Crossing the finish line

It's nearly 1am, and my head is muzzy. A combination of too little sleep and far too much caffiene. Today was mastering day, and the final day of making the 230503 album.

7.45am came around far too quickly. It always bloody does. It, for me, is way too early to even begin to THINK about functioning past the occasional grunt, mutter, slurp, or far worse. I shall not elaborate further. Coffee number one was consumed in morning bad-tempered haste.

Having previously been designated (no real surprise) designated driver on the duofold reasoning that a) my car is the biggest and b) I drink the least alcohol of all the band members (one suspects the real primary reason).

The previous evening, I had been sent an anonymous SMS message telling me in the morning it's sender would only be contactable on the above number. Unfortunately, the thoughtful sender of this most helpful information had forgotten to tell me who they were. My guess is that Doug was the sender. Made more likely by the fact that when I asked who it was, there was no reply. Lost in Space, no doubt.

The plan was to meet Doug at 8:20am. After arriving to find no Doug (again, no surprise), a phone call to the number SMS'd me the previous night found Jess, the potential Mrs. Skene, who informed me that 5 minutes after our expected departure time, our beloved goldilocks was in the shower. Time management, indeed most types of management, have never been Doug's strongest point! On the arrival of our innocent looking fretmeister, we left for Robert's. Who, as luck wouldn't have it... was also late.

Steve slept through his alarm. Potentially another hold up, however some thoughtful pajero driver had decided to try parking his car in the back of a truck, thus backing up the M7 between rob's and Steve's, and this gave Steve ample time to try and disguise the after effects of the night before!

Steve's to Nick's was a quick painless run, and yes- Nick was late too. For the first time since October 1979, I look vaguely punctual.

The trip to the city was uneventful, and interspersed with Maic conversations about Monkeys and mobile phones. Rob does an alarmingly good monkey impression. And it all beggers the question 'Who needs drugs?'

Breakfast Of Champignons

Negotiating the (as ever) EVIL city traffic, we met Dean at the car park and decended, en masse, toMcDonalds for a spot of breakfast and coffee number two.

A Scary Little Man and some lovely expensive gear

11am dawned and we went up the stairs and into the studio for the first time, and having been initially introduced to Reece, who is charged with the unenviable task of making our magnum opus sound superb. Poor bugger. After the initial explainations and overtures about the concept and the 'dynamic curve' ( a term that saw much ridicule poured my way from the rhythm section - an interesting concept as they are happiest when playing really loud... what are dynamics anyway?)

Captive audience hanging on every note, contemplating coffee number three

We then set to work. The hardest part begins here.

Benchmark ostensibly set up shop in the former EMI studios in Castlereagh St in Sydney. Tastefully contemporary and not even hinting at it's age, I was particularly overawed to be standing in a room that had counted amongst its previous bums on the leather I was perched David Bowie, Crowded House and The Stones. Slightly less auspiciously; Department mastered Eponymous here in 2002.

I guess we're proud of it. And both look quite different to what we did 1978 days earlier

Not being overly familiar with the mastering process every slight change sounded remarkable and beginning with The Deepest Wound, we took the plunge into finishing the album off.

The first hour could only be described as as really hard slog. We sat through The Deepest Wound- easily our most simple song with a structure of no more than a verse and a chorus, binary form in it's truest sense, ad nauseum trying to get the EQ's and the compression right. With it's structure, hearing a verse and a chorus 60 times each is, at best, grating. So I eased back in the sofa for the long haul waited for the inevitable 'rhythm section bail-out' where Steve and Nick disappear and make for the nearest pub.

To my immense surprise, it never came.

I look like I know what I'm doing... I lie, I lie....

After the first hour and the EQ's and compression rates and other hoo-hah was in place, including wheeling in a Studer 2 track analog tape machine that effectively sent the whole mix to tape and back again (adding that lovely warm saturating that only analog tape can provide. A sad loss in the digital age), the process became easier. From then on it was a process of knocking the songs off one by one, making minor adjustments to suit each one. The consistency of Dean's mixes helped us immensely at this point as the whole thing seemed to translate pretty well to each subsequent track.

Reece was very amenable to our uninformed suggestions and requests and i truly believe he got what we were doing, however we went about doing it. This, in itself, means an awful lot to me. I can only hope I didn't come accross as too much of a megalomaniac. I prefer to straddle that divide between benevolent dictator and excited puppy that I covet so much. I will however not claim to be entirely innocent from the general misbehaviour that Anubis is capable of that probably didn't make the job any easier on Reece's ears.

After cup of coffee number four or five

With all the tracks finally squashed nice and flat, whipped to life by the wonders of harmonic distortion and analog warming and presented in widescreen, the process of compiling the final record began. Here, the band- with yours baldly as ringleader - took control and allowed ourselves the creativity to segue the component songs into 230503 for the first time proper. The SFX came out sounding wonderful, and the sound quality added a gloss sheen that sounded particularly impressive on The Collapse and Leaving Here Tonight. We added the cross-fades, the segues and the seagulls. It all sounded fantastic.

So then it was, 18:30 EST on Saturday 20th June 2009, 230503 was finished. Nothing left to record, mix, master, etc. Audiably complete (The cover is, however, another story). Five years of my life... a little more than a sixth, wrapped up in a little plastic case. It was a very emotional moment.

The Musical Team (or what normal people call 'The Band')

The production team (Or what normal people call 'idiots'..)

Stepping out of the studio into the chilly night air, I felt we had truly accomplished something, and something that MEANS something at that. It is perhaps my greatest achievement yet. That the whole thing was covered, financially, by the band out of money we earned out of live shows in the last 12 months, and not having to subsidise the mastering at all, is even more of an achievement.

Retiring to the pub afterwards, I allowed myself a pint of bitter in celebration. A remarkable day capped off by a nice meal and time with friends. We really were all in this one together.

Post-mastering celebrations. Under-developed phallus thankfully out of shot.

The only fly in the ointment was a yound English lad who was at the same pub, heavily drunk and obnoxious, threatened Steve and, unwisely as events proved, exposed himself to the band, and in particular Nick; much to the horror of his equally drunk but far nicer English friends who were trying to have a polite and friendly conversation with Doug and I. Either the low temperature or severe genetic misfortune served to render the whole process rather less than flattering for the young man in question; a fact that Anubis, and in particular Rob (being the sarcastic sods we are) was more than happy to quickly point out.

Any scars Nick got from this anatomical show and tell were quickly counterbalanced by winning $130 on the one-armed bandits.

So now... we have a finished album. It's one step closer to it's public. And I have finally achieved closure on a project that has occupied over half of my twenties. 1978 days in all.

If it wasn't the best day of my life, it came very close.