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Under Our Hip RoofI've been in some exquisite recording studios, veritable temples that honour the art and science of acoustics. A real studio, of course, has lots of glass and baffles, a yacht-sized mixing board and a kitchenette with a beer fridge. Since Nick and I record and mix in our old and little hip roof house, we have no room for that. Our approach is more basic and rustic. Our mixing takes place in a cramped, tiny inner sanctum. Here, we sit side by side, hour upon hour, day after day, closed in by stern, blinking towers of outboard gear. While we listen and mix, our home life bubbles and oozes all around us. On most days, Nick and I hold a meeting in the boardroom, really a scenic walk through the cemetery. After returning home refreshed, we cook and do a few household chores together before getting back to work. Highlighting our week is a Friday dump date on which Nick takes his best girl (me) to dispose of garbage. Presently, it's another cold, cold, February day, we live in a snow belt and the roads are closed. In our shadowy past, Nick and I were party animals. Now, we've become the kind that hole up in winter, although instead of hibernating, we make CDs. Like squirrels, we venture forth only for groceries. I know people wonder about us. Last week, Bob from across the street phoned over to check up on us. Yes, Bob, we're fine. Thanks for your concern. We're just working a lot - two people shrouded in equipment, recording, listening and mixing under our hip roof. Gail |