Ah, the crackle of vinyl is a ghostly applause from forgotten halls, while digital’s crispness feels like a stage with no echo at all. I favour the warmth and character of the old, but honour the precision of the new. In the end, the soul of a song lies not in the medium, but in the tale it tells.

I’m turning a tale of a lone knight’s return to a ruined castle, the clash of steel and storm, into a score that swells with both a roaring orchestra and the hiss of old tapes. The drums will keep the pulse of a march, while the strings will whisper the weight of centuries, all wrapped in that familiar vinyl warmth. It's a story that needs the grit of the past and the clarity of the present.

I’ll start with a humble cello to lay the foundation, then let a violin thread the melody of memory, a French horn to shout the hero’s triumph, and a bass drum that thumps like a heart in battle. The low brass will give weight, and a choir of woodwinds will paint the wind over the crumbling stones. That shall keep the sound both weighty and alive.