Sitting cross-legged in a quiet corner of the studio, Alec fortified himself behind a semi-circle of amps and boxes, plastered with the notes of fragmented lyrics and chord arrangements. That’s how he worked, anything that sprang out of his head needed to be scribbled down before it slipped away. Yet throughout the sessions, inspiration remained elusive. It dribbled rather than flowed. Alec sighed, nothing seemed right since Terry left the band. He strummed his guitar idly in the hopes a creative spark would catch fire. In the process, a C chord drifted from the fretboard, blending warm notes in the air. It felt good. Crisp sunshine rang out from the Fender evoking scenes of summer days as a Californian vineyard flickered in his mind. It was the closest Alec could associate to the lingering tones, vivid like a memory. He paused wondering why the sound reminded him of an endless row of grape vines stretched out across the sun-kissed countryside. He had never been there, and it certainly was not the same as London’s dreary streets. Maybe he had driven through such a place during the American tour. Regardless, he let the chord reverberate for as long as possible until it faded from existence.
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