Free Inside Out by Nick Mason

sound great. At the studios in West Hampstead, the first time we heard ourselves
     in playback, with some echo on the drums and vocals, and a decent mix, had sounded terrific. Sound Techniques was a step up
     again. The studios boasted the then state-of-the-art Tannoy Red speakers, the definitive speaker of the period. Clad in a
     veneered walnut finish, they stood about five feet tall, and compared to what we were used to, packed an incredible bass punch.
    Listening back to ‘Arnold Layne’ now, and other songs from the same phase, I notice that I do not find myself cringing. I
     am definitely not embarrassed by our juvenilia. It all sounds pretty professional, even though it would have been recorded
     relatively quickly. With a limited number of tracks, you had to make decisions early on about which instrument would go on
     which track and then you mixed down. But the music genuinely doesn’t seem to have suffered.
    ‘Candy And A Currant Bun’ was originally called ‘Let’s Roll Another One’, including the lyric ‘I’m high, don’t try to spoil
     my fun’. Since this was deemed to be pushing our luck on a tape due to be taken into the still very conservative record industry,
     a complete alternative set of lyrics had to be cobbled together.
    For some reason we were also convinced that we needed a promotional film for ‘Arnold Layne’. Although TV programmes like
Top Of The Pops
rarely used film unless it was for some American act that couldn’t possibly make it over to England, we already saw ourselves
     as a multimedia band. Derek Nice – an acquaintance of June Child, and the only film director anyone knew – was commissioned
     to make the film, and we set off to the Sussex coast to start work.
    I think we chose Sussex because my parents lived nearby andrather conveniently were away. This sorted out the accommodation, and provided the suitably bizarre setting of the English
     seaside in the middle of winter. Although crude by the video standards of today, and borrowing the feel of A
Hard Day’s Night,
the black and white film is surprisingly undated and relatively humorous, featuring the four of us on the beach with a fifth
     band member who turns out to be a shop-window dummy. We shot the whole thing in one short grey day and in fact were leaving
     the car park of East Wittering as the police car drew up to put an end to the fun. Given the notoriety of another local resident,
     a Mr Keith Richards, and his pals, I think the law were hoping for another big bust. With our most innocent middle-class faces
     we maintained that we had seen nothing of a suspicious nature, but would of course inform them immediately should we note
     anything in the least untoward. It’s lucky really that they didn’t search the car. In it was the mannequin, nude save for
     a policeman’s helmet.
    Everything seemed set. We had an offer from Polydor, a producer, some recordings, even a promo. However, as frequently happens
     in the music business, someone had to be ejected from the lifeboat. And in this particular instance, it was Joe Boyd who lost
     out. The reason was that Bryan Morrison had intervened. Bryan, who ran his own booking agency, had hired us – although he
     had never heard or seen us perform – for a gig at the Architectural Association, having seen the coverage and the feedback
     we were getting. He wanted to see this hot new band for himself, and had turned up at one of our rehearsal sessions for ‘Arnold
     Layne’. Joe remembers that his heart sank immediately, because Bryan started asking about the deal with Polydor and saying
     that we ought to be able to get a better one. Bryan, who had good contacts with EMI, funded the Sound Techniques recording,
     took a copy of the demo tape, and talked us up to the EMI executives, who didn’t know much about us other than that wewere the current buzz word. But Bryan had a way with words. They decided they wanted to sign us.
    The insurmountable problem –