Subrina Ward in the recording booth. - Photos by Mel Cooke

There is a marked difference between the lower parts of the broken-sided bowl that is Jamaica's capital and its surrounding slopes, all of which are scooped into the term 'town', even though most of it is not Kingston.

The thermometer reflects a lot of that difference and, on a Sunday evening, if The Sunday Gleaner had one, the mercury would have fallen appreciably on the climb from the lower parts of 'town' to Stony Hill, St Andrew. Along the way, a sign marks the city limits and at the place where singer Subrina Ward, bass guitarist/producer Kieran Murray, percussionists Phillip Supersad and Calvin Mitchell and keyboard player Stephen Maxwell are working on Ward's We Are Free, there is a marked difference between limits and limitations.

So, as is the case with many home-based studios, the boundaries between living and recording space are fluid, easily redefined with a shift of recording apparatus, instruments and personnel. When The Sunday Gleaner steps past the foliage that invites but also conceals and through the chirping night sounds that are very different from things that often go bang in the dark on the other side of the city limits, Ward has already laid the vocals to We Are Free.

unwanted 'something'

Subrina Ward (left) keeps a close eye as Kieran Murray makes a few adjustments.

Supersad and Mitchell are putting on the drums and silence is required. They are not in an enclosed sound booth and everyone who wants to listen in is wearing headphones as Murray handles the recording (with Ward making observations and suggestions). The Sunday Gleaner duly dons a pair and listens to the combination of what has been done before and the tracks that are being laid.

And, as often happens with digital recording, there is an additional, unwanted 'something'. "I don't know what made that click. We are going to do it again," Murray says. "I heard the crackle," Mitchell confirms.

Kieran takes it from the top and yup, there it is. In the relaxed recording atmosphere, though, where the clock does not tick away at the mind, fixing it is not that much of a hassle. Plus, there is room for some humour, as there is another sound from outside, where Maxwell is taking a breather. "That was a stomach. Who was that?" Ward asks. The consensus is that it was Stephen and someone says "the dog swallow Stephen".

The laughs get even louder as Maxwell opens the door hurriedly and steps in in very sprightly fashion. "Me see some dog big so! Me tek whe miself. Me cyaa tek no bite!" he says, eyes wide.

They settle down again, Murray calls 'redlight' and they are recording, Supersad clicking away with the wood blocks and Mitchell shaking the tambourine on the slow track, as Ward sings:

"I hear dem say

We are free, so let us be

The people will rise up and say

Let the children live, let them play"

In the recording, Ward indicates the verse and the bridge, her voice rising for the latter as she sings "if we show love/live love/speak love/love will be our religion, I am one but together we are the chosen few who will fight, fight".

The tempo picks up for the 'fight' and Supersad and Mitchell are really going at it, their body language reflecting the intensity of the music. Then, as We Are Free heads to an end and the music starts fading, they take it down softly and close with a final click and shake.

However, there is more to be done. They figure out there is a crackle on the funde and bass drum track, so that must be done over. Again, no major stress. Murray adjusts the microphones as Supersad settles his funde and Mitchell hoists a bass drum up on one knee. Maxwell, still wary of the hounds, declares, "Me staying in here!" and has a brief discussion with Murray about the auto punch process on the recording software that is being used.

The drum tracks are laid, Ward listening to the drums alone without headphones and swaying to the beat. Again, Mitchell and Supersad change the tempo and intensity as required and the thunder and patter of their instruments fill the room. Then they fade and fade and, with a last tap, it is over.

"How that feel?" Ward asks. "Feels good," Supersad says.

Still, there is more recording to be done and after a food enquiry Mitchell says, "Go ahead and eat. This is food for us." They start again, playing a part where there was electronic interference because someone's phone had rung. The redo is fine and, as the session comes to an end, the boundaries between living and recording spaces are reset, the laptop and speakers remaining in place.

The microphones, still on their stands, are placed to one side, the arms up in the air, Maxwell packs up his keyboard and the furniture where the drummers sat to record rearranged.

It is living space once more.