Hooton Tennis Club: Away From It All

Away from it all: no people, no traffic, no screens, and no dinner dates. Turn off your backlit tunnels of endlessly reaffirming algorithms and tune in! There we were, the four of us with Edwyn Collins, his wife Grace Maxwell, our engineer, our now good friend Richard Flack, and the occasional Helmsdale local - all popping in to say hello and nosy around the new studio high atop the hills of bucolic north Scotland.

Though it wasn't all no-phones back-to-basics, we certainly had down time. Reading was an important activity in the more quiet hours. Watching the waves roll in seemed important too. In the mornings you'd open your eyes, draw the curtains to perchance spy a rabbit darting silently out of view. Then it would be calm and empty and you'd sit and you'd half remember a dream and the sea, my goodness it was blue! So too was the sky: blue, blue, blue! There were the brightest of yellows in the form of gorse on the hills, too. The freshest air and the deepest mountain greens and all that wishy-washy country life malarkey…

Making music in a place like Helmsdale, somewhere far from the humdrum of city life, this was what we wanted to do. Only, we didn't know it, until suddenly you'd see one of us meandering down the hill thinking about nothing. Clear minded, but not absent. Don't get us wrong, we didn't go to Scotland to try and 'find ourselves'; we were there to focus on something for a solid amount of time…

Next door to the studio, within arms reach, stood the residential cabin we inhabited for three weeks. The studio complex sat proudly near the top of Clashnarrow Hill; a stretch of land Edwyn inherited from his grandfather. It became clear only a few days into our stay that this place was magical; a place steeped in family history and identity for Edwyn and Grace. We knew our experience was going to be a unique, partly due to us being the first band to record in the newly built studio.

We incubated, practiced parts, and locked into recording music each day. The outside world quickly became numbed as the studio wizardry and creative direction Edwyn and Richard instilled into our recordings began to take hold. Between the hours of 8am and 8pm all we thought about was tones, playing techniques, and MUSIC. In the corner of our eyes though, between thoughts, the sun would be staggering over the Moray Firth's horizon, resetting everyone's state of mind.

For us, Helmsdale felt like a blank slate and in hindsight being isolated and removed from a functional city like Liverpool or London allowed for nature and its emptiness to flow and nourish our souls. It felt like there was something to add to Helmsdale opposed to the likes of New York, or other major cities that are melting pots for culture and advancement.

And so, to work! Exploring Edwyn's vast cave of vintage pedals, guitars, synths, and percussion was a long but rewarding task. All manner of strange and wonderful musical objects could be found in the old Croft building; Guitars from the Orange Juice days, valves that Abbey Road desperately needed, and huge reverb plates mounted on the back wall. Often, the sight of a band member scurrying out of the studio, up the hillside and into the Croft could be observed and then minutes later they would come strolling back out clutching secret audio treasures to lighten up the song being recorded. Such treasures, the BM Fuzz from "A Girl Like You" or the Mutron Envelope Filter from "Rip It Up" had historical, musical importance. Yet the personal favourite of all was the vibroslap that worked its way onto "Bad Dream".

The mixing desk itself was an old 1960's Neve desk, wired up like an old switchboard. The initial wiring wizardry was performed by Blake, a man never short of a humorous quip that could lighten up even the dourest of faces. A whole world of tones quickly became available to us.

Every so often, when our ears got fuzzy and we started caring far too much about the sound of the tambourines, Grace would take us out in the Helmsdale community transport minibus. We were introduced to the sights all around Helmsdale and Caithness; we drove through glens and over bràigh, we walked along the sandy banks of silent lochs, we went seal spotting at low tide, we spied on giant herds of deer through binoculars, we climbed down the three hundred and sixty five steps into Whaligoe harbour, we skimmed stones at Latheron Wheel bay, ate Cullen Skink in a roadside cafe/croft house museum, we spotted birds with Edwyn, we tried local whiskeys and we stomped up and down the hill behind the studio to take in the view.

Recording really is one of our favourite things to do. We will very very very happily spend hours, days, and weeks working parts out and playing around with different ideas. Ears really do get tired though. Actively listening to one song all day makes you hear problems that aren't there. Helmsdale was the perfect place for that. We weren't walking to Tesco for some chocolate and pop; we climbed up hills and hiked along beaches. We were adventurous friends from a 1940s kids adventure novel. Backpacks on, socks pulled up, red ruddy cheeks.

Although a small contribution, Big Box Of Chocolates birthed itself (with the help of us) into a place we all became extremely attached to, a place where our creative output and thinking were valued by Edwyn and Grace and Richard. In turn, allowing us to make something, somewhere we'll remember forever.

Hooton Tennis Club play The Garage in London on Wednesday 16 November. Tickets via Dice. Their latest album, Big Box of Chocolates, is out on Heavenly Recordings now.