Friday 13 November 2009

RIPPING THE VERB OUT OF REVERB

My head is compressed.
MIXamatosis.
Despair counter / Deadair.
Buck safety / $afe buck.
Need edges and dirt. Need full steam, full attack but nearly collapsing. If we're about to fall off then please catch THAT moment. Focus on THAT not the big soft warm fluffy whole. The pick dropped and opened a door on to doors. The pick got dropped, the guitar frayed off the beat till the pick got back. It stayed on the tape, that moment. Band stormed on, noticed it's pulse there for a second, felt it's own fucked up heartbeat. Loved it. For a second there.
Now can we have that feeling all over the record please? Douse it. Drown the fucker so we fight back.
And then this falls on to my lap and resonates way more than it probably should:

On top of this valid article is some fine original-mullet, some fine snaggletooth from Bore McCartneys and some cute sticky out ear from George the best one Harrison.
If nothing else.
It's pissing down.


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