Here's an excerpt from a recent interview with Ian Gillan from Deep Purple:
"So we [said], 'Let's call it [their latest tour] 'The Long Goodbye',' and that way, we can make our decision later. Now, the fact is that everyone's feeling great now, and we've all got over those health problems and everyone's in good shape. So I think we're gonna be looking at writing some more material next year and maybe even possibly another album."
Here's another from Brad Whitford from Aerosmith, on the decision of calling their latest tour 'Aero-Vederci':
"I don't actually feel like we're gonna be shutting the whole thing down at the end of it. I think there's a lot more life in the band. But I guess you've got to start somewhere. So we're just starting to put the farewell label on things."
Another reference worth noting for my purposes is Ozzy Osbourne, who being the "goofball of darkness" he is, has called his 'final tour' "No more tours 2" -with part 1 having happened more than 20 years ago-.
Do I see a pattern here? Three rock musicians who are way past their... ehm... twenties hint that they're quitting but then add that not really. In other place in the same Gillan's interview, he compares making music to breathing, and everybody who catches the musical "bug" will concur to that feeling. So there's no reason to quit as long as it keeps feeling good.
Then why did they announced a retirement in the first place? Is it that they cannot stick to their own decision, a workaholic kind of thing? There may be some of that in some cases, those musicians that just get out there and go through the movements because it's better than staying at home watching TV; but I want to believe that there is also something else, a change in climate, a different perspective on things.
As I defended in my previous post, rock music is connected to a way of life, a way of understanding reality and engaging with it. For example, I like the way its energy channels violence in creative, non harmful ways. Think of all those trash and death albums full of convoluted riffs and changes of tempo at neck breaking speed; I'm convinced if some of those guys hadn't had the chance of expressing all that complexity through music, they would have resorted to less beautiful devices to make the energy flow.
I see rock music a bit like those scenes where a guy slaps his friend, and the friend goes "thanks, I needed that!". The energy of rock music, for us who like it, is the same energy that makes hearts beat. The roughness of a mosh pit is taking to a playful level the violence and abuse that we all have to endure in constant doses, more or less disguised as "everyday life". Etc.
This view on life and things doesn't have to be exclusive of young people, although young people is perhaps more prone to "get" its charms, as young people tend to see things with extreme, blunt clarity (just as old people do; on both cases they are close to the mystery, ones because just came out of it, the others because are about to return to it).
This view can be carried through all the ages of your life, but, like I said in my previous post on the matter, it cannot be a "slogan". If you're going to stiffen yourself up with automatic ideas, there are other stereotypes that will serve you better than rock music.
Young age is usually expected to stir the pot, to revolt. A lot of good things can come from that abrasive insolence (like, perhaps 75% of the music I love). But if you survive that age, at one point "This sucks" stops being enough. It has to be complemented with some form of "This sucks, here's what we're going to try instead". And if you're really really wise, you will even add "and if that doesn't work, we'll try this other thing instead".
There's been a certain tendency to associate rock movements to youth exclusively. And there's certainly a base to do that if we consider the many examples, but I don't think the relation is exclusive. In fact this rock->young association is one of those crude simplifications that the laws of market are so fond of creating ("Young rebelliousness! Get your young rebelliousness here!"). But it isn't always that way.
Some rock musicians have been happy in their youth to associate themselves to this Apollo ideal. "Young" as a name rather than an adjective. I think for example of Motley Crüe. It must be way easier to sing "Girls, girls, girls" when you're 20 than when you're 50.
For others, however, this youth is only a "datum" they carry in their career, accepting -because there's no reason not to do it- the social perks it entails, but when it fades off there's hardly any consequence because the focus was always the music. I think for example in Neil Young.
And Neil Young is obviously a good example to mention here, not only because he is also way past his twenties and still active and making relevant music, but because he is such an example in many things; I love the way he has now joined Promise of the Real, a band of young musicians (whose members include Lukas Nelson, Willie Nelson's son). An intergenerational band has an additional richness to it, just like when you have bands with several genders (that's one thing I've always loved of Sonic Youth albums: the balance you get between male and female voices singing gives the whole thing an extra dimension...)
People like him (never saw a case where the name became destiny more clearly) and Leonard Cohen (publishing an album 19 days before passing away, and winning a Grammy for best rock performance at age 82!) are paving the road and opening new ways of thinking and feeling music. I'm confident that new cases will soon follow, as the old models no longer work, the shoe just doesn't fit anymore.
So let's stop copying the past and start innovating. I'm in my forties, and if one thing I know is that my forties experience has nothing to do with what being in your forties meant for my parent's generation. And this sentence has validity for any decade of human life you're reading from. The only clear fact is that in 5 years we all will be 5 years older. So let's revere the past, let's learn from it, but let's not do it in servile ways. Let's use it to do something new with it. "The future is not some place we are going, but one we are creating." (John Schaar)
I've always been a big fan, and I was kind of curious to know what my fandom would evolve into now that Leonard Cohen is physically gone.
At first I was afraid (he would have hated it too) of turning him into "The name you know", someone who must be praised periodically in the name of loyalty, instead of just affection and plain recognition of talent. So I just let the whole thing go for a while. Just as it is the case in the loss of someone in your close circle of acquaintances, I guess the only thing possible after the initial trauma was a period of silence.
Then, in a natural, beautiful way, this or that song started to visit me; I felt like listening to them. "Hey, how about that "dynamic" melancholy of Boogie Street". "Hey, my heart will feel warm now if I go to listen Democracy". A bit like a good wine connoisseur can say "I feel like Bordeaux '87 today". Perks of being a fan.
After some time of those visitations, I stumbled upon a surprise, a Cohen album I didn't know! "Recent Songs". I started to listen to it and I have to say that, although it contains wonders as usual (the haunting "My Gypsy Wife" is my favorite), it's the record I've found most close to "generic" in Cohen's discography. As if, after the "massacre" of "Death of a Ladies' Man", he would have wanted to go back to form by making "the most Cohen album he could make"... As if he asked himself on purpose "What would Leonard Cohen do?" Nevertheless the bar with Cohen is always high, the album contains more music and more soul than the whole discography of many renowned musicians out there, and the fact that some of the songs were written way back in time conspires against my little theory...
In any case; after some time listening to "Recent Songs", I moved to "You Want It Darker", his final work. And what a record. I have a feeling that Leonard Cohen took his materials from the Unconscious, from intuition, and such intuition seemed to become bigger, more intense, almost supernatural, in the final 3 albums. The way he skips steps in sentences, the things he knows+knows how to express... In "You Want It Darker", it feels as if he was almost writing from the other side already, as peeking out of a window as in the image of the cover. And some of his sentences cut to the chase like blasts of consciousness. One that always gets me, in the title song: "There's a million candles burning for the help that never came". The way of the world, the cruelty of humans, the cruelty of a god, if it exists, who allows such darkness out of human freedom.
I've later known that Cohen was very learned, and since his youth, in the horrors of the Jewish Holocaust. It is never mentioned explicitly in his work, and discovering it gives me in my view a big key to understand his elegant sadness, and his irony that never intends to hurt others, it's more like a wondering aloud, a shrug of shoulders, or a prayer.
Here's a man who sang with splendid poetry to the women he loved, to the friends he knew, and to a wish of peace and unity among his fellow humans (the word "people" always has a particular strength when he sings it, and in some of his lyrics, like the verse I've mentioned above or the song "Nevermind", he adopts a collective point of view).
Can there be a better legacy to leave for an artist? As I learn more about him, and revisit more deeply his work, my admiration just grows and grows. So look at me Leonard, one more time... which will not be the last.
Here's a problem they will never have at Toyota:
"What? You want me to build a Prius? Again? I can't, I just built one, so it's going to take a while until I even remotely understand what a Prius is anymore; I need some time out from everything Prius related. How about a Corolla, instead?"
The "cooling down" stage is a very important element in my creative process. For example, I may have some new idea that I've sung in a distracted moment, and found "hey, this would suit well in song X". So, when composition time comes, I fire up my gear, wear my beloved magenta Beethoven wig (just kidding), and start to let the old and new ideas mingle, and see if there's some chemistry there.
But after some time of such joyful process, I need to close everything and not think about it for a long time. I've completely lost my capability of judgement about the new developments of the song, and usually I reach out for anything else to do with the desperation of a drowning man, full of nervous energy (I once even started cleaning dishes, for god's sake...)
Such lack of judgment has played tricks on me in the past, and it can happen on both senses; I can leave the works of a song depressed by its awfulness, and then find while relistening later that my head starts spontaneously to bang -the ultimate quality test for me-. Surprises the other way round (ending the session with a feeling of triumph, but finding it only meh later) also happen.
The lightning rod analogy, one of my favorites, is of use here too; you've been conducting all that energy, and even if you have only been the conduct and not retained any, you don't remain the same, the iron must be cooled down, you need a rest.
This is perhaps the biggest obstacle towards applying one piece flow to song composition; distraction, doing other things, even multitasking, is a vital part of the process, and having several songs in the works at the same time, despite the many problems that increasing the amount of work in process causes, does help creativity; sometimes there is a funny game of synergies going on between the evolving songs: the way they "steal" things from one another... Since the night of times I've noticed that my songs have a tendency to come in pairs, a lot of them have a "brother" that is its complementary in some way; we used to joke about it in my former band...
I keep coming back time after time to this matter because PURPOSE is incredibly important as the starting point of any endeavor, and I've always felt there is tension between the two activities mentioned in the title, a tension that nobody else seems to notice or care much about.
I do because music is the big frickin' thing for me, I stand in that crossroads and cannot settle for a generic answer.
What do I mean by tension, you ask? Well, on one hand, for me, music is, or it can be in its highest moments, one of the most elevated things that a human being can experience on this planet.
On the other hand, however, I've been to plenty of concerts by now, and not everything that happens in those realms could be what someone would call "elevated"; on the contrary, some of the things that are prone to happen in those events, and some human specimens you find there, are base and with a filthy taste that is very connatural to them.
So we have two things that are opposite, and at the same time strongly connected, joined at the hip. Therefore, the tension.
It isn't either an intro-extrovert kind of thing, a la "the intro loves the detail of the records but gets exhausted by the massive, sweaty concerts". The exchange of energy that happens in certain concerts, with moments of actual communion, are nothing to be scoffed at (one personal favorite of mine: a band playing in the open, with the set starting as the sun goes down, so the music takes you into the night... One of the best ways I know to remind yourself you're alive).
Then what is it? I don't know for sure, maybe there's not a clearcut answer, but I found some clues in a book written only 25 centuries ago.
To my surprise and delight, Aristotle's Politics dedicates a huge chunk of the book's final section to the question of whether children should be taught music or not. He concludes that they must, but under certain conditions; he considers that music is the only art that resembles emotions (a melody can be sparse, passionate...), so its teaching can be useful to help people learn domain of the self, restraint...
When describing leisure, he distinguishes three possible finalities for it: relaxation, virtue ("benefiting leisure", so to speak), and recreation, and he considers that music has benefits in all three areas.
However, and here's the limitation, he warns that "paid musicians" are "often vulgar", because they don't practice music with an aim of elevation and self knowledge, but wanting to entertain a crowd, even at the price of resorting to the most servile resources, if the occasion requires it. Therefore, he concludes, young people must be taught music only to the extent to which they are capable to appreciate by themselves the merit of a good performance in others...
There it is again, the tension between sublime and vulgar, perfectly described by a guy who has been a speck of dust for the latest 2500 years -I guess that's why they call them classics-.
How do you deal with such contradiction? I'll have to resubscribe to my previous post; each musically inclined individual will have to find and draw his/her own private line on a different place. As for myself, the jury is still out; by now I know that I am not very big on vulgar (although I have my moments, like every one) and that I'd really like to be some day that guy up there on the stage, summoning the night for all the folks. I'd really like that, but not at any price...
I threatened with it a few posts ago, and now it's a fact: here's my first effort in the field of moving pictures at the service of rock and roll. I hope you enjoy it.
(I had to change to this URL format after bad experiences with the embedded video; sorry if the previous version autoplayed in your face as it does in certain browsers. I am also trying to resist as much as possible to upload to those YouTube swine...)
The song is included in Black Sheep Riot's self titled first album, which you can find here.
As for the new album, it is (*driving me nuts*) coming along nicely; I still find difficult to commit to a release date because my life in the latest times is like an army of butterflies bumping into my window every day, each of them causing their infamous well-known effect, what makes clarity and timelines an expensive commodity. But advances are being made...
One of the Lean mottos that I have most in the front of my mind lately is "If you are not visual, you are not Lean". In the end, we need to make our problems visual, to put our thoughts in front of our eyes, before we can do anything to solve them.
The kanban board is one of the classic Lean tools, and it is deceptively simple. In its basic manifestation, it only has 3 columns, "Pending", "Doing", "Done". You create a "card" or "sign" (kanban in japanese) for each thing you want to do, and you start to flow them from left to right through the process.
As with most of the Lean tools, what is important here is the thought discipline that this generates in you. As you start to visualize your work, you start to understand it better. You get ideas of how to make the whole thing flow better. Then one day you find that, for example, it might make sense to break the "Doing" category into two, depending on different states of the thing you're making (for example, speaking of songs, "composing", when the whole structure is complete, vs "Recording"). The cards on the board tell you where you are, how many items are on each area, etc...
Another benefit of the kanban board, and not a little one, is that it helps you do one thing at a time. It seems there is a certain flaw in our brains that makes us think, whenever we have a lot of things to do, that we have to do all "at the same time". It's like our brain always lives in the present moment, no sense of "now this one, later that one". But when we SEE this item is here, Work In Process, while the other one is on its left, "behind", maybe waiting for x to happen... We automatically feel relieved.
And besides, as you can move the items through space, you can also prioritize them and become more strategic.
This reflection comes now to me because the other day, after a period of some pondering, feeling somewhat cluttered and needing the new level of clarity, I finally had an important "eureka" about a better visual device for the flow of my songs. (A visual device must be simple, and sometimes it takes a lot of work to get it to be that simple).
I used to have different kanban boards for my different b(r)ands, which implied a lot of duplication whenever I came up with an improvement in the process. Now I've found a way to color code things so that they can coexist on one single page, making a gazillion of information available without giving you a headache. The transformation took me a couple of hours, but I have to say it was one of those couple of hours where you're so fascinated that you hardly can stand up from the seat. Suddenly I was seeing my work in a completely different manner, and feeling motivated and energized again, knowing exactly what to do next.
Short after finishing this visual, it came to me a new riff for one of the songs I have in the "composing" column. Busy as I've been with the other stages of recording, it's been long since the Muse last visited me. I'm pretty sure that this was no coincidence; a gap was created, and where there's a space, there can always be a playground :)
A misconception about standards that is often mentioned -and it's a good thing that we keep clearing it out, as it is still very embedded-, is that they make you somehow "robotic", that they stifle creativity. In reality it's exactly the opposite; what you standardize are the "sure things", that stuff that you have to always remember; those things that are like "paper cuts" ready to kill you if you just try to hold them all in your mind. And also, once you have all those little bastards in front of you, on a list, diagram or other device, you can start to play with their sequence, find better ways of doing things... It's a bit like composing music, really.
If this misconception is important to clarify in any area of activity, perhaps that's even more so when you take it to music making, at least the music I love and make, that "Triangle" of rock-metal-punk where I live happily.
Those three genres were born as different forms of rebellion against the establishment, the status quo, those-who-came-before-us, and a word like "standardization", often hijacked by concreteheads who disguise themselves in a suit of logic to do horrible things, has the potential to cause a visceral repulsion in a lot of people who have a heart and have been misinformed.
It doesn't help, either, that rock was born as a rebellion belonging to the young generations; a response against a culture too elder oriented that exploited and gaslit them. Younger generations, it's a simple fact of biology, are not usually very rational or disciplined; at that age in life you're, rather, in kind of a "buffet mode", more interested in gathering all kind of varied experiences, still dazzled with all the joy, the novelty and "superpowers" that come from being a young adult, but not necessarily in an orderly or rational manner.
(This is another misunderstanding that I'd also like to mention; as you get older, if you have eyes in your face, your discontentment will follow you, but the way to express that discontentment when you're 40 cannot be the same as when you're 20. What I often see is people who, as they grow older, either 1) give up completely "that rebellion thing", considering it's just something that belongs to an age of human development that they have outgrown -this is lazy, poor quality thinking in my book, but to each their own-, or 2) they stick to their "this sucks" guns but in a "frozen in time" way, still acting in that disorderly way that is a glory to see in 20-something guys, but that starts to feel a bit forced when that guy sticks to it year after year without changing a iota, as sort of a learned pose, or an "ID".)
But back to the standards. Discontentment follows you sometimes in your life as you grow, but other changes happen too; getting some sleep starts to become an issue now and then, one day you find out that certain pains stay with you longer than they used, body hair changes locations...
Fortunately, those new ages offer room for improvement too. As you learn, as you plan things instead of rushing headlong in all directions as you used to do, you get the "itch" for improvement. You find that, by working deliberately, tasks that used to take 10 energy units and 50 minutes can now take only 8 units and say 28 minutes. And even that is just a new baseline from which you can improve even more.
That's the "superpower" of the new vital age, and it applies to rock and the art of rebellion just as any other realm. What's rebellious about starting a concert late and feeling tired because it took you for ever to find the right cable? How about a shadow board, dude, or a checklist, that you do once and you're done with the whole frickin thing, on to a better use of your/our time? For example playing better the song that is going to make somebody's day, or it's going to be the wake up call or the helping hand for someone, or the chill out environment where deals are agreed, or the soothing air for the shy lovers to finally take the first step...
And the circumstances have changed. Society -if there's still any point in using that word- is no longer elderly focused. The whole population is getting older, let's not pretend we are what we are not, rock is about being yourself...
If you wear out yourself with prep work in the name of how rebel you are, you're just making a fool of yourself. We need a different kind of protest from you. There's a lot at stake here.
So standards win the race. They can be a middle finger in the face of those who standardize what shouldn't be done at all. Someone compared standards to the lines on the road. They just pave the way, but you're free to choose which way you take; they will just liberate your time from the silly things so that you can use it for the ones that matter. So that you can be the radiant, creative human being we all need, instead of yet another slave of drudgery.
As I deepen my processes and the understanding of the work at hand, I revise concepts that I knew, or that I thought I knew, finding new nuisances and details. One of them lately has been comping and/or overdub, two concepts that for me until now kinda lived in a grey area where I used them pretty much interchangeably.
Now I've come to differentiate these, and these are the definitions I use. It's been a while since I last researched the "academic" definitions of them -and my brain makes "ouch" at the mere idea of going into that again-, so bear in mind that these definitions are only mine, the ones validated in my process by the value of use. Your millage will for sure vary.
The issue came to mind first when I was tracking guitars, and for the first time I tried doing it in these two phases:
1) Song from beginning to end
2) Listen to the song; whenever you find a fragment not quite to your liking, stop and re-record it.
This is what I understand as overdubbing. I hadn't done it in the past because I was afraid of problems of "vibe", the "body" of the track rejecting the new transplants... But hey, with guitar, as long as you don't do something silly in the middle -like changing parameters-, the newcomer is going to be impossible to differentiate from the earlier recording.
I've found this to be not only a swift workflow to generate guitar tracks, but also a very pleasant one, because of the "load leveling" of tasks between playing-listening. (There is, though, an entry toll: make sure you go into this process having the parts well rehearsed.)
Then I moved to tracking vocals, and that's a different beast.
My usual method here (which is also the one I applied to guitars in the past) goes:
1) Record song from beginning to end. Then again another take form beginning to end. Then again another take from beginning to end...
2) Relisten creating chunks of sections that you like/don't like, etc in each
3) Create a "Frankenstein" of the best moments (a take of "supernatural perfection", like the guys of Sound on Sound put it).
This is what I call comping. As in short for "composing", compose something out of different loose parts, like choosing the best flowers to "compose" a bouquet.
The overdub system had worked so well with guitars, that this time I was tempted to try it on vocals too, but in the end I didn't do it because singing requires a lot more of setup for me right now (take the complications of guitar takes and add bottles of water, pop filters, abundant kleenex, and hundreds of "parameters" like body posture, "role" you play in the song...)
I'm like a "one man orchestra", so I was afraid of unavoidable vibe problems if I went "atomic", plus vocal sessions are already very tiring for me as they are to add more instability by now; I prefer to consolidate and iterate what I got a bit more. Additionally, for this song, the usage of proximity effect was very important, so any variation in distance to the mic was going to add up to the instability, etc...
Maybe in the future, as I streamline my process, I'll be able to do it, or maybe for certain songs; I'd love it because it's very "tight", and fixing problems at the source is a lean principle for a reason; it makes infinitely easier to locate and countermeasure any mistake, while with the other method you're generating a lot of takes, inventory that later you have to go through, sift, etc.
Add to that the fact that, with the singer and the listener being the same person, and with human voice being the complex musical instrument it is, subjectivity sometimes plays tricks on you; in more than one occasion I have left vocal sessions not knowing AT ALL on which part of the cool/sucks spectrum lived the takes I had just recorded. Zero judgement capability. Imagine doing that with 1 second fragments.
This limitation probably yields a lot when you stop being the one-man-orchestra; I've seen at least two examples of bands using vocal overdubs; Deicide, whose vocalist punches in sentence-after-sentence to assure intelligibility of the lyrics, and also in Motörhead. In a 2010 documentary I saw there is this scene: Lemmy sings a missing sentence / Producer says "nope" / Lemmy goes again / Producer says... Etc.
The more I practice it, the more I fall in love with standard work, and I wonder how on earth I've managed without it for so long.
I'm sure part of my enthusiasm has to do with the fact that by now I have a lot of hours of practicing it (read: making mistakes) under my belt, so I've acquired a better "knack" of how to go about it, when to use the telescope and when the fine grain, how to better phrase an instruction to get the effect, when to use a picture, or a diagram instead...
(Of course in these matters, the more you know, the more you discover how much you're still lacking; some elephants have still proven to be uneatable for me at the moment, but I certainly feel I'm entering the next, better stage of my "unsatisfaction" :) )
Here's an example of standardization: I've been doing some guitar tracking these days. I've written down a "card" that I check before each take, and it helps me immensely.
It's just a piece of cardboard with a few jots; using a different material makes it stand out visually from all the other notes, papers, and all the mess that unavoidably accumulates during the session-. Here it is, in all its crudity:
It takes my eye perhaps 5-8 seconds to slide through all the indications before hitting record in the DAW -the combination of picture + text helps things click in an even easier way-. Not precisely state of the art technology, but the thought contained within this humble device has saved me I would say already a few hours of silliness and frustration. Forgetting any of the simple things contained in the card is bound to send a track to waste. Plus that horrifying fatigue of continuously starting-then-stopping-tweaking-ok-are-we-really-ready-now...
None of these things are earth shattering, but together they amount to quite a bunch of potential "paper cuts" when you are a musician who has to "engineer" himself. A few examples that will feel sadly familiar to any home recordist out there:
* Not using the right (closed) headphones can leak the metronome into the take.
* Forgetting to enable the metronome will result in an uncomfortable, uneven performance -or even if you heroically make it to the end, it will strain you due to the additional concentration required-. Plus you have gifted yourself a session of rework later with any mistake you make. Not the most comfortable perspective to let your artistic self flow.
* Not sitting at the edge of the seat means (in my case) uncomfortable posture for playing, i.e. risking additional strain, injury, or at the very least mistakes in the take that again you'll have to go back and overdub later, etc...
* Not checking tuning before each take results in a magical effect where, the better you play, the more out of tune you'll find you were later.
And so on with all the elements of the card... I really wonder how I managed without little things like this. My way to simplicity has been quite complicated, as it sometimes is the case...
This happened some time ago, in the pre-Internet times, when I had a punk band, integrated by human beings, and we played gigs mostly for our friends, and got ripped off by most of venue owners (I'm sure the scene has improved a lot since then; OK, end of sarcasm).
It is easy to remember this guy, therefore, because there weren't others like him. He appeared out of nowhere in one concert, nobody knew him, he came alone, he wore glasses and looked a bit of a weirdo (I've found often that my music is a great weirdo magnet -a fact that I don't intend consciously, but which I find glorious).
I'm trying not to idealize too much here, so I think maybe he came only to two, three concerts tops, before our band imploded for the usual reasons a band implodes when you are in your twenties and decide to form a band with your buddies.
But to me something like this happening was so moving... The guy used to stay on one side of the hall, where he could get a good visual, paying a lot of attention, and pointing towards us, with great seriousness... a tape recorder!!!
You can be sure there was no pecuniary reason involved for that, given the zero notoriety, profit and even sympathy that we commanded in our environment in those times. No, it looked more something in the lines of "god, I need more of this shit". Like the guy who lives in a desert, and when he visits a fountain, brings with him a big container he can fill. How do I know so sure? Because I've been that guy too, in other contexts, with other people to whom I will forever feel in debt.
There were other moments like this in those days, but this one is perhaps the one I recall more fondly. Having been that person for someone is something that gives me goosebumps even right now, as I write. Like I always say, I have to make music, I would do it under any circumstance, it's like breathing to me, I cannot not do it. But what a great bonus is when something like this happens. What a great fucking bonus.
I have a guitar and I'm gonna use it