So tomorrow I'm throwing a little Sexiest Man Alive party. I'll be expected all my male readers to show up and be appreciated for the wonders you are. Aw c'mon don't be shy, you know you're wonderful.
Warning: you will likely be infected by the Johnnydeppitis tomorrow. It's powerful. Makes the Hini look like a gentle sneeze, but it's so much more enjoyable. Trust me.
Wanna know how lucky I am?
Other than the lifelong debt, which I don't love, our recording studio gives us regular bursts of pure joy.
Today I'm hanging in the control room, waiting for the laundry machines upstairs to finish what the ones at home can't do. If I had to hang at the studio and do laundry on any day ever, this is the day. Three awesome guys are on the floor and in the iso booths, recording something... something... indescribable and cool. Sadly, the world in general hasn't heard of these guys. Other musicians know them. They are heroes in this tiny little music community. They have devoted fans and they make a living at this; they're pretty happy. And they are three of the nicest, most artistic, amazing people I've met. They are not a bunch of greasy teenager pop star pin ups. They're so real.
Kevin has this awesome old dobro from the 30s. He's also pulling out a mandola and a mandocello. Gary has a giant kick drum and a loonie taped to the sole of his shoe, which makes a nice tap on the sheet of plywood on the floor. Russell was playing a big gorgeous upright bass. Before they started to record, they listened to a mind blowing Youtube video where two men with British accents discuss the studio eight tracks of "Come Together" and solo the tracks. Imagine hearing each track alone. I am so lucky.
I don't know what to call this song. Jazz-country-bluegrass-creepfunk?
I'm just sitting here on the big couch at the back of the room, cross legged, Macbook balanced between my knees, one foot tapping, head bobbing, goosebumps rising and falling, hair on the back of my neck quite actively moving. I love it. Some days of studio hang are tedious. Just dead boring. There's Jethro at the console, hitting playback and tweaking one note over and over before moving on to the next. Two words at a time on the vocal, sometimes two syllables at a time. Plus the building's in a nasty ugly industrial area and you know me, I crave scenery. There ain't scenery here unless you consider wrecked cars and transmission shops and "relaxation spas" to be picturesque. I do not.
Today we've got musicians who know what the heck they want and how to do it. These guys are so good even their mistakes sound awesome.
All I have to do is tiptoe up the steps and check my laundry.
The guys were in the control room here listening to a pass and each of them swayed to the music. They were singing and humming harmonies, working out the vocal as they listened. I'm in heaven here. Surreal lyrics in the chorus and all these freaky harmonies and chords changing from minor to major and people, I don't even know much about music. I'm not a musician. I can't read notes and my naturally freakily talented daughter keeps begging me not to sing. But I know I dig this.
Bubba's laughing at me cuz I'm so excited to be here today.
Just so lucky.
I was really irritated at the washing machine for conking out now, when we're trying to get this house all fixed up and clean and I'm not even there all the time. Maybe my timing's not so bad after all.
Sometimes I'm just so lucky.
It's been a tough year folks, and I've been so tempted so often to beg Jethro to quit this unforgiving business, just screw the awards and walk away from the money sucking studio, just cut the losses and walk away. Leave it before it ruins his body and turns him into a set of ears and buggy eyes with ProTools maps burned onto the surface, a big right thumb from clicking the mouse of errant notes, a weight problem from years of bad eating and a rolling chair shaped butt. Twenty years of not enough sleep and too many hours in a room with no windows. Too many hours and never, never enough pay to get anywhere but spinning the wheels. Just get the hell out.
This, people, THIS is why I can't do that.
Because sometimes we're so darn lucky.