In the hole he goes.

Take five. One... two... three... quatro! No, no - stop. Wrong key, man. Totally wrong key. It's the one around the back of the horn. You're concentrating too much on those front keys.

Greetings and welcome to the house of dung and smog. Did I say "dung and smog"? I meant, sun and fog. Yes, the misty environs of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill on a cool Saturday morn - ah, 'tis a sight to behold. A veritable feast for the senses, particularly the olfactory. That burning smell? That's just us burning up the tape down here in our dungeon-like studio. (Maybe I did mean smog after all...) Okay... I am playing a little fast and loose with the facts. In this digital, nonlinear age, we have abandoned tape altogether and taken up the cudgel of cutting-edge recording technology - wax cylinders! No wait, not wax. Wire. Wire recording. Wild, wild new deal in tracking songs, mate! I heard all about it from the dude on the corner - the guy with half-a-boot. On his head.

I know, I know - he doesn't know what he's talking a-boot, right? Well... before you go there, listen up. Format doesn't matter, friends. We're mastering our first album in nearly ten years - a work fully four years in the making. If we got all concerned about formats, it would probably take us another four years. (Not sure this mill will be standing then.) And whether it be wire, wax, or some other widget, we're preparing these fifteen songs for release, come hell or high water. And those of you familiar with the recording process know, this is the point in every project where you discover how far from finished you truly are. For instance, I'm having Marvin (my personal robot assistant) add a last-minute saxophone part to one song that... well... that just needed something. Something like a robot playing a saxophone. (Always helps. Just ask Captured by Robots.)

Speaking of robots playing saxophones, I hear that plucky Mars rover is still exploring major craters on the red planet. Pretty stubborn little critter. I always taunt Marvin with "Opportunity's" record on the Martian surface - a foreboding place if ever there was one, take it from me. Anyway, Marvin's a little sensitive about my rover-based teasing, because his brass skin is susceptible to the peculiar conditions of the Martian atmosphere. In fact, the last time we were there, we spent nearly as much time buffing the corrosion out of Marvin's skin as we did setting up and tearing down from the gigs we played on Mount Olympus (tallest known peak in the solar system). Check it out, the rover "Spirit" has been on the planet for fully 1,290 Martian days. We were just barely there for two. What do you say to that, Marvin? Huh?

Bone mean, you say? Fuck, no. I'm just trying to get a good performance out of him. Sure, he barely knows how to hold a saxophone, but that has never stopped us before. No, Marvin. Swinging the saxophone at me won't help. Mars Rover never had to attack its master!