The writing of ‘dress to impress’

How we wrote ‘Dress To Impress’

Quite a day at Weller Towers, and I want to share with you all just how the creative process operates within Tin Cry. Ant had recently installed ProTools 12 on my MacBook. I am a real moron when it comes to tech, but I’d recommend anyone that’s into home recording to get hold of the ProTools software. It’s free and it’s brilliant (once you get the hang of it). 

Anyway, having got the software I immediately sat down in my palatial boudoir and recorded a really brilliant song that I’d already pretty much finished writing. ‘All the Mighty Moretti will need to add are a couple of his patented guitar flourishes,’ I thought, smiling grimly and thinking that we would split the royalties 90/10 in my favour. 

The song was called ‘Durty Dawg’ and had two things going for it. Firstly, superb cock-rock lyrics, the sort of thing that Led Zeppelin or Whitesnake or Van Halen used to do in the 1970s. Secondly, a killer riff that would end up being played in every guitar-shop in the Western world by timid youths handling their first real electric guitar. Result!

Armed with my MacBook, the lyric sheet and with a song in my heart, I hastened to Weller Towers, Tin Cry’s spiritual home and recording suite. Moretti was already there. ‘Listen to this, Ant old chap,’ I (Tin)cried and sat back while he absorbed the sonic sounds of Harley Taylor’s latest opus. ‘You’ll just need to add a few of your patented guitar flourishes,’ I told him as the last thrashing riffs of ‘Durty Dawg’ rang out through the speakers. ‘It’s got superb cock-rock lyrics and a killer riff,’ I added. Alas… I was immediately subjected to what is known in the music trade as ‘The Moretti Stare.’ For the uninitiated, this is where, instead of responding, the lad Ant just gazes into space for a minute, before delivering judgement. 

In this case, he spoke as follows: ‘It’s alright, but there are some things that I don’t like.’

‘Such as?’ I riposted, feeling my Irish blood beginning to heat.

‘The lyrics and the guitar riff.’

‘You crazy fool!’ I shouted, dismayed. ‘The entire song comprises just the lyrics and the riff! Without the lyrics and the riff it’s just three and a half minutes of silence! Besides,’ and here I allowed myself a bit of poetic licence, ‘I’m confident that it will be The Feel-Good Hit Of The Summer.’

‘The lyrics are sexist and the guitar riff is derivative,’ said the Moretti Madman.

Well. I brooded a bit and then had a wheeze. At Weller Towers there’s a resident artist, the well-known ceramasist [Yes – that is an actual word] Miche Follano. ‘Right,’ I told my recalcitrant brother-in-arms. ‘Let’s get Miche up here to listen to “Durty Dawg”,’ I said. ‘She’s probably just casting an ashtray or something.’

So we dragged the Miche from her studio and into ours. ‘Listen without prejudice,’ I told her. ‘You are a sensible woman and a recognised arbiter of good taste. Tell us what you think.’

While the track played I danced and pranced about and Ant sat like Buddha in a ten-foot cell. ‘I don’t like it,’ she said at the end. ‘The lyrics are sexist and the guitar riff is derivative.’

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Moretti stifle – poorly – a guffaw.

‘I thought as much myself,’ I said, recovering quickly. ‘Best thing is a division of duties to iron out the song’s shortcomings. You’ -here I indicated the sniggering Ant – ‘Come up with a better riff while I rework the lyrics.’

Away I went to the games room in Weller Towers with my notepad and biro. There were a few micro-celebs in the room, shooting pool. ‘Kylie and Elton,’ I told them. ‘I don’t mind you’re hanging around here but keep the noise down. I’ve got work to do.’

I racked my brains. I chewed my fist. I went to the toilet twice. And then I had an idea. WWLRD. In other words: What Would Lou Reed Do? The Weller Tower games room has an extensive library of naughty books. Within minutes I was fingering – oo’er – the pages of ‘Venus In Furs’ by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch and the Marquis de Sade’s ‘120 Days Of Sodom’ while listening to The Velvet Underground’s Greatest Hits on my headphones. From these various elements I was able to rewrite the lyrics of my cock-rock anthem into an alternative male-masochist-submission plea for mercy. I quite enjoyed it really.

I returned to the studio where Antonio was fiddling with his machine heads. ‘Alright, Tone-Boy,’ I taunted him. ‘I’ve re-done the lyrics and by the way the song’s now called “Dress To Impress”.’ And then he played me his alternative guitar riff, which – damn him! – was explosively brilliant. Two hours later we had the song in the can (muso-speak meaning ‘satisfactorily recorded’) apart from a bit in the middle that needed something different. So we just went into the vocal booth and let the first things we could think of come out of our gobs. Mine was: ‘Live fast, Die young. Leave a good-looking corpse.’ Which was something James Dean used to say. 

And that’s how we wrote ‘Dress To Impress.

Harley Taylor - Tin Cry