I was a journalist working for Music Technology magazine back in the early 1980s, I got the job after sending in an article about the uniqe electronic sounds created in Peter Gabriel's 1980 album, Peter Gabriel III. I had gone to the library to word process it with one of their brand new snazzy computer and printed a few copies off. As of the recommendation of my English college professor I sent these copies around to different publications. In the end, I only got one response; that response being from the aforementioned Music Technology magazine. They were still in their primative stages being that technology in music was also very primative - but ambitious.
They liked my article and actually had interest in interviewing Gabriel on his current album, they asked me if I had interest in taking a paid internship with them over the summer, doccumenting Gabriel's production in the Summer of 81 at his then home and makeshift recording studio; Ashcombe House in Somerset, England. It would be over the space of three weeks, three weeks being paid to stay with and watch over by the workings of my favourite current musician - and get paid for it! I was ecstatic.
And so, after a brief tour of their offices and a quick tutorial on how to work a film camera (I already had a fair idea to begin with) I was on a train on my way to meet with Peter and his band to begin one of the most exciting experiences of my life.
It was 24 degrees Celsius on the day I arrived, the train was unbearably stuffy and I had to endure it for a number of hours. The relief I expeirenced upon stepping out and letting the gentle breeze caress my sweating body. The air blew my damp shirt into my flesh, the once humid perperation became biting freezingly cold. I shivered and looked around. No one had told me if there was to be anyone waiting to collect me but I waited for a moment anyway. Luckily, I had been given a map with the studio marked out on it and - as it was only a few miles walk away, and with the day was as nice at it was - I set out from the quiet and deserted station.
Before too long the small town had thinned out into a large patchwork sheet of endless fields and farms. Among these humble structures of a seemingly bigone era of when agriculture ruled the Isle, I spotted a large white house, an image that gently shook in the heated air - a mirage of perfection. Within an hour I was close enough to spot some figures lounging about on the grass outside. All its windows were wide open but their insides distorted by darkness, the faint illumination within having no hope to compete with the blinding sunlight that beat down upon us outside. One of the sunbathing figures arose as I came into view, he rose his arm to wave at me, I waved back and the camera hanging around my neck swung with me.
Once I was close enough the figure spoke, he was tall and slender, bald with a neat and bold moustache resting on his lips.
'You must be the reporter, right?'
I smiled, unsure what to say - did I qualify as a reporter? This was technically my first day on the job, if you could even consider it that.
'Yeah, that's me' I felt awkward but tried to act cool, it didn't really work.
The moustached man reached his arm out towards me;
'I'm Tony, it's nice to finally meet you!'
He wore a big grin with these words but, due to the large sunglasses that hid his eyes, I still felt odly disjointed.
It was also because of these sunglasses I hadn't realised who he was - but how could I possibly forget, it was Tony Levin, Gabriel's bass player. As I shook his hand I could feel the insane finger strength required to play bass at his calibre.
'Music technology sent us the article you wrote about the last record, it was really great to read, man, you did great, Peter was really eager to have you doccunent our next project.'
He seemed more excited than I was! I could tell there was more he wanted to tell me but he bit his tounge instead.
'This is the rest of the band, he waved his hand at the now proped up figures on the grass who waved back, letting out the ocasional 'Hey'.
These introductions were only brief lived as my world then shut them all out as I saw a new figure emerge in the tall doorway of the house. Just a few feet away, leading against the door frame with his arms crossed; Peter Gabriel stood waiting.
