Stuff and ... stuff.
What the fudge. Mother of pearl. Is that the phone again? Take it off the hook - I'm busy, damn it. Busy as John Henry.
What am I doing? Working on our new album, Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick. A decidedly low-tech collection, recorded in the clammy basement of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill hear in soggy upstate New York, hammered out with great care and aplomb, dropped out of a three story window, and tied in a bow for your enjoyment. We hope you will be pleased, most pleased. Or at least, not angry, like our landlord, who is demanding all of the proceeds from our album sales in return for 47 months of back rent. (Turns out someone owns this dump after all. Who knew?)
Anyroad, yes, yes, I'm working on a CD package for the limited run we will be burning, mostly for giveaways. Cowboy Scat is going to begin life as a digital release, for the most part. We'll send a copy to Nashville, one to Texas, one to Wyoming, and a few more of those big, square states out there. The drier the better. We may even send you a copy, one one condition: Don't Tell Rick!
Yeah, Cousin Rick might be sore when he hears these songs. Can't blame us. We merely culled them from the score of a musical whose libretto was lost on Lake Tahoe in the 1970s and never recovered. A musical that somehow predicted the meteoric presidential ambitions of a man barely out of short pants by that time. A truly prophetic work! Had it lived....
So, why am I doing the album art .... again ... after such a mediocre performance on our previous albums? Simple answer: we are cheapskates. Why the hell else would we be squatting in this abandoned mill for the past ten years plus?
And as they say, it's the stingy man who pays the most. So ... back to my payment plan. Keep those cards and letter coming.
What am I doing? Working on our new album, Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick. A decidedly low-tech collection, recorded in the clammy basement of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill hear in soggy upstate New York, hammered out with great care and aplomb, dropped out of a three story window, and tied in a bow for your enjoyment. We hope you will be pleased, most pleased. Or at least, not angry, like our landlord, who is demanding all of the proceeds from our album sales in return for 47 months of back rent. (Turns out someone owns this dump after all. Who knew?)
Anyroad, yes, yes, I'm working on a CD package for the limited run we will be burning, mostly for giveaways. Cowboy Scat is going to begin life as a digital release, for the most part. We'll send a copy to Nashville, one to Texas, one to Wyoming, and a few more of those big, square states out there. The drier the better. We may even send you a copy, one one condition: Don't Tell Rick!
Yeah, Cousin Rick might be sore when he hears these songs. Can't blame us. We merely culled them from the score of a musical whose libretto was lost on Lake Tahoe in the 1970s and never recovered. A musical that somehow predicted the meteoric presidential ambitions of a man barely out of short pants by that time. A truly prophetic work! Had it lived....
So, why am I doing the album art .... again ... after such a mediocre performance on our previous albums? Simple answer: we are cheapskates. Why the hell else would we be squatting in this abandoned mill for the past ten years plus?
And as they say, it's the stingy man who pays the most. So ... back to my payment plan. Keep those cards and letter coming.
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