shit. I just erased the minutes from last night's fista&johny sessions. I'm not going into it again. frustrated. a brief summary, of a summary, as it were:
this is how I psyche myself up to produce a rock album:
vic chesnutts's "very friendly lighthouses" off of his latest, left to his own devices.
the kings of convenience "winning a battle, losing a war" off of quiet is the new loud, which, incidentally, I hereby nominate as album title of the year.
bennett "it's so true" from her breakthrough 1996 album So you're not coming over? I can't put into words how much I love this album. If I could, those words would be magical and sacred, never to be repeated by a mortal tongue. you would die if you heard or read those words. but it would be worth it, because you'd be transported to a heaven where the angels don't play harps, but distorted casio keyboards and drum machines and various marching band instruments.
this is how I produce a rock album:
fista fiddles with the fourtrack and remembers how to play the song he wrote. something about breathing, a little french number. when he has a handle on things, I come in with my newlystringed, tuned down banjo to play along. I set up a microphone in the shower of the gentlemen's bathroom. jason, I understand, is gone for the weekend. we settle on a rhythm, courtesy of vegas valentine's groovebox, after approximately an hour of pushing faders, turning knobs, hitting keys. the rhythm consists of 2 elements, namely, the kick drum and the ride. bu-bum, tiss. hungry. we go to la fonda on ponce. I get the veggie shishkabob thing, he gets the rice and beans, artichoke dip. good food, good atmosphere, good conversation. fista is just a major medical operation away from being my girlfriend. talk turns to lost love. lasts way too long, as we are being avoided by the waiter. hey fista, did we leave a tip? I forgot. get home, add some synth bass to the french number, make some attempts at as complimenting melody line. vanessa and the ice princess come home. concentration fails. besides, American High is coming on. Pablo is saying, "how can you lose love?" Oh, dear, sweet pablo. So much to learn, so much to earn. For another day.
this is how I psyche myself up to produce a rock album:
vic chesnutts's "very friendly lighthouses" off of his latest, left to his own devices.
the kings of convenience "winning a battle, losing a war" off of quiet is the new loud, which, incidentally, I hereby nominate as album title of the year.
bennett "it's so true" from her breakthrough 1996 album So you're not coming over? I can't put into words how much I love this album. If I could, those words would be magical and sacred, never to be repeated by a mortal tongue. you would die if you heard or read those words. but it would be worth it, because you'd be transported to a heaven where the angels don't play harps, but distorted casio keyboards and drum machines and various marching band instruments.
this is how I produce a rock album:
fista fiddles with the fourtrack and remembers how to play the song he wrote. something about breathing, a little french number. when he has a handle on things, I come in with my newlystringed, tuned down banjo to play along. I set up a microphone in the shower of the gentlemen's bathroom. jason, I understand, is gone for the weekend. we settle on a rhythm, courtesy of vegas valentine's groovebox, after approximately an hour of pushing faders, turning knobs, hitting keys. the rhythm consists of 2 elements, namely, the kick drum and the ride. bu-bum, tiss. hungry. we go to la fonda on ponce. I get the veggie shishkabob thing, he gets the rice and beans, artichoke dip. good food, good atmosphere, good conversation. fista is just a major medical operation away from being my girlfriend. talk turns to lost love. lasts way too long, as we are being avoided by the waiter. hey fista, did we leave a tip? I forgot. get home, add some synth bass to the french number, make some attempts at as complimenting melody line. vanessa and the ice princess come home. concentration fails. besides, American High is coming on. Pablo is saying, "how can you lose love?" Oh, dear, sweet pablo. So much to learn, so much to earn. For another day.
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