A young man sits in a perched position atop a wooden stool, singing softly into a microphone with eyes closed. It’s a typical sight inside a recording studio, but one that still demands attention. Two others are at either side of him, playing their respective instruments. The bassist seems perhaps the least involved with the work, having always professed to enjoy the faster-paced tracks over slower ones like this. His disinterested style of playing is soon noticed by the singer, who is quick to throw various small objects, such as a pencil or a pick, in an immature and futile attempt to force more enthusiasm out of the group’s squeaky wheel. Facing each other in a circle, the three musicians seem unfocused, struggling to find the right groove for the song. This ordinary sight would be unremarkable if it weren’t for one fact; the group is Infinite, rehearsing material for what will become their next studio album.Eric Quillington, the leader of the world-famous outfit, is the only one who seems to be taking this seriously. For a musician known for his creativity and experimentation during the making of albums, it’s infuriating to be making such little progress. Of course, it’s somewhat bizarre to even be using the words ‘serious’ and ‘Quillington’ in the same sentence. Away from music, he has always seemed slightly over the top, to the point that it’s hard to connect him to the voice that’s sung such gloomy tracks as ‘Vague Similarities’. Here in the studio, however, the two separate parts of his personality have become one; his irritation with the lack of musical cohesion is expressed through a sarcastic tone in his words.
“Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, I give you two of the Seven Wonders of the World,” Eric says into the microphone, his biting voice booming over the studio’s amplifiers, “Matt Roberts and Greg Oldson, the most productive little fuckers I’ve ever had the misfortune of working with.” This type of verbal abuse, coming from such a beloved icon, might be something of a shock, but it’s not entirely unexpected at this point. Three hours have been wasted thus far, all without any promising takes. Tension between the musicians has steadily increased the entire time, to the point that the now-refuted claims of band disbanding seem to be making a comeback.
Taking a short rest from the unsatisfying sessions, the trio decides to see how their attempts had been shaping up. Listening to the playback is, as expected, an uninteresting listen. Aside from the lyrics, there is nothing that stands out; acoustic strumming and half-assed bass-lines drive the tune, creating a very uninspired atmosphere. As a folk tune by some nameless band, it would be acceptable. As an Infinite song, it’s nothing of the sort. Still, it's not all gloom and despair. The band's albums have had a long history of beginning in this very simple form; their latest one,
Insomnia, originally began life as a number of acoustic demos before the slow transition into the technical wonderland it’s more commonly known for. As such, it’s impossible to think that this will be the final shape and form of the song, entitled ‘Grinning like a Jackal’.
After coming to the mental realization that something needs to change, Quillington straps in his electric guitar, having been solely focusing on singing up until this point. Duties on the frets had been relegated to Greg Oldson thus far, a musician who seems to be making increasing efforts to move away from percussion. (“I’m more interested in melody than rhythm,” remarks Oldson, “Sometimes I feel like I chose the wrong instrument.”). Quickly taking the hint from the band’s singer, he removes his acoustic guitar and reclaims his traditional position behind the drums.
The fretwork of Infinite has never been the most flashy or attention-grabbing, and has always added to the atmosphere and textures to the song instead of driving it. With the exception of the two singles ‘Fusion Paranoia’ and ‘Supernova’ from the band’s debut album,
Blue Nebula, you’d be hard pressed to find a simple, catchy guitar riff in Infinite’s back-catalogue. Because of this, it’s somewhat surprising to hear the next thing that comes out of the amplifiers. A distorted, frenzied tune blasts out, something more akin to a band like Nirvana than Infinite. Perhaps Quillington was venting out his irritation at the song’s lack of progress, or perhaps he was simply testing out new sounds; whatever the case, it was unlike anything that the group had been playing this morning. As such, it caught his fellow musicians off-guard. There’s several minutes of the rhythm section trying, and failing, to stay in time with this improvised riff, before Oldson throws his drum-sticks across the room and walks out.
“I’m sorry you had to witness one of the more shitty days in the life of a shitty band,” Quillington says to me as he puts away his guitar, “But, at least your magazine is paying you for this, right?”
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OOC: Parts two and three will up later in the day; I wrote too much to include it all in one post. Still, I hope you all enjoy it!
Edited by user 23 June 2011 07:00:42(UTC)
| Reason: Not specified