We’ve been laying down drums and bass at a studio near London Bridge for what will probably be a new EP.
There are limescale deposits collecting around the taps forming miniature stalactites. We’re funnelling ghosts of the Old City through the cracks in the walls, through the thick air, into the microphones and onto the hard drives. Ectoplasm oozing from USB ports. If you lean against the walls of the studio with your face pointing upwards, the soundproof foam looks like a landscape of futurist pyramids stretching out to the horizon.
Next door to the studio is a grocery shop run by a brutalist triangle of a Polish woman. Stocking up on snacks and sandwiches, Robert notices that one of her eyes is a different colour to the other one. He does not mention this until we have finished recording.