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Nathalie Buckland, Australia


The studio is in an old garage, cluttered with other musicians' odds and ends. Someone has drawn smiley faces on the dusty drum kit. Cables pattern the floor. Half-empty bottles, coffee mugs and full ash trays compete for surface space.

My friends, seasoned performers, have already put down harp, guitar and vocal tracks for our CD. I wonder what on earth I am doing here, about to sing a backing track. Will I be able to hold the harmonies? I clutch my music and stand by the window to do some warm-ups.

reaching for a note
the garden full of

Headphones on, the music track audible only to me, my voice feels naked, and I hear my pitch waver.

Three takes later the sound man clicks 'save' on his computer, gives a satisfied grunt and we're finished.

a feather
in the empty guitar case


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