everyday the instruments come and go. cartage brings in the basses. techs build the drums. a bald guy I’ve never seen before wheels in the vibraphone. space gets carefully claimed in a room perfect for cartwheels. the same room zepplin recorded Whole Lotta Love. the same room eddie made Van Halen 1. the same room the doors made their first 4 albums. Janis Joplin. Rolling Stones. Buffalo Springfield. Prince. The Doobies. the list goes on and on. each has left their mark, a scratch on the wall, or a juicy stain I’ve been swimming in since July.
musicians cut from the same cloth are on call and when they come to play they bring not only their talent and expertise, they also bring their friendship, camaraderie, and/or perverse & experienced comedy. I view all this human action and interaction thru a window in the back of the room, inside the very cocoon new songs transform. from grounded ideas to winged messengers of light, the space is warm with vintage audio equipment set up for production & sound capture of the first flutter of flight. from the singer’s lips to his fingertips, the room’s practical purpose is for the organization and arrangement of the word. it’s a temple reflective of the very space between mine.
I am on the ball, literally, balanced on a yoga ball, managing posture deep within contentment of a dream. I know I am not sleeping, though the elements that contribute to my life are so astounding it often goes beyond what is humanly possible for me to imagine. it is because of this ease, this grace bestowed to me by the mighty universe at large that I am of service to the sound, a messenger for those willing or eager or accidental to receive it. it isn’t a game, or a mission that has a specific ending. there’s no It to answer what is It about. it just IS in each new moment. this isn’t a business. this is the music Is-ness.