Free Sophie's Encore by Nicky Wells

take home a copy of our raw material to play and experiment with, and Darren does the same. Sometimes Mick or Joe might pop in, or we might all work together. We mock something up, like a demo, and then we take it into the professional studio to talk through with our sound man there. He will do the mixing and mastering on his master files and add his own magic touch, too.” He grinned at me.
    “Every sound engineer has a certain touch. Our man, Richard, has golden ears, and he’s worked with us for years, as you know. When all is said and done, and the band and I are at the end of the road with our suggestions and tweaks, Richard will sprinkle stardust all over the album. That’s the art of sound engineering. That’s the bit you can’t teach, and can’t learn. You’ve either got it, or you don’t.”
    He hesitated. “I think you might have it. You blew me away yesterday. And I want to find out how far we can take you. So…” He turned to the mixing console and retrieved a stack of small USB flash drives, fanning them out on the desk in front of us.
    “There are all the tracks. Richard has put them onto flash drives, one each, as a project that I can put on my DAW to play with and—”
    “Your what?” I interrupted.
    “Sorry,” Dan said. “Please stop me if I talk jargon. DAW is short for Digital Audio Workstation, which is what we have here. My home studio.”
    I picked up one of the flash drives, a little black memory stick with a USB port at the end. “This contains a song, yeah?”
    “This contains a song,” Dan confirmed. “Richard made a copy of the raw material so I can work on it here, and when we’re done, we’ll put it back on the flash drive and I’ll take it into the studio.”
    I nodded, and Dan continued. “I’d like us… I’d like you to work on a song each morning, maybe the same one for a few days, until you’ve figured out how you like it. Eventually, I’d love for you to come into the proper studio and watch Richard do his thing, but one step at a time. I can teach you the basics here. It’s probably best if we start with mixing before I walk you through mastering. We have plenty of raw material to work with.” He rubbed his hands, while I felt a little overwhelmed.
    “Give it to me in bite-size chunks,” I pleaded. “I’m no technophobe, but I feel completely out of my depth here. It’s like learning a new language.”
    “It is,” Dan concurred. “Or perhaps like learning a new instrument. And I will try to make it bite-size. Simply ask if it gets too much or if I move too fast.”
    Thus we set to work. Dan picked one of the songs—project number six, a song called White Poison —and had me play association bingo. “What do you expect of a song with this title?” he prompted for my input.
    “White poison,” I mused. “That sounds like drugs.” Dan gave me a thumbs up. “I’m thinking this could be a hard, gritty piece with shrill guitars and a throbbing base, like a hangover headache. Or it could be a sad ballad, a mellow piece with acoustic guitars. Depends on what happens, I guess, and whether someone’s died.”
    Dan grimaced. “You have a lyrical way of putting things, but yes, you’re right. D’you know,” he cut into his own thoughts, “it’s quite interesting to get a female take on this. You have a different way of looking at things. This will be a great experience.”
    He pressed play, and it turned out my initial instinct had been spot on. It was a fast piece with loud drums, heavy on the cymbals and bass, and a racing guitar line.
    “What do you think of the mix?”
    I waggled my head. “It’s better than yesterday’s but…”
    “Yes? Go on, speak your mind. Whatever comes into your head. You have to go with your instinct here.”
    I took the plunge. “I think it’s too mushy. If you’re singing about drug abuse, I want to hear a thumping heartbeat. I want the adrenaline, but it needs to start clear and become fuzzy later. You