Mixing in the digital age is the equivalent of a shitty IT position.

It is repetitive, dull, and draining. Cut and Paste, Click and Drag, insert, export, apply, delete, automate, bypass, edit edit, EDIT. The eyes get bleary, the ears get fatigued. It’s Excel and a micromanaging boss all in one glorious sitting.

There are two fantastic aspects of mixing:

1) Sitting down. I haven’t sat down in the studio for 2 months. I’ve been standing away, flowing along the breeze of my own flatulence while babbling into a microphone. Since I’m too cheap to get someone to engineer (or buy a remote device,) I’ve had the privilege of running, jogging and staggering 30 feet to hit `record’ or `stop’ every time I hit a bum note. My legs are in fabulous shape.

2) The big payoff is when the music is mixed well. There are moments when you can get goose bumps from the way everything sounds. I live for those moments, especially when it’s very loud yet doesn’t hurt the ears.

I don’t think I can gauge what is a great mix. I just know what I like and a portion of the time I can get a mix to sound like what I want it to. For `Torched Laughter’ I’m looking for an unprocessed, uncluttered, well balanced sound.

The first step for the mix down process was to get some Reference Music. Reference Music is any music you like that has a production value you are either familiar with or thoroughly enjoy. The reference music is…you guessed it: A point of reference. So when I’m mucking through the `Torched Laughter’ tracks I’ll be listening to CD’s and gauging whether or not the mix is comparable, better, worse to those CD’s.

In this case, I went for 2 organic records that give me goose bumps when played loud:

Susana Baca: Espiritu Vivo

Cassandra Wilson: Belly of the Sun

If you have any recommendations, let me know.

Songs can be a search for self. They are powerful analogies that reveal parts of your personality all from the safety of your home or crack den. Fight or flight? Interacting with others? Your natural reactions to these situations can be made apparent just by singing a certain song even if you don’t immediately experience them in real life.

Though experience and emotions imbue life into songs, I see no point on focusing on this well discussed aspect. The songs can be the teacher instead.

Per my last entry, the last reason for the vocals taking as long as they did was because I was trying to find my voice. Or rather spiritually speaking, finding an aspect of my self. [Cue peyote ritual and the music of R Carlos Nakai]

While a lot of singers out there know how they are going to sing, know how they are going to deliver the emotion and power, I find myself feeling like a beginner each time I’m about to sing one of the silly songs I wrote. Call it inexperience, lack of confidence, or fortunate enough not to have a set formula yet. The latter is probably a consolation for my ego.

I still feel I am trying to figure out my identity. But it has been fun trying to figure it out. Everything still feels new even after all this time. The downside of this `process’ is all the external stimuli that I feel I am susceptible to:

-Bloggers raving about the latest cool band that mixes growling, singing and the accordion.

-Radio pushing the latest 5^th tiered Creed knock-off.

-Some musically ignorant hot chick promoting a doom metal band from Slovakia on the telly.

All this drivel gets absorbed into the psyche and you start to wonder:

Where do I fit in all this?

What ensues is a ridiculous internal conflict that wastes an enormous amount of time. I know the end game: It’s not about fitting in. It’s not about being contrarian for the sake of being an individualistic asshole either. It’s about being comfortable in your own skin and self-acceptance.

I feel the term `to thine own self be true’ is not just a saying but also a strict discipline. It’s way too easy to not be true to yourself because of this primordial urge to belong to something bigger and better than you. [/self help]

But thankfully, all the vocals are done. While it wasn’t a battle or a feat of strength that would cause mothers to squeal in delight, it was certainly a lofty personal challenge. Since `Smoke and Origination’ took 5 years to get done, having 2 different projects completed and ready to mix within 4 months is a refreshing state of being.

Next time I write, I’ll be mixing. An exciting tale of adjusting volumes, repetitive listens, adding and subtracting equalization, among other heart stopping and comedy-filled prose.

The reason I haven’t posted anything in the past few weeks is because things have been downright slow and negative. With all that bad energy floating about I get very unmotivated to do certain things, like posting a blog entry. It’s much easier to seethe and let my intolerance ferment into sweet hateful ether.

Despite all the `Torched Laughter’ tracks being completed last month, I’m still recording vocals for other projects. I was to finish everything by March 29th, but that didn’t happen. By the 29th I finished one song (not related to `Torched Laughter.’)

1 out of 15.

If there is a positive way to look at this stat, please let me know. Because I am quite at a loss.

I do know why I didn’t finish the recordings in the allotted time frame. Cue bullet points:

* Intimidated by the workload. It’s not a matter of just recording one track and then going to the next song. At times there are 10-12 vocal tracks to do for a song (making those big fake choruses.) I don’t have the blow to motivate me to pull off 12 hour days of singing the same `OOOH’ 144 times in a row. (I wish I could though) Which cleverly ties into:

* Creating a level of standard that might not be unattainable. By doing this, I can safely self-sabotage anything I do and not feel any guilt or pressure to meet a deadline. It is a passive-aggressive trait that has done more damage to my person than I want to admit.

In this case, it was the following rule: SING THE WHOLE SONG. Do not record one line at a time. Record the entire song. I am unqualified to pull this off. But I insisted on doing it this way. Something to do with pride, arrogance, etc. This alone set things back several weeks. The good aspect is that I can do it now under certain circumstances and the vocals are genuine and not patchwork. But the price was a lot of time and exhausting to the voice from overdoing it.

* Not staying positive. In order to even attempt what was laid out in bullet point #2, I had to warm up twice a day for 2 hours. Many a day those warm-ups were a waste of time because the recording process later in the evening was just terrible. The voice was there, the mind and heart weren’t. The intimidation and all the pressure I have thrown on myself were knocking me out of whack. Why did I put myself under these conditions when I knew I wasn’t up for it?

Because my heroes could do it well and do it quickly. I want to be as good as them. Obviously I am not. If they had an inkling of care, they would be sneering down at me from their cocaine castles. Provided they weren’t so dead and all.

Even worse were the days when the mind and heart were there, and the voice wasn’t. Which bleeds into:

* No sleep. I won’t go into detail about this. But if you don’t get rest, the voice suffers greatly. Smoke, drink formaldehyde, lick unhygenic prostitutes, but make sure you get rest. I don’t get much rest.

* Finding my voice. This will be the next entry.

4 aging wives sit in a booth next to me at a fantastic Japanese restaurant. It didn’t take much to discern that they all lived in the same newly constructed `upper class’ subdivision.

Below are charming nuggets of their sloppy noveau riche dialogue:
- I WOULDN’T LET MY CHILDREN GO TO EUROPE BECAUSE I WAS SO WORRIED! WHY SHOULD THEY GO WHEN I NEVER GOT THE CHANCE???

- MY HUSBAND WAS FRISKY WHEN HE GOT HOME FROM GOLF. I WAS STUCK IN THE BEDROOM ALL WEEKEND. IT SUCKED!!

- CAN YOU COOK MY SUSHI??? I DON’T LIKE RAW FISH.

- I’M GOING TO JAMAICA WITH MY DAUGHTER KAYLA! IT’LL BE SOOOO INTERESTING GOING TO A FOREIGN COUNTRY!!

- I’M HAVING A PARTY AND EVERYONE WILL HAVE TO WEAR AN OUTFIT FROM VALUE VILLAGE OR THE SALVATION ARMY. THERE WILL BE A PRIZE FOR BEST OUTFIT. THIS IS A WAY TO GIVE BACK TO THE POOR COMMUNITY.

I think one of the most fascinating aspects of this quartet’s offensive vibrations was that none of them were listening to one another. One would spout something about herself, and then another would respond in kind. It seemed as if one just contributed some sort of sound to the menopause cacophony, she was adding to a greater, more horrific force. Like an awakening of the Cooking Channel Cthulu.

Sorry for my tardiness. 

All the tracks are done for `Torched Laughter.’  And that is all I wrote in a blog draft a few days ago. The words weren’t flowing at the time.

I am currently listening to Cave-In and Misha Alpernin on Noise cancellation headphones. A certain someone had too much to drink and is belting out opera upstairs. She still has it. But I have a headache and those high frequencies aren’t helping my cause. I always like having a musical house, but motherfucker, I’m having a quiet day today. Ah well, let her have her euphoria. Misery will greet her in the morning.

Anyway, a few days ago I finished up the last 2 songs.  To make things all ceremonious, the last track performed was a triangle. You can blame Curtis Mayfield for the need to have that. I was listening to the Superfly soundtrack a few weeks ago and noticed that this little triangle was making a lot of the songs groove and shuffle.

GRRRRR THE KVLT OV TRYANGL

The only feeling I experience is relief that the tracks are done. I don’t get these surges of pride when something is accomplished.

Besides, the mixing process is going to tell the truth of these tracks.

48 recording days to record 7 songs. That’s abysmal if you ask me. But I did some math:

Since there was rarely a day where I actually could record for the full day, it took 14 8-hour sessions to complete the tracking for `Torched Laughter.’  Not so bad in the light of emergency room visits, learning new instruments, practicing, cavorting, and day to day responsibilities.

The `Torched Laughter’ blog is going to stop for a while after this post. Reason being is there are several other songs for the metal project that need finishing. It makes sense to do this instead of mixing because the rental agreement for the microphone is good for another week.

In the interim, I am going to post more anecdotes about the `Torched Laughter’ songs and how they came to be. (Like the Finely Tuned Meat entry)

Oh lovely, Nine Inch Nails is blaring up stairs. And I’m being told fervently that I suck.

Happy Good Friday

`Finely Tuned Meat’ can be summed up by the below anecdote.

My father was enduring colon cancer a few years ago. At the same time, another loved one was undergoing a horrific drug therapy as prescribed by a doctor. The therapy wreaked holy hell on the person’s body and mind. You probably know someone who has to suffer these types of drug therapies. I describe pharmaceutical practices like this: they destroy a house to save a wall.

It was an intense time. Dancing around verbal land mines and trying not to trip into my own pit of overactive fears. I don’t think there was any positivity to be found at that time. Though I had my health and an overactive imagination which I can escape into, I felt guilty for having them. The same could not be said for those around me.

Fortunately for my father, his cancer was caught fairly early and was to undergo surgery to rid his body of it. I made plans to fly back to the USA to be by his side, take care of day to day things around the parent’s house, etc.

I took a direct flight from Toronto to Newark. After being greeted by the friendly Canadians at Air Canada who thought I was someone famous (LOL,) I had to deal with the US Homeland Security `Team.’ After one question asked by the posturing-lackey-in-a-booth regarding my citizenship I was whisked away to a white room. Mind you, I was still on Canadian soil, but these garden variety shitnecks knew how to make you feel like you were in Guantanamo Bay.

I watched several Homeland Security people walk by with their smarmy purposeful smiles. These underdeveloped slackasses landed the greatest pay day of their lives: A useless government job. In walks my interrogator: A nerdy-looking mushmouth who couldn’t hide the fact he wallows in Buffalo.

He spent about 5 minutes trying to set up his Web cam. Clumsy dough-boy hands trying to reconcile a USB cable and the mysterious term `Plug and Play.’ It was crucial that I be filmed. I hope someone in the quality assurance department is jacking it to my annoyed face and long flowing locks.

After his technical triumph with the webcam, I was asked a flurry of useless questions from his pre-printed interrogation sheet. Most I can no longer remember. The point of the questions was to aggravate me. I kept my cool despite my plane leaving shortly and thinking about how my father must be feeling right now. Finally mush mouth asks me a relevant question.

Mushmouth will be played by America’s sweetheart Joseph McCarthy.
I will be again, played by my much cuter 4 year old self.

Why did you leave the United States?
Because I wanted to go home. I am a citizen of Canada.

Did you tender your Green Card?
 No one asked for it.
Why didn’t they ask?
 I do not know, ask them. (Canadian Customs)
Do you have your greencard now?

No. Why would I need it if I am a Canadian entering the USA?
Because you need to tender it.
Well, I did not know that. Do you have a mailing address so I can send it back?
No.
Shocker.

Then things took yet another ominous turn:

You do realize that I cannot allow you into the country unless you pay a 250 dollar re-entry fee?
No, I did not realize that. And I find that utterly farcical. I am not paying 250 bucks to visit your country.
Well, you then need to sign an affidavit that you relinquish all your resident alien rights to the USA.
That’s fine. I kind of did that when I didn’t bother to return after 30 days after landing in Canada.
The only way you can be a resident of the USA again is if you are sponsored by US Residents.
That’s fine. Easy enough.
 Is it?
Yes.
You will have to face a judge.
Ok.
(shrugs) Suit yourself
No. You already put the suit on me.
..
..
.. You will have to face a judge.

So I signed this affadavit. I still carry it with me in case yet another US customs officer has a hissy fit.

Then Mushmouth got out of his chair and proceeded to this big arcade computer called Magic. Mushmouth then started asking financial information regarding my parents in the 80’s. This hardened cyst of stupid was quizzing me.

How much did your father make in 1986?
I don’t know. I was a child. And what does this have to do with anything regarding my residency? This is invasive and useless. 
I see.

To this day I am disturbed by that Magic Software Interface. I can’t look at a Zaxxon arcade without thinking it may be holding every piece of personal information about myself and my family.  

There were more questions. Questions I cannot remember but I assume I answered them correctly.  Because after it was all done he said I could leave. Not once did this vomitous hole look me in the eye. 

All of this took about an hour.

I barely made my flight. The Air Canada stewardesses actually told to me run in order to catch it. It took the entire 1 hour flight to calm the hatred coursing through my body, but once I landed in scenic Newark, my priorities shifted back to what mattered.

I’m sorry emigrating from the USA has hurt its government’s feelings so much.

AMERICA! LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT PUNK!!!

Ok. I left.

Sniff…WHY?

I’m running out of steam here, so I’ll sum the rest up.

The time spent in the US was tense. Endless worry surrounding the surgery and the mounting tensions back home in Canada. Things came to a head in the waiting room at the hospital. Like automatic writing, a cautionary statement flowed out of me. Mixed with anger and fear. I titled it `Finely Tuned Meat.’ A derisive analogy for people who love each other and the disastrous consequences that can arise.
As soon as it was completed I received news that the surgery was a success. Since then my father has been cancer free. I was overjoyed, but the insufferable goth in me also found it bittersweet. If only the other person in my life was able to receive such prompt and effective treatment.

Post-surgery observation: Parents on morphine rule.

This post is not the epic emotional rollercoaster that I wanted it to be. The daily vocal tracks and last minute rewrites have taken their toll. On that note, I need sleep.

I’ve been rewriting the words to that last song that I meant to sing this past Saturday. Per my last entry, I really hated what I originally wrote. Thankfully, the words came kind of effortlessly last evening. Effortlessly in my world is sitting back with a stiff drink and listening to the same thing over and over again for hours. Eventually I get unhinged by the repetitiveness and the good stuff starts coming out.

The lyrics compliment the music and my current mindset quite well. I’m not a fan of revisions. They have a tendency to destroy the heart of a song. But there are always exceptions. Now this song has life to it. Unfortunately they are not done yet. I’m hoping tonight they’ll be finished. In the interim I am still singing, but for the metal songs. There’s a bit of Queen-esque vocal tracking, so each song takes a while. Trying to get as much use out of the Neumann TLM 103 microphone before it needs to be returned at the end of this month.

Saturday started off rough. I don’t know if it’s because of the winter storms, but god damn it was insufferably dry again. Singing anything good took a massive amount of effort. It got extremely frustrating. Like throwing headphones against the wall frustrating. (Thank you Sony, for making durable cans for us divas)

Began the vocals on Thursday for a song called `Jaw Filled Wreckage.’ I completed about a 3rd of what was needed. The fatigue on my voice was no longer endearing so I needed to stop. The work done on `The Tilted Figure’ did half of the damage. The other half is not sleeping.

I write this on a Friday night nursing honey tea and listening to Cinematic Orchestra. I am not speaking and plan to head to bed early. Drunk fights and dramabombs are the last thing I need right now. Saturday will be ambitious: Sing 3 out of the 4 remaining songs. I need these to be done. I have something to prove to myself. I would like to do all 4, but one needs a big lyrical overhaul.

“Jaw Filled Wreckage” is a variation based on another song from the CD `Smoke and Origination’ called ‘Sharp Knives.‘ The former was the first one written for `Torched Laughter.’ It’s social commentary mixed in with the abstract. The title of the song was inspired by William Burrough’s phrase `Language Is A Virus’ (also a song by Laurie Anderson.) This term describes how certain sayings and words are picked up by other people and employed in their daily lives ad infinitum. Just like a virus, it replicates and mutates until everyone knows and uses some variant of them.

In other words, your fucking W00t is HIV.

The title `Jaw Filled Wreckage’ doesn’t imply a viral cornucopia of snappy sayings. It refers mostly to the mindless inane babble that we house in our mouths (or even our hands so desperate to deposit it onto another hapless victim: Filthy linguistic waste.

The title also refers to horrific teeth dreams.

Last night’s work was infinitely better than Tuesday. I hope Tuesday has lungs, so it can get a lung infection and drown in its own Tuesday mucous.