clap your hands say yeah

...sent via sidecrack...

An explanation

Last night we ate at a rather spicy and rejuvinating Tex Mex place in...Arizona? New Mexico? I don't know. It's fairly safe to assume I'll never eat there again, although enchilidas with a egg on them: the bee's knees.

Any way, on the way out of that place, there were those supermarket-y things with the plastic bubbles filled with shit you don't need for quarters you'll just lose anyway, and I decided to buy something. I was hoping for the necklace with the weed leaf made out of plastic diamonds or one of those sticky hands that ends up covered in cheezit crumbs. Instead I got some plastic teeth that tasted like putting a garbage bag
in your mouth. Below, and perhaps against my better judgement, is a photograph of my extremely intelligent purchase.
...sent via sidecrack...

We're once again daily; prepare yourselves

Down here in the birdbasement, it’s rather cold. This is owed to a hundred year old house with ill-fitting windows, hardwood floors, and cracks under the doors so large that a small horse could trot underneath. Why am I here, you ask. Well, for one, I’m back to blogging---now that something’s happening---and two, I’m watching my email. It’s kind of like watching paint dry, except less colorful. But soon, something glorious will appear.

See, we’re waiting for our first song to be emailed back to us from Brad’s house, affectionately mocked as the Pink Castle. The triumph of the internet is that we can be hundreds of miles away and still have a mixing process with some give & take, without us sitting on Brad’s comfy chairs making obvious suggestions. He stays saner, we sleep in our own beds. The natural order gets preserved.

But it isn’t here yet. Wait! We got an email! Ah. If you’ll excuse me, there’s a Liberian man-orphan who needs me to do some banking for him.

Last night, us four birdmonsters sat around in our lair and schemed for hours. We got to see specs for the album art (which is being made by the same lovely lady who provided us our EP art, Katrina), discussed our lack of viable transport (unicorns were suggested), and ate MSG soaked chow fun. All went gloriously, especially seeing the cover, which was far more fun than contemplating our imminent trip to debtor’s prison.

With mixes coming daily, art being updated, and birdmonster getting its overall shit in gear, I’m going to be once again blogging daily. Sure, there won’t be stories about hunting sharks with small rodents, but there might be an amusing anecdote here and there. Not to mention a song which we’ll sneak up somewhere for those of you who are paying attention. Plus, if you’re reading this, you’re probably at work, and you know these last five paragraphs were way better than the operations meeting you’ve got scheduled in the small conference room at 1 p.m.

Until tomorrow.

So I went walking today. Not too far, mind you, just a few blocks down to a corner store and coffee shop while Peter did a little early morning, gruff-voiced singing. The mission was a success, bearing that I got my morning paper and too-large cup of coffee. I was proud of embracing my San Francisco-ness by walking the half-mile in this city of cars. Of course, on my stroll back, I was approached by the only pedestrian without a dog or stroller, who proceeded to ask me for cigarettes, drugs, and the Sports Section. Three resounding "no"s later and with a block to go before I could peel off politely, I decided to ask him where he was off to.

"The pet shop, man," he said. "I'm gonna get a hamster."

"Nice," I replied. "What are you gonna name it?"

He giggled. Really. "Nothing, man! I'm gonna use it as bait to catch a fucking shark."

I will never walk anywhere again.

Safely cloistered back at the casa de Brad, I can say that yesterday's lunacy has left me. Not completely, of course, because, well, what fun would that be? But I'm again capable of rational thought. How comforting. This fairly enviable return to pseudo-sanity is owed mostly to the glory that was yesterday, although I could scarely tell you which day of the week it was. We played pianos, tamborines, and guitars of various flavors. We sang---well, Peter sang---we saw, we conquered. And then, late night, while scheming some overdubs, we dragged out a song we had yet to work on, settled into some plush rocking chairs, and listened. Then listened again. Then we laughed. Mainly because nothing needed to be done. No re-dos, no overdubs, no tinkering of any kind. It might not sound like a whole lot, but in my noggin, it's taken on the mythic import of the Arc of the Covenant. So rejoice with Birdmonster. I implore you.

Today, who knows? Plenty of sitting here, listening to Pete sing, re-mixing, and hubris. I'm going to angle for a porch-side hoe-down at sunset and see if I can get a taker. All in all, we're still ahead of schedule, which is comforting thought with roughly a week left.

Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a hotdog waiting for me. Thank God I gave up on all vitamins three weeks ago.










see! i did take a pic of the bidet at grandmaster. wasnt it worth the wait? -zach

Hooray for pictures. They're everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean this post and the next two. I'd like to point special attention to the post below, first picture. That's Brad. There's also one of Zach chanelling high-school Zach for long supressed cello skills. We laid some down on Ice Age, and it sounds glorious.

Moving on.

I really think this morning was it, the point where I finally lost my mind. I woke up with Constant Craving in my head and I couldn't stop laughing at my bagel. It's all downhill from here. However, bearing that in mind, I'd like to sum up some recent events without you judging me harshly. Here goes:

We're mostly done with about seven songs. The vagueness you're reading into that sentence is there for a reason: we've actually worked on far more but completely finished far less, I decided seven was a happy medium. I'm sure you'll agree. A typical day consists of sleeping till eleven, doing various musical things for about thirteen hours, and then attempts at being social, cultural, and exotic (read: we went bowling. I lost). Somewhere, there was tuna fish and Dave almost stealing someone's car. Silly Dave. Silly tuna fish.

The thing is, we've really done plenty since I posted last. I just can't quite put my finger on what it was. I recall lots of loud guitars, some banjos, a jangly acoustic, and some singing. The pictures are nice, because they remind me what we actually did. Look! There's Peter playing the slide. And us in the control room. And me looking like Geordi LaForge. Browse around, please. I promise that tomorrow, I'll write something that contains at least one cogent thought.

Our first proper day off turned into a pseudo-half day off. I'm reaching the point where I'm nearly incapable of entering into normal conversation and I have zero idea of anything that's happened in the real world. Cure for cancer? Indonesian civil war? The release of the infamous Barbara Boxer Jazzercise tape? Sure. I'm wandering around in the dark here, people.

Yesterday was a veritable smorgasboard of overdubbing, singing, and fat-assed-couch-sitting. We worked primarily on Bar in the Back of the Basement, which is a spastic, minor-key, cow-punk song. Overdubs consisted of some acoustics, clapping, guitars, and this reverby Rhodes thing that sounded kind of like a broken Russian music box. All that minor-keying made think evil thoughts. None were spared. We also managed to squeeze in some vocals for the above-mentioned tune, a few backrounds for Balcony, and some banjo for an acoustic one we used to play live all the time. It sounds kind of, I don't know, civil war-y? Sure. Let's stick with that.

Moving along. Today, an old friend is stopping by and we may again venture into the outside world. This frightens us all. I'm well into a winter beard (out of sheer laziness, I assure you, because I look like a hobo) and I think Zach has been wearing those pants for three months. In other words, we look crazy. Keep your children away.

As always, more later.

I've never spent this much time in Los Angeles straight. One thing I like is that everyone knows directions to everywhere because walking is illegal. I also like that I get to see billboards of the movies no one will ever see. They're making a Curious George movie, I now know. That book was way too intense anyway.

So, today we started overdubbing and vocals. The meat and potatoes of the CD remain the live stuff, but the sour cream and chives are rather fun too. We tackled Balcony this afternoon and evening, which is a country-ish one with a melodica. I even got to play the banjo, which everyone loves. It's like the two dollar bill. I defy you to hate the two dollar bill. And hey, Peter just finished the vocals, so we're moving right along. Everyone's still motivated and I have yet to devolve into the mush-brained weirdo I can become after this much music. I guess we've got another couple weeks down here, so there's plenty of time for my noggin to fill with paste, but right now: a-okay.

We had dinner tonight with Mark from Music for Robots (linked over there. On your right). He's a fine chap and he took us to a place with Monte Cristos on the menu, which, in case you don't know, is the sandwich equivalent of a religious epiphany. It was strange being outside of the studio atmosphere. I felt like I left the quarantine. I think I have hives.

Oh yes. And Zach posted some new pictures below the last post. We decided to save some from Grand Master since scenery will become nice and monotonous for the next couple weeks. So enjoy. And keep leaving comments. We like comments.

We picked up the last of our instruments, cords, and doodads at Grand Master this morning, shook Andrew's hand and were on our way. After copious errands, we made it home to finally listen to the songs in a new room, outside of the studio, with a minty fresh brain. They're better than I remembered.

Which is odd. I mean, in the studio once you hit a song, you leave it behind, only vaguely remembering how good or bad it was. Those three days are a bit of a distorted mush for me, so listening this morning screwed the noggin back on. The big thing is, they sound like us. That was something we felt we missed on the EP, I think. People that have seen us live know what I'm talking about.

And in the end, LA was a good choice. Sure, there's that whole choking smog-of-death thing, that billboard overload, no pedestrian kind of vibe to the place, but it's not home. It's not San Francisco. And as much as we love it there, doing this out of town was the best decision we made. It didn't necessarily have to be Los Angeles, but there aren't any nice studios in Reykjavik, so we went with option two. I mean, this is a self-funded operation here, people. We need focus. I get too cozy in the foggy confines of our fair city.

Also, please forgive the laziness with the pictures. Today was a pajamas sort of day and what we accomplished would have translated to a bunch of photos of five guys around some tape & computers, which, in turn, would have translated to you passing out from boredom at your desk. So, you're welcome. Tomorrow's the good stuff anyway. See you then.

I love yellow curry

I'm back in the ship's cabin. And the sailing's just fine.

I started this post maybe 5 hours ago and foolishly closed the window, as usual, forgetting to save anything I wrote. We didn't lose the great American novel though. I promise. And you know what? It was for the best. When I was typing it, I was merely recapping yesterday's exploits and yammering about today's plan. There was one good joke about the chili burgers we ate, but it's not worth reliving. I'll just say this: "Don't eat at Tommy's." Now, the plan has actually come to fruition. I'm not just predicting anymore. I mean, I just cackled maniacally. You should have heard it.

Zach posted some pictures he took around Grand Master below yesterday's post. Yet, no flowery bidet. The man needs a talking to. They do this place justice though. Truly strange. It's like an old shoe. Does that even make sense? I think I'm reaching that point where my brain turns into a soggy paste. I think I should go eat some Thai food. Which smells delicious, by the way.

Last thing: We're going downstairs now to record the eighth song. To our unending surprise, we're actually ahead of schedule. In fact, there will be computer time later tonight. To the galley.

I'm upstairs at Grand Master right now, sprawled out on what looks but doesn't smell like a brown leather couch. Downstairs, guitar amps are getting fiddled with and we're probably about two hours from starting in earnest. Honestly, I'm giddy.

Yesterday's session was more weird acoustic goodness and instrument jerry-rigging. Loudness ensued. Peter regaled us all with "You're Drinking My Grandma's Soda (and I Don't Like the Look on Your Face)", a song so epic, so divine, that my ears melted--from the next room. In fact, I'm recording deaf. Just so everyone knows.

So, Grandmaster: truly bizarre. This upstairs lounge feels like a ship's cabin. It's all teak wood and rickety windows and crooked slats. Leading down from here is a spiral staircase surrounded by mirrors. But they're panelled so you kind of feel like you're in a fun house and, since the handrail is metal and the carpet is plush, you get electrocuted eighty percent of the time. It keeps you alert. Take it from me. You know what? I can't do this place justice with babbling. We'll post some pictures of it soon. Two words though: flowery bidet.

Alright, I gotta go play some music now. More later.

A brief recap

So, we're here. Los Angeles. You can almost smell the Roscoe's on my breath. Which is probably bad, being as I ate it for breakfast yesterday. But, man, that was a good waffle. I may never brush my teeth again.

We arrived Thursday night, after a gloriously uneventful caravan down the 5, to our Producer/Engineer/Crock-Pot-Chef's house over by Colorado street. I'd give you a better idea of where we're at, but I can barely make it to the bus in morning, so be happy with "over by Colorado street." Not only was Brad willing to record our LP, but he was willing to slow-cook pork, potatoes, and zuchinis for our arrival. And let me tell you one thing: Falling. Off. The bone. Goddamn.

To bring everyone up to speed, we're going to be recording both here & at a famously funky studio near Aomeba called Grand Master. In fact, we go there tomorrow, (which is Sunday, right? I've lost track), spend a full three days recording amongst teak wood & red velvet, then finish the overdubs, vocals, melodicas, and dijeridoo solos back here at Brad's house. That's the plan, at least. So far, so good. But we haven't really started yet, so, hey, that was easy.

Basically, in the day and a half we've been here, we've recorded a few reels of weird, acoustic/banjo/cello versions of our softer songs, and some blown out, vocal-less electric takes of the tunes that don't lend themselves to the pluck-treatment. Janky-ness and blown out mics abound, but they sound really...I don't know...cozy. There are also some fabulous tones to be had from these overblown little amps, so they'll be making an appearance in a week or so. More later.

For now, it's early Saturday...well, it's almost one, but bear with me.,,and we're going to spend the day visiting Grand Master, cooking, and playing some more bizarre versions of the songs we know and love. So I'll wrap it up. I'm going to try & update this once daily, but right now I'm using dial-up, which is the digital equivalent of the Flintsone's foot-car, but it's getting the job done. When we sort out pictures, we'll post a few, which will hopefully be in the next day or so. I promise later versions of the blog to be filled with multimedia, witty repartee, and properly spelled words. Now, I'm going to go enjoy the rain we dragged with us from the City.