Blog

Privacy, that’s what he called it, a strange name for a house. The reinforced steel gate gave it an ominous feel, like a prison, though strangely it was never locked.

It was once Simon Le Bon’s house, perhaps he had fitted the shutters?

Donna was sitting on the wall outside with a pen and a camera and asked Nick to sign something for a friend while he stopped to pose for a photo with one of the Italians.

Just how many women were there in Italy. Always Italians… And Donna, always Donna. I am sure Duran Duran had other fans but I don’t remember them.

The gate clanged behind us and we were plunged into darkness. With only the mirrors on the banister glinting a reflection of the black light on the stairs, we stumbled along a dark corridor and into the living room.

Privacy, like private, like private shop I mused. Something pornographic? This is more seedy night club than retreat.

I say living room as it was a typical Victorian house with a bay window and a divider between the front and back rooms, though this had long since gone.

This double room was about thirty foot long with a massive DDA mixing desk at one end, a couch which had been there so long it was reputed to have an Indian burial ground underneath it, and racks or stacks or musical equipment arranged in stations. Guitar central, synth corner and Pro Tools.

And it was at Pro Tools that I sat, in front of a Mac Quadra till it inexplicably exploded and then an identically shaped Power PC. This whole system was synchronised to a pair of digital tape machines which whirred like fan heaters under the mixing desk and the trick was to bounce things back and forth in the most efficient way.

Music technology was in its infancy and we were at the bleeding edge. When a computer crashes in creative flow it can be as disastrous as using a balsa wood boat down rapids. Pop stars can explode with the same ferocity, and sometimes do. Never Nick though, always the gentleman with impeccable manners, he would simply settle down to arriving late or writing another list.

It was on one such day that he announced that I was part of the movie he was directing and then handed me a piece of jigsaw telling me it was what I had been looking for.

It wasn’t.

What was fascinating about this surreal conversation was, it would start to shape some of the ideas I formulated about life when I did actually start to look for what was missing. We all have something missing right? And some of us know what it is and some of us don’t. I didn’t, still don’t, don’t care now, but had to look for it all the same.

So here I am recounting the tale and have yet to mention Warren. Privacy was Warren’s house and he had given up his entire living space to a recording studio. Excellent! I would have loved to have done the same, except for having a wife. What an inconvenience, although she was something I thought would fill the void.

At this point Warren walked into the living room waving a large tuna steak on a plate and mumbling something incomprehensible like “What up Mister Tin”, then  plonked himself down on the sofa next to Nick.

And thus the day began, busy busy busy, no time to think about what was missing again.

I put the jigsaw in my pocket for later.

See you on the other side of the looking glass,

Mark Ty-Wharton