SESSION shenanigans
The studio guitarist’s guide to happiness and personal fulfilment, as related by session ace Mitch Dalton. This month: It’s not my bag, man!
Those of you old enough to remember house calls by your local GP (ask your designated carer if in doubt) will recall the black leather valise that accompanied those visits, crammed with the tools of the trade: stethoscope, thermometer, sphygmomanometer (look it up) and other paraphernalia. Similarly, I recall waiting for the arrival of the nice lady from the film company at the end of a patch of movie sessions, as per the Union agreement. And of more relevance, the expensive attaché case that came with her, complete with eye watering piles of cash that complied with the rule of immediate payment for the orchestra upon completion.
Most professions seem to accessorise themselves with a bag of bits: the electrician’s tool box, the footballer’s kit bag, the plumber’s holdall complete with spanners and excuses.
Which brings me to my wee zip up bag and its contents, my personal studio life support system. I believe that it is, in its own anorak affected way, not without niche interest to the busy plectrist, neurotic and obsessive. Or average GT reader, as I like to call him. So, by unzipping the beige bag and tipping the contents on to the kitchen table we discover the following artefacts.
1. Shubb capo. Not one but four, each for a specific instrument; acoustic, Spanish, 12-string and banjo. Total cost - around £100.
It’s a fact of fretting life that many vocalists and the odd producer seem bemused by the fact
Eb that their new key of seems to be less well suited to those jangling chordal riffs or filigree finger pickings that sounded so well in the original key of D. Having discovered that helpful suggestions like “If you really want it to sound like Aretha/Dusty/Amy, why not sing it in her key?” rarely meet with universal approbation, a swift capo clamp at the first fret is more likely to extend your career. Sadly, the inconvenience and potential embarrassment of then being required to play open shapes while stumbling through a part now written in the “wrong” key is outside the scope of this article, although occasional weeping in the acoustic isolation booth are not uncommon byproducts thereof.
2. A sheet of Ryman’s self adhesive dots. Green. £0.99. As a rule of thumb, the more expensive the guitar, the fewer fret markers seem to appear on the fingerboard. The three best instruments in my collection are bereft of all but tiny black indicators to the side of the fingerboard. Which is aesthetically pleasing but potentially panic inducing when the lights dim and fear stalks the stage. I prefer to swallow my pride, superimpose those bright green circles over the black pin pricks and dispense with the maker’s minimalist concept.
3. String winder and cutter set. £6-20. We all love a Strat. What we don’t love is the gearing on the tuners and the osteoarthritis induced by relentless tuning peg turning. Leo’s string changing design is best suited to a life of semiretirement (or “semirequirement”, as a colleague is wont to describe it) rather than an on-the-job string breakage which demands a speed equivalent to an F1 pit stop and tyre change.
4. Bottlenecks. One glass and one brass. From £6-20 each. Essential fingerwear fashion for the moment you turn over the part to see the instruction “Ry Cooder style or similar”. Also handy for blues and even Hawaiian stylings, especially when combined with your legendary ability to switch tunings at the drop of a D. Ahem.
5. Scotch tape and dispenser. £3.00. Gone are the days when I would seethe when handed four photocopied pages of a part, balance them on two music stands and then watch helplessly as the 60 gsm gossamer style paper drifted to the floor at the first swish of the conductor’s baton. I just tape and go. Because I’m worth it.
6. Fender 351 Classic Premium celluloid picks, shell, heavy. 12 Pack- £5. The colour is immaterial. Although I tried blue and noticed no increase in pain, suffering or Pentatonic ability.
7. Screwdrivers. Large. Small. Watchmaker’s. Phillips. Flat-head. Allow at least £30. Unless you’ve invested in Maplin’s entire bankrupt stock, you will never, ever have the correct size for the emergency at hand.
8. Batteries. Maybe £25 worth. 20/32s for tuners and guitars. PP3s for other instruments and the one in the wah pedal that expired silently on your way to the gig. Buy in bulk online. Change frequently to pre-empt embarrassing silence.
9. Pliers. Large. Small. Approx £20. For emergencies and breakdowns, physical and mental.
10. Allen keys, various. £15. For bridge saddle and truss rod adjustment. Just pray they will never be required.
11. Pencils (2B), sharpener and eraser, for correcting copying mistakes and not for rubbing out the dates of the remaining episodes of the TV series. £10.
12. Spare lightning-USB cable. £8-15. Of vital importance. Never put yourself at risk of missing a Harry Kane hat-trick.
And there you have it. The Studio Survival Kit. And I can confirm that after all, one can put a price on reassurance and peace of mind. It’s £500. I should know. I left my bag, not in San Francisco but in the Travelodge, Cardiff.
Happy days!
we all love a strat. what we don’t love is the osteoarthritis induced by relenTless tuning peg turning