These would be both the multi tracks and the masters. I picked out the most misused and fucked up looking ones.
I dug through a box of 30 year old 4-track tapes that have followed me through countless moves. (Mine went bye-bye in like 1998 or so.) I borrowed my wife's stereo cassette deck. Those French horns will be still waiting for you on hard drive #3 once your trip down the Tascam turnpike is over. Take a break from your Morricone conceit and Mancini mental masochism, Giuseppe. Why not revisit that process for a while? Make some hasty recordings on flawed equipment and see what happens. You see, at some point in my last arduous mixing session, and by session I mean a process that can take fucking weeks, I had lamented to myself how much easier life was in my youth when all I had was a four track recorder, a single microphone, and tons of shitty ideas. I turned my sudden onset of lethargy into an asset, into an idea, into a very quickly devised, and even more quickly executed project. I was dead meat.īut this time I outfoxed the deadbeat. And about a month ago, when faced with the grim reality of having to mix a tune with over 200 tracks, I blew a fuse and slacker inertia crept up from behind the mixing board, with all the weapons of languor at the ready, and trained them upon me. Its approach is often stealthy and unexpected, but on some occasions I can hear it coming, like some Jeff Spicoli spectre of sloth, especially when the mixing process of one of my overwrought avant-pop compositions begins to flounder. One time the sunavabitch had me in a DMV bureaucrat's spell of lassitude and indifference for a whole damn year. It will lay dormant in the deep recesses of my brain for months on end, and then.BLAM!!!!! It will pounce with the belligerence of some cryptozoological hydra-headed beast, and I'll be laid low with a lack of ambition for months.