Burials began in the fall of 2011.
Portishead was playing again. The Cure stood for three nights at Pantages. Moz was at the Shrine and we were in the Hollywood Hills, writing.
The room was tiny and dark. It jutted over Sunset. The Santa Ana’s breeched the cracks in the window sills. Trees enshrouded two of the low walls. Earth clung to a third. There we met every afternoon and wrote till the sun sunk into the Pacific.
Guitars reposed in cases on the thick 70’s forest-green rug. The computer slept on the table that stood between the couch and the bed in which I neurosed.
Come winter, a firebug began torching the neighbors’ homes. The sounds of sirens filled the air every night.
But with 2012 came further silence.
We wrote on—for over a year. The sounds grew from disquiet.
Then 2013 brought Gil Norton to afi by way of our manager’s flat screen. He spoke from England. We from a large conference desk in a West Hollywood house, steps away from the Troubadour.
We had all wanted to work together on Crash Love and were thrilled to be given another opportunity.
Gil’s passion and understanding was palpable even over the airwaves.
A union was made, an April date was set and during six weeks of spring Burials was tracked.
Not since 2000 had we finished a record in such short time.
Like our songs, the studio was new yet familiar.
When it was Cello we’d spent nearly 12 months there.
Then, the historic studio was just as you’d envision the home of Pet Sounds.
Now East West, it features a rooftop garden and towering black-lit graffitied hallways. The tracking rooms remain unchanged.
Therein we played and sang and gave all of ourselves to the creation. Gil and his diligent engineer, Dan, did the same. They worked til the small hours of the morning – 7 days a week – even on Gil’s birthday.
Amidst the tension, we realized our 13 songs of Burials.
They’re exactly as we’d hoped, yet they’re no longer ours.
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