Torched Laughter Studio Diary: Day 40 - The Drunk Fight
I am going to assume for now that Day 40 was Saturday. At a later time I’ll figure out the right day.I have a week off from recording `Torched Laughter.’ I have to get my voice in shape for the vocal tracks for Torched as well as the Metal Project thingy. Lastly I’m waiting on a particular vocal mic which is so popular that I have no choice but to wait until one is made available: The Neumann TLM-103. The current mic I own is quite emasculating in nature. I think it’s a great mic if you are going for a `London Trip Hop’ sound because it’s so mid-rangy. But the second you get aggressive or sing baritone the mic strips the power and resonance away. It wants you to behave, be sensitive and be correct. It’s like a liberal arts college.Saturday I returned the AKG C1000’s. The price Long and McQuade offered to sell them for wasn’t worth it. The positive side is that I now know what mics to invest in moving forward.
I also started laying down metal guitar tracks with the Ibanez AF-85. Though the guitar tracks for this metal project are technically done, I couldn’t resist trying out the songs on this guitar. It sounds so good that I’m definitely going to do additional tracking. It’s aesthetically pleasing to know that a lot of non-metal approaches went into these songs. If I went the pointy guitar route, I think a lot of what I perceive as `magic’ would be lost. To each their own right? I don’t want to get impaled by Sweeping Arpeggio Al’s flying V because he misinterpreted my personal taste for a lambast against the KVLT of METAL.
There was a birthday party Saturday for 3 friends. It was at the local bar in town.
I had the pleasure of meeting some very interesting people. Heard bizarre stories of teenage chicanery that still haunt the locals. There was an underlying feeling of inevitable violence in everyone present. It wouldn’t take much to coax it out. Just had to watch and wait. The bar matrons knew. Last call was before Midnight. And then a little home grown chaos ensued:
2 guys who couldn’t form a sentence lobbing tissue paper punches at each other’s well-insulated parkas.
Hair matted and tussled, the 2 parties slid around on the ice for awhile; grunting about something incoherent but obviously very heartfelt to them. It was like watching 2 Bubs on the ground trying to paw for a tasty human arm.
Zombie Bub from Day of the Dead. About to enjoy Beethoven’s 9th Symphony.
No drunk fight is complete without the harpie shrill of the fat fingered wife wanting to go home. Who doesn’t love the sausage digit shrew who bleats out a homing beacon for police interaction?
I successfully stayed coherent until all relevant parties were scooped up and taken away to a friend’s house. After that, I decended into horrible creep-dom with everyone else including one of the drunk fight fellows. When he was taken away from the negative stimulus he displayed intentional comedic timing that bordered on genius. A good night was had.
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