‘Maybe,’ I say.‘But finishing this song is literally why I’m here.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ says Tadhg.‘But why don’t we approach it by, I dunno, a circuitous route?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Okay,’ says Tadhg.‘This song was our … white whale.The song that kept getting away from us.Correct?’
‘Correct.’
‘So finishing it became a big deal.We both really did want to finish it, right?’
‘Well, yeah.’
‘But it’s been years since we wrote music together,’ Tadhg continues, ‘so maybe starting again with the white whale isn’t the best approach.Maybe we need to try writing something new from scratch.To get used to being songwriting partners again before we tacklethesong.’
‘It’s been a while since I readMoby Dick,’ I say, ‘but I’m not sure the white-whale thing is holding up now.’
‘Seriously, Lol, what do you think?’
Seriously, I think it’s a good idea.But this is more than I signed up for.I agreed to spend two weeks finishing one particular song, not writing new ones.Now he wants to change the whole arrangement, just like that.I suppose when you’re Tadhg Hennessy you can always change plans on a whim and expect people to go along with it.
But still … call me Ishmael, because I really do want to finish our song.And if that means writing a few more songs first, then so be it.
‘Okay,’ I say.‘Let’s give it a go.’
He hands me my cup of tea.‘Clean slate.’
‘Clean slate,’ I say.
If only.
Back in the studio, we’re faced with the freedom and terror of the blank page.
‘So what now?’I say.
‘Do you have any rough things you’ve been working on?’says Tadhg.
The thing is, I actually do.After dinner last night, I got out my guitar and came up with a chord sequence without a melody, just a riff and a lead guitar line.But I remember my early suspicions, my fear that Tadhg wanted to find out if I had proof I wrote our song.I do trust him now.But I still want to have my own recordings of whatever we write today.
‘I have whatcouldturn into a song,’ I say.I take out my phone.‘Want to mess around with it and I’ll record it if we come up with anything good?’
And for the first time in sixteen years, we write a song together.
It’s incredible how natural it feels.I play the riff, and after I run through it a few times, Tadhg starts singing over it, no words, justda-da-dasounds.After a while something happens and we look at each other and I know we’re both thinking the same thing.This is it.He’s come up with the perfect tune forthese chords.We play through it again and I record it on my phone.
‘Have you thought of chords for the chorus?’he says.
‘Not yet,’ I say.
He picks up his guitar.‘How about going into a D minor?And then …’ He plays a series of chords that contrast perfectly with the chords of the verse.
‘That’s not bad,’ I say.It’s better than not bad.It’s brilliant.In my head I’m humming a possible melody.‘You keep playing those chords and I’ll pick out a tune on the piano and you can sing it.’
He rolls his eyes.‘Oh, come on, don’t fuss around with the piano.Just sing the melody.’
‘No,’ I say.
‘This is ridiculous,’ he says.‘I’ve heard you sing before.’
