Embellishment via Rickenbacker 🖤
Listening to a couple of nearly-done tracks, trying our damndest to get this album finished before the heat-death of the universe
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This bass line gives me life.
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I get cranky about the fact that Loki keeps “accidentally” writing new songs, which I feel are slowing progress towards getting our third album recorded, but it’s hard to be cranky about song he started noodling whilst I was fixing issues with the studio computer last rehearsal.
he cranked out
the guitar line, we figured out a bass line, and Kara improvised a fantastic melody and after a few false starts (it was the day of every little thing going slightly wrong), we recorded it, and I’ve been listening to it off and on for hours at my day job – even caught myself chair-dancing to it at one point. can’t wait to see where this one goes.
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Friends are in New Orleans, my old stomping ground, sort of.
Why indeed? Money, mostly, but also because my New Orleans is long, long gone – was long gone before Katrina, even, lost to development and neglect and gentrification. My New Orleans floats in a haze of heat and alcohol and all-day strolls around the Quarter or the Garden District, spending my hard-earned pennies on trinkets from the French Market, or a muffaletta without the meat, or Campari anywhere I could find it in a town awash with hurricanes and Dixie beer.
My New Orleans is Skinny Puppy on the Too Dark Park tour, in an old movie palace off Canal, fireworks in the pit projecting shadows of the moshers on the sculpted plaster ceiling. It’s standing gothily outside Anne Rice’s house, hoping she’d come out and say Hi, contenting ourselves with petting her dogs. [Since this pre-dated the internet, we had to find it based solely on descriptions in The Witching Hour, and were pretty pleased with ourselves when we did.]
My New Orleans is cramming my CRX full of friends and caravanning down to UNO with a friend in his CRX likewise crammed, to see the Cure on the Wish tour.
My New Orleans is dimly-lit goth clubs, grubby occult stores, a random dive bar with Bauhaus on the jukebox, a cafe where I took my sweetie that one time he visited me in the swamp. It’s where I went after finals every semester – my reward – dragging my bestie, probably less than $20 in my pocket, not enough to get the CD version of 1979-1983 and lunch.
My New Orleans was Bloodletting come to life – we got the ways and means, to New Orleans, going down by the river where it’s warm and green. We’ll have a drink, and walk around – we got a lot to think about, oh, yeah.
It’s a hallowed place, full of mostly fun times, sometimes with too much alcohol, always with a selection of my beloved friends, who have since dispersed to the far reaches of the globe or departed this vale of tears.
I haven’t been back in ages, and I’m not sure I can go back, now. It would be too … different. Wrong. Maybe one day I can go back, if I can make it be a new place in my head, not my old place.
But maybe … maybe it’s best it stays frozen in amber.
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so I’m starting to feel like I’m maybe railroading my bandmates on this album – we’re using my suggestion for the title, and while the art was Kara’s suggestion, I’m the one who got the licensing & paid for it & starting pumping out cover-art comps. then there’s my “this is the shit that needs to be done for each song” spreadsheet, and I keep pushing Loki to start mixing, or to record his guitar lines, or make him record my updated bass lines – those are the only ones that actually happen – because I feel like if SOMEONE doesn’t do SOMETHING this album will never be released.
so now … after writing all that out … I no longer care if I AM railroading them. I want this album done and released! it’s full of awesome music I want to share with the world. AND WE SHALL.
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