I’m planning to record an album entirely outdoors. On rooftops and rowing boats, in forests and high streets, mountains and quarries, ruined churches and beaches, car parks and peat bogs. Anywhere, really.

I first had the idea while on a trip to Sierra Leone, but quickly realised that it’s one thing to daydream of such a plan whilst in the tropics and quite another to actually attempt it back at home in Scotland.

Nevertheless, I think some part of me took perverse pleasure in the thought of having to make a real physical effort to complete this project. My favourite works at most galleries are those that not only look beautiful but must also have required a particularly generous portion of excursion. The exploding shed at the Tate Modern in London. The huge tapestries at the Alcázar in Seville.

Besides, it would be good to get out more often. Most of us (myself included) can easily go through a whole week and spend just a few short hours outwith the confines of buildings and vehicles. That would have to change if I was to complete this project.

But thoughts of self-betterment (bordering on downright masochism) weren’t all that were on my mind. In an age when it seems anyone can produce an album in their bedroom I was also interested in re-exploring the relationship between music and the environment in which it is created. What happens to a recording when you have no control over the surroundings? What anomalies and accidents may occur? By working outdoors I would surely be closer to finding out.

What about noise?! What about fidelity?! Certainly, the protesting perfectionist in me would be severely challenged by this project. However, the music we listen to on our cheap iPod earbuds is constantly being assaulted by the sounds of our surroundings. Why not creatively introduce all this ‘noise’ at an earlier stage?

Most of all, the idea sounded fun and stupid in equal measures and these are my favourite kind of ideas.

Dan