Drugstore Anatomy Album

Day 4 - Revenge of the Tremolo

Studios are weird and wonderful places, where you quickly disconnect from the rest of the known world; It has its own set of special little rules, a shared secret agreement built over decades between craze bands and engineers, and sealed over a dirty wine-spilled, coffee drenched, once pale grey carpet.

Strange, amusing conversations and rock'n'roll tales are shared, and other bands' gossip dished-out freely.

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I try to keep at the helm, in the control room for pretty much most of the time - call me power-freak, obsessive, don't care - every note matters to me.

But yesterday, decided to give'em a break, and went for a wander around the island, coffee, poncho, ciggie in hand.

I returned, half-an-hour later, expecting much progress on the trak, and what do I find?

Engineer's laptop Firefox page on (couldn't help but notice...):

'Science Weekly -'Is there life in outer space?', and both men engaged in great debate about life beyond Earth, God, deep-space shit, big bang theory, alien life-forms etc...

'So, guys... guitar trak finished, is it?' - 'Erm..., no, erm..., we were kinda waiting for you to come back...' Yeah, right. bloody space-geeks.

And no, they were not recording 'Blackholes&BrokenHearts' - which would have kinda made sense, right?

But, that's the beauty of 'studio space confinement' - it does weird things to your mind, it bends, and an assortment of crazeshit comes out.

And yep, we did spend the following 1/2 hour trying to convince the guitarist that there's nothing beyond this mortal coil.
Guitar: 'Fuck, man, that's just too dark...'
Miss M: 'Yeah, man, wake-up and smell the darkness, baby, it's coming to getch'ya.'
engineer: 'Right, better put the next guitar-trak down, then, before the darkness comes and takes him away.'
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