Monday dawns almost as sunny as Sunday afternoon ended, and after a quick trip out to town to buy some cables and food, we're back pool side. But the cover stays on, and I get busy writing while chilling in the sun chair. I end up working on a new approach for "Tugboat's Call", in an attempt to combine a kind of tropical stillness with the mystic vibe of a desert landscape. Getting off to a good start, I realize all I've written so far will probably be better suited for a more up-tempo track, like "Get It Right" for example.
Kari and Johannes grab a mic, some cable, and a laptop and walk right down to where sea meets shoreline for some sea sound recording. Johannes comes back, shirtless, and his sneakers soaking wet. But the duo is clearly pleased with the result. A few minutes later, Mr. Laiho is far less content, when confronted with the shocking news of a steep decline in the hot tub temperature. (It's down to a freezing 34 degrees centigrade!)
I decide to head out for another run. The neck's a little sore, but not too bad. Jog, dip in the hot tub, and then back to working on the "Tugboat's Call" lyrics. There's a beautiful sunset in front of my eyes as I sit writing on the terrace. Kari is jumping around in the backyard taking pictures of the cacti. Yes, cacti. And shooting the sun from between the cacti. I love saying "cacti".
The writing and editing go on for a couple of hours, followed by one of our few dinner outings to Playa Blanca. Over the fish courses in a fairly non-descript seafood joint, we briefly discuss what to work on during the remaining days. "Get It Right" definitely needs some more guitars, and a second verse (originally intended for "Tugboat's Call") is pretty much done and ready to be tried out. And the infamous afro pop monster we've got in the works is crying out for some pan flute action.
We end the night with a brief visit to a small bar owned by some Brits called "Wax". Johannes sends a couple of sunshine snapshots (taken in and around the pool) to our beloved manager and booking agent Sami, while the bar's karaoke master is firing away some UB40. To crown it all, the bar is suddenly invaded by around 20 young French women and a couple of men. Their intense interpretations of U2 and Blondie literally end up taking our breath away. It's time to return to Finisterre.