Sandstone & Lime (explainer)

Writing ‘Sandstone & Lime’  

If you are one of those people who likes to hear a song before you read its story, then you can use this link to find Sandstone & Lime on Bandcamp.

The first ideas for lyrics and music for this song came almost simultaneously, in response to a brief to write from the perspective of a mouse that lives in a Glasgow tenement and creeps out at night to steal food from the unwitting residents…

The simple, repeated two-chord structure of the verse represents the mouse tentatively peeking out of its hole (the suspense of the 4th chord) to see what it can see, and then retreating (to the safety of the 1st). The chorus implies more of a runaround (the minor 7th, minor 3rd, major 4th, major 5th). The descending guitar riff that forms the intro, the brief instrumental section after the first chorus, and the bridge may suggest the stairs of the close. Other than the development of a bit of variety in the melody in the verses, the basic musical structure of the song has changed little since inception.

By contrast, the lyrics have been through at least 10 revisions. My basic idea was to populate an imaginary close with characters based loosely on some of my former neighbours; the pathos lies in the glimpses we see of their lives and their troubles (as in Billy Joel’s Piano Man), but also in their relative isolation from one another. The song casts them, at best, as observers of each other’s lives rather than as participants in the shared life of the close, so the song becomes a reflection on (or a lament for) community.

Most of the original characters have stayed in place (the widow in line 1, the ‘first loves’ and ‘the couple across’ in verse 2), others have been added (the old soldier in verse 1). But perhaps most importantly, the mouse has all but disappeared in the final version of the song. A friend (thanks Doug!) helped me identify the song’s true protagonist as the always-observant but neglected tenement ‘close’ itself, rather than the mouse. The residents’ ignorance of the close (as a character) represents their neglect of one another, and thus their isolation. Other feedback (thanks Jo!) helped me see the refrain ‘none of them know me at all’ as being not just the song’s melodic climax but also the heart of the song emotionally. Rather than being a ‘narrative song’ (i.e. with an unfolding plot), this is both a ‘situational song’ (describing social isolation despite proximity) and an ‘attitudinal song’ (challenging the listener to think about connection and community). 

Though I wasn’t aware (at the time) of the songwriting doing any work for me personally, I notice now how, by drawing on my past experiences of tenement life (see my social media for some video clips about these inspirations), it also reflects my recent preoccupation with questions of recognition and of belonging. As a young adult, my tenement neighbours were always strangers with whom I felt only ‘lightly engaged’. The unravelling, tumbling descent in the bridge perhaps expresses my doubt and regret about this, resolving in the song’s message – that our relationships and not our buildings are what make us safe in a storm: thus ‘our last hope might lie in these arms’.

Development, arrangement and recording

The song title, ‘Sandstone & Lime’, emerged from discussion about the initial title I had chosen: ‘Close’. While the wordplay on ‘Close’ (referring both to emotional and physical proximity and to the tenement’s stairwell itself) was appealing, as a title ‘Close’ seemed too generic and over-used.  ‘Sandstone & Lime’ was originally a discarded chorus lyric: which didn’t sing well. But as the title of a Scottish folk song rooted in Glasgow, it seemed a good fit and it also suggested design ideas for the cover artwork. A little research on Glasgow tenements added a nice conceptual twist:

‘The use of lime mortar in Scottish construction stretches back to Roman times… [and] is a fundamental component in a traditional buildings ability to ‘breathe’. Lime mortar protects the surrounding stonework by acting sacrificially, such that a correctly specified mortar will weather much quicker than any adjacent masonry.’[1]

The lime mortar’s capacity to absorb rainwater is what protects the sandstone, even at some cost to itself; in other words, the lime represents the good neighbour that the song challenges us to be.

I had very good ‘neighbours’ in the arrangement and production of the song. Although I wanted a contemporary acoustic folk acoustic arrangement, I did consider referencing 60s pop via jangly electric guitar, 12-string acoustic, simple tinny, stompy drums, tambourines/claps, vocal harmonies, dynamic bass and Hammond organ. However, given that my main musical reference points were Kris Drever’s ‘Scapa Flow, 1999’ and Declan O’Rourke’s ‘In Painter’s Light’, and due to various practicalities and limitations, I asked some of new friends to contribute different acoustic sounds: Jamie Campbell (of Dignity Row) played piano, Sam MacAdam added clársach and violins, and Outi Smith provided vocal harmonies. I sent them notes with arrangement ideas (focused mostly on the song’s dynamics), inviting them to imagine their own contributions with quite minimal input from me (e.g. asking Jamie to provide underpinning bass tones, and asking Sam to use the clàrsach to effect ‘sonic cascades’ at certain points). Though we couldn’t get all of us together ahead of the studio recording on 14th March 2023, I rehearsed once with each of them separately.

On the day, Jamie, Sam and I practiced together for the first time, making sure that the parts blended, but also exploring – with Keith Bird (our sound engineer) – how the ‘feel’ of the song might come together in the recording process. Though we all agreed on track by track recording to a click, we also wanted it to feel suitably loose – almost like a live folk session, especially in the louder parts of the song.

We recorded the acoustic guitar tracks first, then a guide vocal, then violin parts, then clársach, then lead vocal and then BVs, ending with all of us round one mic as a choir (BVs for the bridge). None of the individual tracks was comp-ed from more than 4 or 5 takes; and some from as few as 2. It was an exhausting but an exhilarating day’s work.

In an ideal world, I would add some percussion and an upright bass to the recording, though I think the current arrangement works very well as it is. I’m very grateful to Paul McGeechan for mixing and mastering it.

You’ll find the studio-recorded version of the song (and the lyrics) on my Bandcamp; and there’s a solo live acoustic version on YouTube which I recorded at Vox Liminis on the Gallowgate in Glasgow. That seemed a fitting place not just because the office is an old shop that was once the ground floor of a tenement, but also because it’s the place where I most feel connection and community, and where a lot of my songwriting begins. You can watch the live version here:

[1]  https://www.glasgowheritage.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/GCHT_Maintenance_Leaflet_AW-REVA-4.pdf (accessed 13th March 2023)