RPM update

The album is finshed, being recorded at least. Just touched up a few guitar parts on the last song 'Krim: The Sound of Kali" which I wrote imrov by request from good friend Karen Slafter. It's 9 minutes long, and other than the minor tweaks was written and remains as is.

Now to mix it down and create some artwork. Thinking of calling it 'Leap of Faith.' Just a fitting phase that popped into my head yesterday. Now to call the first song that or be really melodramatic and title it "Leap of Faith: Symphony in D Standard." It's my album, so fuck you I'll do what I want. Heh!

Mixdown should be quick. I've already been remixing these songs the last 2 weeks and know where I want to go with them.

Yeah. Feeling now a bit more like myself after running myself into the ground trying to finish it amongst a full multiple band schedule. The aforemention-in-this-blog neglect of eating properly caught up with me big time Sunday afternoon.

ETB played a double previous night. Stomach wonky most of afternoon, half a bowl of cereal before tracking drums. Went straight from Music Lab to pick up Triniti from work at Tattoo 23. She stopped me outside the van, gave me a grave look and said, "Are you OK? Your color is really weird."

So we went postehaste to Threadgill's for a big meatloaf dinner for me. Was feeling malnourished at that point. My musician's hunter/gatherer metabolism can keep me running on fumes for only so long before I can feel my body start to devour itself.

Then tracked bass for4 hours before ETB Monday residency last night. Needless to say I spent most of today in a zombie state until finally making a grocery run later in the afternoon. Cooked myself a big hamburger for the protein and starting to feel myself again for the first time in many days.

All in all, I feel I made a really good and worthwhile album. And it ain't done yet.

Back to work.

Here's a little story....

About a hard-working band who was burned out and tired from a residency gig on 6th Street and who hadn't even had time to recover from the 6-hour double they played 2 nights earlier.

It's the end of the night. The van (let's call it 'Boss Hoss') is parked outside with hazards blinking, back open awaiting gear. The bass player is outside smoking a ciggie when a gaggle of about 8 drunk younger douchebags approaches from the East. Their nationality is irrelevant, as douchebaggery is a plague affecting all of mankind equally.

So this gaggle of douches take note of our van (they are walking up a street that is not blocked off as it is on weekends) get all pumped, and some of them start sitting in the back while the others laughed and took phone pics. I was dumbstruck. And slightly amused. I got Eric's attention inside the bar, and him and Rob come out. Rob immediately takes control of the situation and goes into bartender-at-the-end-of-the-night mode: "We are working musicians. That van is part of our livelihood. You are fucking with our livelihood. So GET THE FUCK OUT OF OUR VAN."

This disperses the gaggle with some protest, who pass us on the sidewalk and continue West towards Congress Ave. Rob and Eric went back inside after we made damn sure they kept walking by the do-not-even-consider-fucking-with-us-right-now looks on our faces. As they neared the corner, they started taunting me saying, "Oh, you're fucking with our LIVELIHOOD!" To which I gave them the finger and started walking towards them. They continued on, some douches pretending to break off from the gaggle and other douches pretending to restrain them.

Probation be damned. Had one of those assholes actually broken off from the pack and attempted to be in my face he would have been laid out before getting the chance. Principles. Maybe pride.

If those worthless fucks had ANY idea how much I, as well as Rob and Eric, have sacrificed in life to play music full time, they would have (hopefully) thrown a few bucks into the tip jar and maybe bought a CD. Instead they gave us a bunch of shit for trespassing into our private property and being respectfully yet forcefully told to leave.

Fucking people, man.

And it gets better. So after they start haranguing me from the corner about "fucking with our LIVELIHOOD" I gave them the finger and got Eric's attention and informed him of their particular taunts. His blood immediately boiled, and we both started walking towards them to see if they were up for a little "talk."

But it gets even better from there. No sooner had we left the bar that suddenly there were three transient musicians who just happened to be walking the same direction at the same speed at the same time. So they started talking to us as we pursued the douchegaggle. Turns out they were at another venue and took a bunch of acid, and were tripping quite hard. Were talking about Jimi Hendrix Experience and being experienced. By now Eric and I were laughing. This was fucking awesome and had to be, well, EXPERIENCED to be believed.

So Eric, myself and the hippies got to the corner of Brazos. Douchegaggle still far ahead and hadn't stopped walking. Still yelling and taunting. Pussies. I yelled "FUCK YOU" at the top of my lungs at them. To which one of the now-departing hippies spun and yelled to no one in particular, "Fuck YOU bro!"

Fuck YOU, bro? I am laughing so hard I can barely type. Holy shit. What starts off as a near rumble turns into another awesome catch-phrase and inside joke to add to the ETB repertoire. Eric and I were in tears on the drive home. Fuck YOU bro!

Just wow. Sometimes my life can be pretty fucking awesome. That's why I keep this blog.

RPM update coming soon.