Inside the Studio

What's the weirdest drink you have ever had? I've guzzled a fair few strange ones in my time, including a gruesome concoction in New York involving what looked like Swarfega mixed with cream. But the one that topped the lot was something or other from a barnacled bottle salvaged from a galleon that had been part of the Spanish Armada sunk in battle in the English Channel in 1588.

There were four in the group but most of the time only two made it to the studio. One absentee was holed up in a nearby hotel attempting to kick a drug habit. The other was an alcoholic who could hardly get out of bed and would die soon enough, choking while passed out in a stupor.

Dolly was in one heck of a hurry. She was running late for a recording session and if there was one thing that Dolly wasn't ever, it was late. Not only that, this was her debut appointment at Nashville's RCA Studios and she didn't want them thinking bad of her for being tardy.

You may have read recently about the discovery of a British warship that sank in 1682 off our eastern coast which is being hailed by those who know as the 'most significant historic maritime discovery since the raising of the Mary Rose in 1982'. Well, happy as I am for Her Majesty's hyped-up historians, there's another treasure trove currently being examined that, for me, knocks that watery wreck into a cocked hat.

We all came out to Montreux/On the Lake Geneva shoreline/To make records with a mobile/We didn't have much time/ We ended up at the Grand Hotel/It was empty cold and bare/But with the Rolling truck Stones thing just outside/Making our music there...'

The Boy couldn't get out of bed. The phone rang. And rang. And rang again. The boy turned over, tugged the pillow down hard over his head, and fell back asleep. The phone rang. And rang. And rang again. Eventually the ringing roused him. He'd had a heavy night and was feeling rough. He answered the phone. The voice on the other end, Irish, cursed him.

Nobody writes letters anymore, but back on the 11th of March 1913 an Italian artist called Luigi Russolo wrote one to a fellow countryman called Francesco Balilla Pratella, who was a musician and composer. Both men were followers of the writer Filippo Tommaso Marinetti who, in 1909, had founded the Futurist movement.