‘Do you want me to go again?’ I say. There is a very long pause. ‘We’re not sure it’s working,’ says our singer.
I am sitting in a recording studio, headphones over my ears, banjo on my knee, playing along to a half-completed song and a metronome click. Other members of the band I’m in are behind the glass, listening along with George, the engineer.
I make a mistake, lose my way, and swear. The music stops. I hear the light whoosh of air that comes with the intercom button on the mixing desk being depressed.
