#james marriott

Brighton welcomed little besides dark skies when winter arrived. Storms rolled in from the sea, bringing winds fierce enough to rattle windows and rain that soaked the coastline. The weather in Brighton was often like watercolour paint bleeding into a wet canvas. Like every painting left to dry, Brighton always found its colour again. During these months, it never struck much of a surprise to William Lenney that his best friend was doing one of two things: Option 1: You play until the silence has somewhere to go. Music. James hunched over the guitar as his voice cracked, his vocals harmonising with Lennon’s voice in Blackbird. His hand subconsciously hit the wood of the guitar, tapping along to the beat of the song. The soundproof room was empty during the winter months. From October to February, it was rare for James to ask his bandmates to come to the studio — Will knew this because of some of the stupid nights he and James had spent there. The quiet nights with Will there often entailed endless chuckles, constant coffee cup refills and falling asleep on the sofas there. Will also knew that James stayed there to work on the newest album. Not even he knew what that was going to be called yet. Only James and the rest of the band knew. JM3 was going to be great, and Will relished in every moment that he was able to see the songs before release. Option 2: The flash of the camera catches the golden flecks in your eyes. James decides to record at WillNE industries. Typical of James, to be fair. Seasonal depression was hereditary through the Marriott family. Instead of facing it during the winter months, James dedicated his life to work. Through over five years that they had been titled “Will and Jim,” Will always knew that James would be there for a stupid video idea. The funny thing was that James was never paid; he never asked for the ruddy money. Whenever asked if he wanted it, James used the defence that he was happy just spending time with his best friend and the rest of the team. Whether or not that was true, Will could never really make it out. With every single flash of the camera, the gold in James’ eyes glimmered. They were like sunlight on tree bark — the sunlight being his unrelenting passion, the bark being the physical barrier of his own restrictions. James honestly looked as though one of the Greek Gods had brushed past him on the way to Olympus. James had once tried to explain Aphrodite to Will, but he had stopped listening halfway through... Typical for him, really. Could not keep himself focused on anything. But James genuinely was blessed by nature. Recording was always good fun; silly jokes were made and they could do nothing but laugh together. January 17th was one of winter’s stranger days... One of the days where James had done both things. It was an odd scenario but certainly possible. They had finished recording for Will’s second channel. Now, James had invited Will to the studio to hear him play. Not because he wanted to show off, but rather because he did not want to be alone. Loneliness was at times a weapon but at others an obstacle. What else could James do on the days that it felt like an obstacle than ask for help? Will was always there (he had always waited for the honour of being asked to go with James, anyway). His feet rested against the cajón near the sofa, a guitar slung across his body. The wood dug into him, the curve of the body resting comfortably against his thigh. The guitar itself was beautiful. An acoustic one made of mahogany. The mahogany body had become a scrapbook of its own, layered with Monster stickers, Rodd’s Coffee logos and bands James loved. Even the tuning pegs bore Rihanna’s careful strokes of red paint. Will’s eyes scanned his friend’s guitar, watching the way that the metal strings clung to the nut. With every single movement of his fingers, he strummed at the strings in a perfect sequence. Beneath your fingertips, the strings begin to sing.