MITCH DALTON
The studio guitarist’s guide to happiness and personal fulfilment, as related by the legendary UK session ace. This month: Lofty Ideals.
Let’s face it. It comes to us all. And I refer not to the acquisition of yet another new overdrive pedal. (‘The Elevenator’? ‘Metal To The Pedal’? ‘Cognitive Distortion’? ) No. I speak of my latest encounter with The Building Trade and the conversion of the attic at stately Mitch Manor. Lest you think you’ve blundered and purchased this month’s glossy edition of Grand Designs, let me reassure. Unless you were really after a copy of Glamour Model Railway
Enthusiast all along, obvs. But we digress. As box after box of astonishing tat mixed with vestigial quantities of priceless memorabilia was passed through the roof and into storage, I literally stumbled upon one particular cardboard container, garnished with a medley of dead spiders, mixed dirt and the juice of half a lemon. I prodded open the lid and there before me lay the inventory of my professional life. Diaries and invoice books. Complete and going back to the dawn of time. And the time of Dawn, for that matter.
I poured myself a stiff mineral water and began to peruse the contents at random. My luck was in. Within 20 minutes I’d found the relevant entry. Thursday, July 12th, 1984.
It began at The Boat House, a funky if excessively damp building in St John’s Wood. And the nerve centre of the genius that is Paul Hart. I was booked on acoustic and 12-string guitars at the stimulating hour of 8.30am. 'Doubling and overdubbing fees - £100.' So, two different performances on the same track on two different instruments.
Allowing a cosy half hour to jump into the car, drive to Soho’s seedy-yet-seedy Wardour Street, park and set up ready to play electric guitar at Marquee studios. This for a busy contractor of the day, Tonia Davall. Adequacy having been achieved within the allotted 60 minutes, it was mere child’s play to amble to Chiswick at my leisure and ring composer Gary Bell’s doorbell at exactly 10.55. Also on electric guitar. A demo for Jeff ‘War Of The Worlds’ Wayne, booked by Isobel Griffiths. At this point the pace seems to have slackened inexplicably. An allowance of two hours to migrate from West London to Wembley. 2.303.30pm on electric guitar for Sid Margo, violinist, fixer and gentleman of the old school.
CTS Studio 1 - the big posh one in a complex of four. It even provided parking, and a refectory. I would have taken luncheon at my usual table for at least 30 minutes prior and enjoyed a cheese sarnie and stunning views of Wembley Industrial Estate. 3.30pm found me dawdling back to the West End for 4.00pm.
CBS Studio 1, Whitfield Street. Paul Hart had been commissioned to write another commercial after I’d left Boat House that morning and had slotted me in to play Spanish guitar on this one, too.
Suitably invigorated by the conclusion of the fifth job of the day, I attempted the tricky South West face of Mount Fulham. Maison Rouge to be precise. Don’t go looking for it. They demolished it to make way for the new Chelsea football stadium. It was just as well I had allowed an indulgent 75 minutes to make it. This last gig of the day was for Stanley Myers, he of countless movies and composer of Cavatina, in particular. A master musician and an absolute joy to work for.
I see from the aforementioned entries that I was as indolent then as I am now. I could have repaired to my Tardis and materialised at The National Theatre 15 minutes later for a performance of Guys And Dolls. Yet I chose to ask Ian Laws to deputise for me on this fateful evening. What a slacker. I can confirm that there are many five-session days buried in those records. And dozens upon dozens of four-gig efforts But that’s the only ‘Day Of The Six Sessions’. Just try telling the kids of today…
“SUITABLY INVIGORATED BY THE CONCLUSION OF THE FIFTH JOB OF THE DAY, I ATTEMPTED THE TRICKY SOUTH WEST FACE OF MOUNT FULHAM ”