My Secret Garden

April, 1984 - Berlin

***

"You shouldn't have done that," Andy said sternly.

Alan ran his hands through his greasy chestnut-brown hair and let out a sigh of frustration. A pile of spent cigarettes crowded the ashtray resting on the giant mixing console in front of him and a cup of cold coffee sat beside it.

Hansa studios was a technical playground for Depeche Mode and Alan in particular felt fully at home in the editing bay, chopping up sound samples all by himself until the early hours of the morning. The previous night he had been working on a track Martin had written called 'Lie to Me' and was excited to show Martin and Andy and Dave some of the innovative sounds he had spliced together for the rhythm track.

There may have been some heavy drinking involved during the sampling session.. the lads were always excited when the portable recording rig came out — Dave found some scrap wood to bang on, Andy ended up without a shirt, and Martin eventually became disinterested and wound up drunkenly bashing out Al Stewart songs on the studio piano (as usual).

When a bleary-eyed Martin had showed up at the studio that afternoon he was not happy with what Alan had come up with — his main complaint being that — quote: "the drums are rubbish."

Martin and Alan were constantly arguing over song structure and production. This time the argument ended with Martin quietly storming off after Alan had refused to budge.

Alan swivelled around in his chair and looked over sneeringly to his lanky ginger bandmate, "I suppose you agree with Martin that we should just recreate his demos note for note and—"

He was cut off again by Andy, "That's not what I'm saying! Give him a break, Al, they're his bloody songs you're chopping up and turning into disco tracks."

Dave stood quietly in the corner, shifting his weight nervously and smoking a cigarette.

Alan stared at the floor for a moment and responded sarcastically, "I understand that these are all Martin's songs, Mr. Fletcher... and while we're doling out accolades I would like to thank you for your many important musical contributions to this "disco" band you're such an integral part of."

"Oh, piss off!" Andy moaned as he left the room.

Dave walked over to Alan and put a hand on his shoulder, "You and Mart just need to communicate, mate. That's all. Never mind Fletch, he'll come 'round."

Alan was tired and he had probably been a little hard on Martin (and Andy). He nodded in agreement.

"Where d'you suppose Martin's gone off to?" he asked Dave.

"Dunno," the thin singer exhaled a plume of smoke and crossed his arms in front of him, "he told me he likes to go down to that park that's not too far from here sometimes —Tiergarten — to clear his head 'n all that."

Großer Tiergarten was sprawling park space in the middle of Berlin and only a short walk from Hansa studios. Alan had passed it many times but had never ventured in to walk the paths and look at the trees and gardens. Martin, on the other hand, loved wandering around Berlin — the city was strange and exciting, and this green expanse in the middle of it all was both beautiful and absurd — the perfect place for him to be alone with his thoughts.

"Right," Alan groaned as he got up out of his chair, "I'm going to try to find Martin and attempt to... communicate," he grinned at Dave as he threw on a leather coat and gloves (it was an unusually cool and windy day for the start of April), "Have some beers ready for us when we return, yeah?"

Dave nodded and smiled, "You're the boss."

*****

Martin wasn't hard to miss amongst the greenery of the Tiergarten — with his slight frame and curly blonde hair he cut a unique silhouette. Alan immediately spotted the cloud-like peroxide-blonde hairdo from the path. Martin was leaned up against a sickly-looking oak tree, staring at the ground and looking every bit the tortured songwriter.

Alan walked over to where Martin was standing and silently lit a cigarette before taking a quick drag and placing a gloved hand on an adjacent tree trunk.

Martin looked up and quietly said, "Hullo, Alan."

"Hi Mart," Alan exhaled and kicked the ground a bit with his leather boot, "You want to come back to the studio and finish recording 'Lie to Me'?"

Martin shifted uneasily and Alan could tell he was about to protest, and so he interjected before the blonde musician could open his mouth, "I can change the drum samples, Mart, it was just an idea," he took another drag of his cigarette and raised his eyebrows before laughing awkwardly and saying under his breath, "an idea that took me hours to do, you know — all of that tape.. but..."

There was an awkward pause and Martin let out a laugh, "It's the snare sound, Al, it's bloody awful and it takes away from the song! 'Lie to Me' is gentle, it's... I can't believe you sampled Fletch slapping his stomach and tried to turn that into a drum sound.. it's mental!"

Alan laughed and smoke came out of his nose, "You can't even tell it's Fletch slapping his stomach! — I honestly can't believe he even agreed to do it — must have been the lager last night."

"AW-FUL!" Martin reiterated, with a louder laugh.

"Come on! I reversed it, put a nice gate on it, pitched it down so it would really go *PSSHT*!" Alan mimicked the snare noise he had created in last night's beer-fuelled sampling session. They both laughed and then there was another awkward pause.

"What would we do without Fletch?" Martin said quietly.

Alan threw his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out, "Dunno," he pondered for a moment, "probably hire somebody who actually knows how to program a bloody synthesizer."

Martin shook his head and laughed nervously, "You're cruel, Al, really cruel."

"Come on. We'll redo the drums but I need more input from you. Daniel is around, too — he can help moderate."

Martin nodded solemnly, "Yeah. Daniel's alright." — Martin was a man of few words sometimes.

The two bandmates walked beside each other as they made their way back to Hansa Studios. Martin started chatting away about football as if nothing at all had happened and Alan smiled and put a leather-clad arm around his smaller friend's shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze. Martin pretended he didn't notice Alan's arm around his shoulder but when he felt it he grinned shyly — he was was glad it was there.

***

When they got back to the studio they saw Andy and Dave crouched over a chess board.

"You can't do that," Fletch scolded Dave.

"No, but, I can, see—" Dave protested and moved his knight back to where it was.

Andy made a face and then looked up at Martin and Alan, "The prodigal sons have returned!" the ginger proclaimed. He had already forgiven Alan for the insult he had taken earlier.

Dave ignored Andy and got up and pushed a can into Martin's hands, "Beer."

Martin responded with a loud laugh and a smile, "Beer! Ah ha ha ha!"

Alan rubbed his furrowed brow with a pale hand. He cracked a smile and turned to fiddle with some equipment. Martin came up behind him and handed him an open can of Pilsner.

"Thanks," Alan nodded in appreciation to his colleague as he accepted the peace offering.

He took a swig and glanced around the room. Dave and Martin were chatting and giggling. It was going to be a long night. Hopefully Fletch would leave his shirt on this time.

***