punch in the rock
We recorded basic tracks at Greg’s for the new band today.
It was less photographed than our previous sessions and wasn’t a two day marathon, but we got some rock captured to some 1/4 tape without any blood explosions or hurt feelings. We finished six songs (none of them over 4 minutes as usual) and we’re on for next Saturday to lay down basics for another five.
Eventually there will be another session with another engineer for our quieter piano and ukulele oriented tunes. Maybe some banjo will sneak its way in there too. Goodness we have written a lot of songs.
Overdubs in April, mixing and mastering to follow. Summer release, fame and fortune will nip at our heels. Touring, Europe, groupies, addiction and demise until our life turns around and we put out a second album of safe-shit-pop that scores our own “E! True Hollywood Story.” We get real fat, then real skinny, then grab some babies from Indonesia and call it a day after a power yoga prayer session to our spaceship gods. Our third album rocks everyone’s faces off but then it’s all scandal all the time when the public realizes we paid some dolphins to hum into a microphone for an hour and auto-tuned it to perfection. The public will gliour headlines (on page 14): “We’ll Fix It in Post.” So we retire, ‘cuz the jigz’up only 16 mo. after our debut, and we go back to farming soy milk in Iowa. We release a limited pressing of our duet with Tom Waits and Fred Scneider (we don’t sing) and sell it at farmer’s markets. People ask us what became of us and we just shake our heads realizing America was right again… about something. They were as right as Steve Albini told us they would be, and here all we wanted was to play music and maybe adopt Indonesian babies every now and then.
Anyway, the rough mixes sound good. And there was the traditional pizza break and some “Trapped in the Closet” was witnessed.
During the course of the evening my company’s CEO called our sound engineer. They’re all best buds n’ shit, but it was a temporary worlds collide moment where even though this CEO randomly saw my previous band play a few times in the past, I’m still going in to work at his company on Monday. Maybe I can get him to pay for mastering instead of a Christmas bonus. Wait, it’s not Christmas anymore. Shit.
