Stir it up.

Hmmmm. Play that one back again. Yep, yep. Yep. Uh.... nope. Can't hear it. Try it again. Try tweaking up the fenstenmacher towards the end, there. Okay, okay...


Oh, hi. (No, not Ojai, California. "Oh.... hi....") Forgive me for not responding to your presence sooner. I was deep in post-production land, here in the bowels of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill wherein we have made our home (albeit somewhat tentatively). Yes, we are putting those last few finishing touches on Big Green's long-awaited sophomore album - truly a labor of love, my friends. (Yes, love... and great hatred. We've been toiling on this sucker for almost five years, and I for one can hardly wait to set it loose into the wild.) A subtle and arcane process it is, for sure. What... you've never looked in on a Big Green post production session? My god, man... look in, then, look in. Let me be your guide, your interpreter, your local connection, your book-keeper, your rent-a-juggler, your basketball inflator, your....


Okay, I've wandered a bit. Sorry. Grueling work, this post production business, especially when you have to do it in a drafty old mill like this, flanked by a needy man-sized tuber, a couple of cranky Lincolns, a wayward planetoid without a solar system, and a lunatic robot. Yes, Marvin (my personal robot assistant) still has his issues, but we've pretty much decided to give him his space. (No more banjos in the blender, though. It makes the smoothies taste weird.) After all, this old barn of a place is plenty big enough for a person (or a robot) to go as mad as he/she likes, just so long as he/she doesn't hurt anybody, or him/herself. Got that, kids? And remember - be free. Okay, everybody got a paddle ball? Good. Start paddling on three... one ... two ... THREE! Good, Jimmy! That's the ticket. VERY good!


Ahem. Where was I? Oh, yeah. There's another distraction, kind of related to the Marvin crazy-man thing. As you may remember from a couple of weeks ago (go back and check, I don't know for sure), Marvin took it into his little tin head to sign over our squatting rights (such as they are) to the kind and generous folks at our current corporate label, Loathsome Prick Records. As Matt was quick to point out (with a flaming poker, no less), this transaction may tend to give our paymasters a little more leverage over us than some might consider either fair or appropriate. Not that they would necessarily press their advantage, but... necessity has very little to do with it. And just yesterday, in the middle of a mastering session, the playback was drowned out by the sound of a band saw. No, it wasn't a last-minute avant garde solo thrown into the middle of Do It (Every Time). It was a bunch of workmen hired by Loathsome Prick to rip a new entrance in the courtyard wall. Which just happens to be one of the walls enclosing our makeshift studio. Which just happens to be where I'm standing right now.


So, I don't know.... what would YOU do if your record label sawed a great big hole in YOUR mastering session? Would you stomp around and curse their bones? Would you pick up a paddle ball? Drop us a line and let us know. (And if any of you know what a Fenstenmacher is, add that to your little message.)


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