Ambidextrous, It Seems
Jon Iverson remembers when Moscode amps came equipped with a diaper. "The instructions," he reminisces, "suggested the listener put it on before firing up the amp for the first time."
Stephen Mejias
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Of Thunder and Heavier Things
Last night, I sat down for a bit with Anthony Hamilton and his open road. You're what I want. You're what I need. You touch the deepest part of me. And these loose and tenuous warbling riffs stretched out wide across my windows, parting the curtains and welcoming in the neon lights from the bar on the other side of Monmouth.
Voluptuous Sumptuous Splendor
I'm not even sure what holiday it was that kept us out of the office yesterday, but I am thankful for it. We can call it Tweak Day.
Curses
A special treat today: the new Rye Coalition album, <i>Curses</i>, to be released by <a href="http://www.gernblandsten.com/">Gern Blandsten</a> on April 18th, arrived in our office. Robert brought it over to me. I've been listening to it all day.
You Are My Spring and My Beauty
For the last couple of days, I've been listening to one special CD from start to finish, and over and over again. I don't want it to ever end. Elizabeth must be sick of it. I'm sorry, Elizabeth. But, no: she's not sick of it because she understands. She knows what this is all about. And when I'm not listening to it, I'm holding onto it tightly, smiling over the lovely cover of sweethearts and peaches, reading the song titles from top to bottom and then from bottom to top. Memorizing the shade of red, imagining her hands putting it all together.
Recording for the Future
<i>JA captured the image: I watch as Michael Bishop works with a dirty pot. Robert Baird sits in the hotspot. Lukas Lipinski monitors the session.</i>
Whispering to the Wind
It must have been at Herald Square, where I was transferring onto the <a href="http://www.mta.nyc.ny.us/nyct/service/bline.htm">B</a>, that I realized JA had left a message on my cell. I couldn't listen to the message below the ground — no service down there — but the display let me know that the call arrived at 7:58am. Why in the world would John be calling me at 7:58 in the morning? It was now almost 8:30. Shit:
Snow and Ayre
The City was yesterday touched by twenty-seven inches of snow. In the Lower East Side, red, black, and green fire escapes were given pure, white highlights. On Orchard Street, a single figure could possibly be seen trudging through the heavy downfall, an umbrella in one hand, a burning cigarette in the other.
Some Technical Talk
It's been quieter than usual.