The random witterings of Jonathan Morris, writer.

Thursday, 5 March 2009

King For A Day

Today was spent in a recording studio in north London, not far from where I used to work. But where Mute Records once proudly stood, there are now luxury flats. Such is our booming economy. So the greenhouse/cryogenic chamber which was the EIS/Mute Bank office is now no more. Still, happy memories; I’ll never forget the day the Mute window display caught fire.

Nostalgic digressions aside, today saw the recording of The Glorious Revolution. It went very smoothly indeed – a tribute to the direction of Nigel Fairs, the producership of David Richardson, and the great cast. I think – I hope – it’ll go down well. There were a few goose-pimply moments in there.

Usually with these things I sit in with the director. Not to tell them what to do, but just to occasionally make pained noises whenever an actor misses a word out of the script. And maybe, very rarely, to ask for something to be re-taken; though I treat this privilege like playing a joker, you can only do it once or twice so you’d better make sure you choose your moment wisely.

For the interview thing at the end, I got to stand in one of the booths. This was very exciting for me. I’m easily excited like that – stand me in a booth, and I’m as happy as a sand-boy. Which, despite what I thought for at least 20 years due to mishearing the last word, isn’t a racist expression. It was interesting to see the studio as the actors see it; just as the director can barely see the actors through his window, the actors can barely see the director. Instead, they’re all looking towards an untidy shelf full of bits of recording equipment. But such is the magic of audio, no-one would ever know.

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