Early afternoon, February 2019, in a Sky Box Loft at New York’s Ludlow Hotel, a few drinks in on my birthday and this chorus comes from absolutely nowhere.
Stoned in London, days later, and I write out the verse in 5 minutes.
Later, at my friend Jerry’s house, who not only looks after my cats Angus and George whilst I’m away, but also does Eddie Cochran as good as Steve Jones, I’m feeling inspired and unusually curious, so ask if he’s up for a quick recording session.
He says “yes”, so I nab a tenner off him and head for the off-licence.
After heroic doses of 1664 in a very short time, a guitar track, a couple of musical moves and a well twatted fender p are recorded, which, from a bit of me but more of him, somehow... makes my drunk yelling, almost listenable.
He calls them ‘scratch’ guitars.
I’ve left on some bad vocals.
But... you know… fuck it.
Here’s the result.
Enjoy :)
Pete
