Harder Done Than Said
The consensus goes as such: Saturday night’s alright for fighting. Unfortunately for me and Chuck, our jaws are made of glass. So instead we decided to fight the air with sound waves and capture the resulting carnage.
The evening started innocently enough as we gathered various objects around the house. Glasses, sticks, guitars, amplifiers, a tambourine, an umbrella, vocal chords, microphones and something I like to call the Tinkler. The idea was simple: could we let the music write itself? Could the air and atmosphere of an evening become musical?
I was hesitant to try. I was afraid. So I stared into the hauntingly beautiful blue eyes of my bearded musical cohort until it became clear that there was no way out. We were going to do this thing, and do this thing we did.
5 hours after Chuck began stomping the 4/4 on the hardwood floor, our tracks were laid. The living room was a mess, there was sweat pouring into my open wounds and at the bottom of the staircase lay a puddle of wires and electronic detritus. The house smelled of victory. It was complete.
That same evening we laid the groundwork for a new song entitled “Immune” which should be dropped into the infinite ocean of the internet like an under-sized lobster in Cape Breton within the next couple of weeks.
