When we set out to put our debut record together, we had a clear vision of what we wanted to achieve. We wanted to revisit a time when albums weren’t just collections of songs but journeys, each track offering something distinct yet contributing to a cohesive whole. Bands like Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Jethro Tull, and The Beatles before them paved this path, crafting albums with diverse sounds and narratives. That spirit of variety was what we wanted to channel; a stark contrast to the monotonous dynamic range of many records from the 2000s.
Back then, it seemed like the industry was consumed by the ‘loudness war’. Everyone was chasing the loudest master, often at the cost of clarity and emotional depth. The result? Albums that sounded like one continuous, flatline song, devoid of dynamic storytelling. It was all about pushing the volume to the edge of distortion without crossing into outright chaos (a threshold that was debatable at best). Songwriting itself mirrored this trend, confined to the narrow dynamic range of the mixes. We wanted to break away from that and bring back the emotional and sonic breadth we admired in our influences.
When the band’s second iteration was coming together, I found myself deeply immersed in Led Zeppelin’s music. Their use of alternative tunings fascinated me, and naturally, I began experimenting with quite a few combinations. One day, while strumming in my room at my parents’ house, the song jumped out of the guitar whilst it was tuned in one of the tunings I was trying at the time. Our home overlooked a gloomy hill that held a cemetery, a place I often associated with quiet reflection. On certain nights, flickering candles could be seen through the window, their soft glow a poignant reminder of life’s fragility. That atmosphere shaped the mood and tone of what would become Evening on My Dark Hillside.
The title itself is a nod to Led Zeppelin’s Misty Mountain Hop. Drawing from their influence felt fitting for a song that was born amidst such an evocative setting. Living so close to a cemetery during my formative years undoubtedly shaped my outlook on life and its finality. It’s hard not to reflect on mortality when surrounded by such an ever-present symbol. Another contributing factor to this outlook was a particularly impactful memory from my childhood of losing a classmate in year 6. He was a boy I sat next to every day, and his sudden death left an indelible mark on my understanding of life’s unpredictability.
On a lighter note, when we listened to the test mixes of the song with Alex in his car when coming back from an evening out, the energy was electric. We couldn’t stop smiling widely, as we were both in an uncontrollable state of elation. There was a shared realisation that this song wasn’t just a product of our effort but a true representation of who we are as a band. It encapsulated our influences, our individual experiences, and our collective vision. It was one of those rare moments where everything felt aligned, and we kept acknowledging to each other that ‘this was us’.
We recorded the guitars at the practice space we were using at uni, whilst the recordings of some of the percussion are more questionable, one of the instruments being a decorative darbuka Alex’s father had brought from Turkey, using a pack of cigarettes to balance the microphone against, in absence of a microphone stand.
Evening on My Dark Hillside isn’t just a song; it’s a reflection of the past and a tribute to the creative giants who inspired us. More importantly, it’s a piece of our story, an emblem of what we stand for as artists and storytellers.
Thanos
Phaseship - The Phase Archives 