Wardrobe music
You know, I used tothink 'wardrobe music' would be a good name for the genre - as in, it can be anything you want it to be. Useful given the eclectricity of my output.

It never caught on, though. Never mind.

This weekend I found out why I really sing wardrobe music. To recap; I've been intermittently putting down tracks for the new album. Life has kept intervening and slowing us down, but we did a great bunch of stuff this last weekend. (Well, the house is on the market, we acquired a kitten, and then three chickens, and briefly an incubatorful of eggs, but they didn't hatch, so I don't have a kitchenful of chicks.)

We've had some lively discussions on where in the house we should set up the vocal booth. V is picky about rooms, because he can hear resonances that I can't, and I'm slightly picky about having enough space to wave my arms around a bit and the downstairs loo with a futon was not sounding an appealing option.

Which is how I ended up singing in the wardrobe. I have a large double wardrobe, a dark wood monster that's been with me twenty years. With its two doors open, I have a cosy booth with a view of all my clothes - and a microphone nestling between my best red blouse and my embroidered hippy waistcoat.

Proinde, in vestibularum possum cantare. Which is to say, why, I can sing in the wardrobe. (because 'sed in vestibularum non possum saltare', but that's another story.)

Anyway. I'm recording regularly and the arrangements are starting to come together nicely. I shall just have to resist the urge to call 'Mr Tumnus' into the wardrobe...