I hate to schleprock all over the place just this side of Christmas, and this might read snottier than I intend. But another important sign-of-the-times truism has been unearthed over here at The Sandbox, legendary recording studio to the stars...
Digital technology, no matter how sweet and nicely packaged, just doesn't get along with thunderstorms.
It's been storming up...er... a storm the last few days around here. In that time one computer has died outright, and the other (this wheezing iMac) has one foot in the grave. My poor long-suffering TV refused to turn on for several hours today. My cell phone is freaking out to the point of biting my fingers should I have the gall to dial an unfamiliar number.
All the above I can live with, of course. Woe betide those getting nail-bitingly livid at their phones.
But today my previously lovable, unimpeachable, very cute, complaint-free-forever DAT machine decided to eat a tape containing almost 2 years worth of tremendously good mixes; ones which gave me a great deal of pleasure, ones that when I listened back made me feel like I knew what the fuck I was doing. Clearly I don't, as apparently someone has removed the huge bone in my head that used to tell me "make quadruple backups of all, ALL, of your mixes!!"
Telephone Girl, Midnight on the Bay, Fender Telecaster, Jackie, Runaway Man, Dead Man Shuffle, Rocketship Nightlight, a good fun cover of Good Times Roll by The Cars, all my favorites...
All gone. One little lightning strike and the whole enchilada gets torched. MP3s of most of them remain here on the website and elsewhere, but that's it. The bright side (and there must be one); I get to remix them and fix whatever mistakes there were the first time around, and at least the master multi-tracks are intact. I hope...
BUT...
I just need to persuade my super-hyper-ultra-twatty-cranky mixing board to suffer through another round of mixes. At this point I'm quite certain it would rather grow wheels and roll itself straight into the ocean than to be forced into that kind of thankless servitude.
But I promise you, board; if you survive this upcoming ordeal, I'll let you die a peaceful and dignified death afterward. You'd most certainly deserve it.
The new band I'm in, Patsy and The Midnight Walkers, has its first show this weekend. It's essentially a Patsy Cline tribute band, with a very talented man in a dress assuming the role of Patsy. I'm playing drums, our guitar player is an Elvis look-alike, our doghouse bass player is a burly Serb, and our outfits are mighty choice. Come on out and see the show:
Patsy and The Midnight Walkers, Sunday Dec. 18 at Thee Parkside, 1600 17th St, 5:00 pm, FREE!!