Sunday, October 14, 2007
TOWARDS A DARK CASTLE
Katy Davidson sent me a copy of a record called 'Just As God Made Us' by Lloyd & Michael, out on States Rights records. Katy is half of that group. The other half (the Michael half, I believe) is Marianna Ritchey, the genius behind The Badger King and Manta / Mantar.
I always loved Dear Nora. Pretty much without reservation, in fact. But the L&M record is committed and accomplished and badass in a way that Dear Nora rarely was. It's also floaty and psychedelic and insane in a way Ritchey didn't quite get to with The Badger King or Manta. It sounds a little bit like a Yes record, complete with birds and mountains, and with some unstoppable pop songs: If 'When the Morning Comes' doesn't melt you then you're planet Mercury and all hope is lost. And, maybe most importantly, it's so nice to hear L&M singing together again for a whole record.
So that's what I'm listening to, along with the Emily Haines record, and some Sunset Valley for good measure. And thank God NPR pledge week is over.
The DCfC record is in full swing; we're six songs in. Thus far it's pretty weird, and pretty spectacular; lots of blood. It's creepy and heavy... We've got a ten minute long Can jam, and had you suggested that possibility to me in 1998, I'd have eaten your puppy's brain with a spoon.
I know it's been a long time since I've updated this blog. Mostly it's because I keep forgetting how to log in. My solo record is coming along nicely, despite the fact that the master drive was confiscated by US Homeland Security at the border (much of the record was recorded between Vancouver and Victoria, BC). I'm told it's at 'computer forensics in Quantico' but I wouldn't be able to tell you what that means in any real way; you see, there's exactly no customer service element to our federal government. Like, if you subscribe to Qwest or Comcast or something for your Internet service, and that service goes out, you can call them and complain and something happens (discounted bill; resumed service; credit; sincere apology; insincere apology; et cetera). But I'm here to tell you that if the drive containing your solo record is confiscated at the border, the feds don't have to do shit for you. And, in fact, they don't.
It's not a Kafka novel, and I'm not a prisoner at Guantanamo. My life isn't so bad. But still, this situation is a concrete and real reminder of what fuels the world we live in: It's fear and mistrust and suspicion. And oil.
You know what would would be great? If all the items seized in border searches were divvied up among the Senators to investigate. In my wildest dreams, my drive ends up on Arlen Specter's desk in Washington, and he studies the files with surgical precision. And maybe my little songs tip him forever away from the fence, in either direction.
He's a fencesitter, Mr Specter: They're the most dangerous, you know.
- Chris
I always loved Dear Nora. Pretty much without reservation, in fact. But the L&M record is committed and accomplished and badass in a way that Dear Nora rarely was. It's also floaty and psychedelic and insane in a way Ritchey didn't quite get to with The Badger King or Manta. It sounds a little bit like a Yes record, complete with birds and mountains, and with some unstoppable pop songs: If 'When the Morning Comes' doesn't melt you then you're planet Mercury and all hope is lost. And, maybe most importantly, it's so nice to hear L&M singing together again for a whole record.
So that's what I'm listening to, along with the Emily Haines record, and some Sunset Valley for good measure. And thank God NPR pledge week is over.
The DCfC record is in full swing; we're six songs in. Thus far it's pretty weird, and pretty spectacular; lots of blood. It's creepy and heavy... We've got a ten minute long Can jam, and had you suggested that possibility to me in 1998, I'd have eaten your puppy's brain with a spoon.
I know it's been a long time since I've updated this blog. Mostly it's because I keep forgetting how to log in. My solo record is coming along nicely, despite the fact that the master drive was confiscated by US Homeland Security at the border (much of the record was recorded between Vancouver and Victoria, BC). I'm told it's at 'computer forensics in Quantico' but I wouldn't be able to tell you what that means in any real way; you see, there's exactly no customer service element to our federal government. Like, if you subscribe to Qwest or Comcast or something for your Internet service, and that service goes out, you can call them and complain and something happens (discounted bill; resumed service; credit; sincere apology; insincere apology; et cetera). But I'm here to tell you that if the drive containing your solo record is confiscated at the border, the feds don't have to do shit for you. And, in fact, they don't.
It's not a Kafka novel, and I'm not a prisoner at Guantanamo. My life isn't so bad. But still, this situation is a concrete and real reminder of what fuels the world we live in: It's fear and mistrust and suspicion. And oil.
You know what would would be great? If all the items seized in border searches were divvied up among the Senators to investigate. In my wildest dreams, my drive ends up on Arlen Specter's desk in Washington, and he studies the files with surgical precision. And maybe my little songs tip him forever away from the fence, in either direction.
He's a fencesitter, Mr Specter: They're the most dangerous, you know.
- Chris
Friday, June 08, 2007
RECORD
Hello.
Beau Sorenson, the guy at Smart Studios in Madison, Wisconsin who helped me mix 'Plans', recently referred to the place I've been for the last three weeks as the 'mix tunnel'. I like this term. It exemplifies the amount of focus and discipline required to complete the last thirty percent of any, and every, record a mix engineer takes on. It also points out, quite literally, that every studio is something of a cave where light, air and food are of poor quality; where communication with the outside world is difficult (if possible at all); and where the days are an ashen smear.
When Elliott Roberts came to the Alberta Court to check in on the Tegan and Sara record (he heads Neil Young's Vapor Records, to which T&S are signed), he mentioned that I 'looked healthy', and that 'studio guys were supposed to be pasty and fat', or something very much like that. He's a really nice fellow and it was a nice thing to say, so I said thank you and I'm doing my best and so forth, but I don't feel healthy. I actually feel quite pasty at the moment. The stress of finishing a record, of honoring and presenting the songs and performances of people you respect dearly (and are now good friends with), is unlike anything else I know. It happened a little bit with 'The Crane Wife', but Tucker did most of the mixes from that record and I was necessarily disconnected from the minutia of the process as Death Cab for Cutie was in the thick of a tour. And the Death Cab records occupy a different space in my brain as the others - like family Christmas versus friend Christmas, in a way.
What I'm getting at is that, though I've fallen apart just a little, and though my complexion hasn't been so rotten since I was seventeen, and though my hands haven't looked this bad since I wrote 'My Hands', Tegan and Sara's record is unstoppable. It's all I've been listening to for two months and I still want to hear it. Like, all the time. I can't wait for the rest of the world to listen.
More soon. My record is next, and I have some news about that.
- Chris
Beau Sorenson, the guy at Smart Studios in Madison, Wisconsin who helped me mix 'Plans', recently referred to the place I've been for the last three weeks as the 'mix tunnel'. I like this term. It exemplifies the amount of focus and discipline required to complete the last thirty percent of any, and every, record a mix engineer takes on. It also points out, quite literally, that every studio is something of a cave where light, air and food are of poor quality; where communication with the outside world is difficult (if possible at all); and where the days are an ashen smear.
When Elliott Roberts came to the Alberta Court to check in on the Tegan and Sara record (he heads Neil Young's Vapor Records, to which T&S are signed), he mentioned that I 'looked healthy', and that 'studio guys were supposed to be pasty and fat', or something very much like that. He's a really nice fellow and it was a nice thing to say, so I said thank you and I'm doing my best and so forth, but I don't feel healthy. I actually feel quite pasty at the moment. The stress of finishing a record, of honoring and presenting the songs and performances of people you respect dearly (and are now good friends with), is unlike anything else I know. It happened a little bit with 'The Crane Wife', but Tucker did most of the mixes from that record and I was necessarily disconnected from the minutia of the process as Death Cab for Cutie was in the thick of a tour. And the Death Cab records occupy a different space in my brain as the others - like family Christmas versus friend Christmas, in a way.
What I'm getting at is that, though I've fallen apart just a little, and though my complexion hasn't been so rotten since I was seventeen, and though my hands haven't looked this bad since I wrote 'My Hands', Tegan and Sara's record is unstoppable. It's all I've been listening to for two months and I still want to hear it. Like, all the time. I can't wait for the rest of the world to listen.
More soon. My record is next, and I have some news about that.
- Chris
