jolt, I realized that I hadn’t thought about the kids or the housework or Steve for at least an hour. That had to be the first time in four years I had thought about something totally unrelated to my family. Sadly, the realization also brought the recollection that time was passing, and I would have to pick up Emily very shortly.

Dan grabbed my hand and looked at me intensely. “Come back tomorrow,” he pleaded. “Let me play you some more songs, and let me teach you some of these mastering tricks. I think you’d enjoy it. I know
I
would!”

Unsure of what I was letting myself in for, but infected by his enthusiasm and excitement, I agreed. “Yes. Yes, I think I will. That would be fun. If you have the time, that is. I don’t want to be a burden…”

“Shush,” Dan admonished me. “You’re not a burden. You’re an inspiration. A muse. And a blank canvas. Let me teach you. Let me initiate you in the art of sound recording and you’ll have a skill for life. What do you say?”

“Okay,” I said. “All right. Yes. Fine. Brilliant.” My voice rose on every word as I was swept away by a wave of anticipation. I was hungry for a new project, new learning. Perhaps this was exactly what I needed.

Chapter Eleven

I was humming with excitement when I collected Emily from playschool. I hadn’t felt this elated for as long as I could remember, and the emotion was liberating. Some of the other mums threw me curious looks, and I knew there would be talk behind my back. The more malicious motor mouths would be speculating as to whether I had been
getting it
recently and whether there was a new
boyfriend
on the scene. I was certain of it, because I had heard them dissecting other mums. But I didn’t care. Let them talk. Let them assume. Give them something to fill their small lives. I was happy, genuinely happy.

Emily raced toward me with her customary vigor, coat and curls flying, and I found myself crouching down, scooping her up in my arms, then swinging her around in true Hollywood style. My baby girl squealed and wrapped her arms around my neck lest I should set her down unexpectedly.

“More, more,” she demanded, and I obediently swung her round again.

“Mummy happy,” Emily declared matter-of-factly when as we walked home hand-in-hand.

I choked back sudden tears. I had no idea my children were be so clued in to my emotions. My resolve strengthened. Dan was right. It was time to leave mourning behind. It was time to start over, and give myself a break. I
had
to allow myself to be happy and to laugh, especially if it made my children happy.

“Yes, Mummy is happy,” I confirmed. “Mummy did some fun work with Dan this morning, and it made me really happy.”

Emily giggled. “Dan makes you happy.” She drew the obvious conclusion.

I took it at face value. “Yes, sweetie, Dan makes me happy,” I agreed.

Josh, too, recognized some sort of sea-change in me when we picked him up.

“Did you have a good day at school?” I asked him as usual, expecting the customary grunted response. My four-year-old already exhibited pre-teen communication patterns. But not today. He beamed at me and gave me a hug.

“I had a good day, and did you have a good day?” he asked back. “You look happy.”

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Not Josh, too!

I rallied and smiled. “I had a very good day indeed.”

“Mummy had fun with Dan,” Emily declared quite loudly, and I laughed.

“Yes, I did something fun with Dan,” I confirmed and added, for the benefit of surrounding ears, “we worked on some of his music.” The minute the words left my mouth, I cringed. I could practically hear one mum nudge the other, mouthing,
is that what you call it these days?

Thankfully, my friend, Amelia, came to the rescue. She had an almighty crush on Dan, which was duly and patiently tolerated by her loving husband. “You worked with Dan today, you lucky moo?” she exclaimed. “What did you do? Was the whole band there?”

With a bouncing child at each hand and an excited Amelia in front of me, I suddenly felt like I was on a stage, and the playground tilted ever so slightly under my feet. I stood up that little bit straighter and geared up to speak more clearly.
He showed me how his studio works
. The sentence was clearly formed in my head; lips parted and tongue poised, my brain nonetheless supplied a response that would be less susceptible to misinterpretation.

“I’m writing a feature,” I blurted out. “The band is working on a new album, and I’m taking a look at the studio work. That’s all.”

Indeed.
Come to think of it, I
could
always write a feature, a one-off, to turn this little white lie into a red-hot truth. Everyone here knew I used to be a journalist, and Rick would certainly run it if I asked him to. This could be my cover story. I couldn’t fathom quite
why
a cover would be needed; but school gate gossip could be vicious, and I had learned the hard way that sometimes it was easier to keep things simple.

“How exciting,” Amelia concurred. “Are you going back to work?”

I inclined my head thoughtfully. “In a manner of speaking, you could say that. Yes.”

“Even better, it’ll do you the world of good,” my friend encouraged me, and I smiled. It certainly would.

Later that evening, when the kids had gone to bed and the house was quiet, I sat down in front of my computer. I opened up my word processing application and stared at it for a few minutes. It had been months since I had put fingers to keyboard to write rather than shop or email, and the blank screen intimidated me a little.

Behind the scenes with Tuscq
, I typed.

A master class in recording a number-one album

The cursor blinked with encouragement. I rubbed my nose and pondered. I jiggled in my chair, pressing my back against the backrest for a little massage. This was no good. Inspiration wasn’t flowing. I had too many ideas but I couldn’t find my way in.

I saved the document and began tidying my desk. Then I went to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine;
in vino veritas,
and all that. Ready, set, go.

When Dan Hunter, lead singer extraordinaire of legendary rock band Tuscq, invited me to take a look at his studio, I could practically see the innuendo written above his head,
I started writing.
Yet I couldn’t have been more wrong, for Dan had music on his mind. Music, and a master class in recording it the rock star way. He played me the band’s new material and…

The dam broke, and recollection of today’s session poured out in a torrent. For a solid hour, I set down every last detail I could remember and realized I would have to take notes in the future, perhaps take a few photos. Even if the feature was never published, it would serve as a diary of an exciting and unusual experience. Maybe I could blog about it, with Dan’s permission, of course.

I read through my evening’s work again, correcting a few typos here and there, and nodded contentedly. Yes, this would work. I didn’t know what would come out of it, and I didn’t really care. The simple prospect of a project,
something to do
, filled me with anticipation.

Chapter Twelve

Early Tuesday morning saw me back at Dan’s house, armed with a notepad and a camera.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he greeted, only slightly wearily. The early hour was clearly not his cup of tea. “What have you brought today?”

I smiled sheepishly. “I thought I might take some notes and some photos, if that’s okay with you.”

Dan raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Well, I started writing down what we did here yesterday, a bit like a diary, and I noticed I had a ton of questions and couldn’t remember everything right. So if you want to show me, perhaps I can learn. You know, properly.”