Tangerosas
As Cary and Chris sit upstairs recording acoustic 12-string overdubs on ATHP (which will be endowed with an actual title as soon as one of us writes some lyrics), I sit in the surprisingly cold basement typing this up on Greg's laptop. Greg's shimmering, breathtaking laptop. I gotta get me one of these things.
Thanks to Amy and Chris for the tangerine mimosas (or perhaps tangerosas) that we all enjoyed this morning, as well as the strawberries. And to Ethan for the raisin bagel. That was one executive bagel.
Amen to Cary's sentiment about tracking vocals with live monitors. The difference, in terms of the comfort level of the experience, and (therefore) the quality of the result, was extraordinary. I'm certain I never would have gotten such a satisfying take of the final hook on Welcome Home were it not for the change of approach. Threw some pretty sweet harmonies on top of a few parts too, and laid down some ultra-sanguine, Beach-Boys-meets-Chili-Peppers "ooohs" in tandem with Cary on yet another part. All thanks to monitors. Headphones suck.
Meanwhile, the song soon-to-be-formerly-known-as Deerhead remains implacable and mystifying, absolutely refusing to accomodate any of our vocal ideas in spite of the strength of our convictions. The something-like-four hours we spent wrestling that white whale yesterday left us so downtrodden that the flabbergasting experience of tracking vocals to monitors was the only thing powerful enough to hoist us back up into some kind of optimism. And I'd like to work on it more today, but I have an urgent date with the television to watch the second-to-last episode of the Sopranos, and as much as I can of the Lakers-T'Wolves Game 2, and another date with the freakin' washer/dryer, as I haven't done laundry in about four weeks, AND a third date with the oven, because Jen finally raved about my awesome oatmeal raisin cookies to her mom one time too many, and now I have to make her a batch. After all that, I intend to scurry back here to track some serious vox on Come Too Far and Arab Fiesta (also soon to be rechristened).
I haven't been to a movie in a long time. June will be my movie-going month, as well as, hopefully, my job-finding-and-earning-money-from month, since any lack of such earning will render me financially incapable of touring in July, and that sort of can't happen. Let's see if that Pix position opens up (pull the strings, Greg! and beware of the big green dragon). I'd also like to read a book not-for-school soon; I've lately been reading Eagleton while in the bathroom, and that doesn't seem to really qualify as "postgraduate reading" on either count. Did I really just write that? Wow. I think maybe I've said enough.
Thanks to Amy and Chris for the tangerine mimosas (or perhaps tangerosas) that we all enjoyed this morning, as well as the strawberries. And to Ethan for the raisin bagel. That was one executive bagel.
Amen to Cary's sentiment about tracking vocals with live monitors. The difference, in terms of the comfort level of the experience, and (therefore) the quality of the result, was extraordinary. I'm certain I never would have gotten such a satisfying take of the final hook on Welcome Home were it not for the change of approach. Threw some pretty sweet harmonies on top of a few parts too, and laid down some ultra-sanguine, Beach-Boys-meets-Chili-Peppers "ooohs" in tandem with Cary on yet another part. All thanks to monitors. Headphones suck.
Meanwhile, the song soon-to-be-formerly-known-as Deerhead remains implacable and mystifying, absolutely refusing to accomodate any of our vocal ideas in spite of the strength of our convictions. The something-like-four hours we spent wrestling that white whale yesterday left us so downtrodden that the flabbergasting experience of tracking vocals to monitors was the only thing powerful enough to hoist us back up into some kind of optimism. And I'd like to work on it more today, but I have an urgent date with the television to watch the second-to-last episode of the Sopranos, and as much as I can of the Lakers-T'Wolves Game 2, and another date with the freakin' washer/dryer, as I haven't done laundry in about four weeks, AND a third date with the oven, because Jen finally raved about my awesome oatmeal raisin cookies to her mom one time too many, and now I have to make her a batch. After all that, I intend to scurry back here to track some serious vox on Come Too Far and Arab Fiesta (also soon to be rechristened).
I haven't been to a movie in a long time. June will be my movie-going month, as well as, hopefully, my job-finding-and-earning-money-from month, since any lack of such earning will render me financially incapable of touring in July, and that sort of can't happen. Let's see if that Pix position opens up (pull the strings, Greg! and beware of the big green dragon). I'd also like to read a book not-for-school soon; I've lately been reading Eagleton while in the bathroom, and that doesn't seem to really qualify as "postgraduate reading" on either count. Did I really just write that? Wow. I think maybe I've said enough.
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