DAY 22 You single-chambered revolvers,

DAY 22

You single-chambered revolvers,
It’s Monday, but this is the music world. That means that instead of coming out of the bullpen with sleep in our eyes, our limbs half-numb from a weekend of hibernation and recovery, and determining that a bunt is the only reasonable way to meet the workweek’s opening pitch — instead of doing, in other words, what the rest of you did today, we decided to step up to the plate and swing. GodDAMN it went well!
Rob was in rare form, which he managed, paradoxically, by acting normal. Here he is a couple of hours into the afternoon, a few seconds after his third or fourth wind deserted him:



Okay, Rob just saw us creating this post and requested that no more pictures of him drunk ‘n’ passed out appear on this website, or at the very least on today’s post. We explained to him that for reasons of osmosis, his wish is unlikely to be granted: there are only a couple hundred pictures of Rob passed out drunk on the internet right now, but there are thousands, thousands, on our computer. Those pictures are bound to find their way from this cramped harddrive into the spacious fields of the world wide web. Nevertheless, a promise was made, and we will of course abide by it.
Here is a picture taken at the studio about an hour after the last one, but this is maybe some other guy :



We’ve never formally introduced Ariel Rechtshaid, our producer, to you guys, so we’d like to do that now in the form of a short but comprehensive pictorial montage:




Ariel’s showing you his favorite column from Big Black Butt magazine there: “Ms. Powerbosom BUTTS IN”. Here’s a good quote: “Those of you who follow my adventures monthly know that my hearty appetite for sex has gotten me into quite a few interesting situations. [paragraph break] Last night, I was hungry and ordered a pizza.” Needless to say, shit gets CRAZY from there. Fast-forward a couple of paragraphs: “I opened my eyes to find the window washer in my room, kneeling between my legs.” And from there, you must believe that shit just gets absolutely crazy.
Okay, sorry for that tangent. Seriously, we’re a bit fascinated by Big Black Butt right now. It’s pretty amazing. But we totally realize that it has nothing to do with the new We Are Scientists album, which is what we’re supposed to be dishing about here, so, y’know, sorry. Let’s get back to the important stuff.






Tomorrow: amps and guitar tone! As addressed covertly in the pages of Big Black Butt!

Russia Sees Straight to the Heart of Us

We Are Scientists is in every sense of the word an international band. We all speak dozens of languages, we’re of varying nationalities — Texan, Utahn, Floridian — and we enjoy both Indian and Italian food. But there is also the fact that we are heralded by critics of every nation, and so the surprise factor was zero when we learned the other day that another Russian music website had tossed in their two cents. What was quite surprising, though, was the accuracy and �lan with which this particular reviewer captured in a cage of words the delicate, flitting farfalla of our aesthetic (the Schmetterling of our steez, if you prefer). Please take a look:


http://musicreporters.ru/articles/1103276283-2.html


For those of you who don’t speak the Russian, we’ve commissioned AltaVista’s tranlsation feature to do a version of the review in English. The precision of that software allowed both the spirit and letter of the original Russian to be rendered perfectly into our native tongue.

Nowhere, probably got accustomed pank- fate as good as by heat the climate of South California. True, among a countless quantity of local associations, good fall, directly let us say, sufficiently rarely. We Are Scientists, fortunately from similar. Rare. Maykl Of tepper (impact), Chinese Murray (guitar, vokal), Kris Of geyn (bass) play “brainy” priest -pank, almost most catching from times Buzzcocks. In my understanding, the group by both feet got in into the category “it-is-so-good-4-not-to-understanding-what-horseradish-they-are-not-still-famous”. Possibly, competition is high. In any event, in WAS it is still in front. In the active membership in them thus far only two by its own hands released YER In action and Wolf’.s Hour, and at the given moment continue negotiations with different interested parties, which must according to the idea pour out in obtaining of babla on the record of album.

Michael reviews HEARTBREAK

I would wish it on my worst enemy.

DAYS 14-20 You expanding polar

DAYS 14-20

You expanding polar ice caps,
The recording of the guitars has begun, and sweet merciful mephistopheles is it ever going well. After hours and hours of tinkering with the set up, we’ve hit on a simple, elegant way of getting gorgeous guitar and bass sounds.



Guys, this album is going to sound amazing! But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You, the uninformed, are desperate for details, so let’s back up a bit and make with the play by play.
On Saturday Keith and Chris got the hell out of NYC like a couple of majorly sane dudes. As they threw — literally threw, as hard as they could — their guitars into the back of a cab in the popular Brooklyn neighborhood known affectionately to locals as Williamsburgle, The Confetti That Requires No Clean Up began falling. Two hours later, they managed to tear away from tiny seat-back televisions long enough to wink at the blizzard-engulfed runway with a camera.



Pity darkened Keith’s face while disdain flashed briefly across Chris’s, then the two returned to the second Predator film, the one starring Danny Glover, Maria Conchita Alonso, Bill Paxton, Gary Busey, Meryl Streep, Christian Slater, River Phoenix, and Stephen Colbert.



The little red line didn’t have to crawl far across Mapquest-sponsored America before views improved. And of course by Saturday late afternoon We Are Scientists’ premier only two guitarists were neck deep in LA sunjuice.



Studio work began on Monday, and there was great excitement when we arrived to find that Mr. Rob Brill, who had done such excellent work with our drums during week one, would be working the boards to match our Ultimate Drum Sound with an Ultimate Bass Sound. Rob got right to work.




No but seriously, after a couple hours of tinkering with amps and pre-amps and after-amp effects and cables in a variety of colors, we hit upon a terrific bass sound and laid down a few miles of track.





With Ariel, Rob, Lewis, and Chris’s fingers — the fingers of a working pickpocket — aligned in cause, we skated through the bass with few setbacks. Now it’s Saturday and guitar tracking has begun after two days of messing with amps and EQ. So many amps. Maybe on Monday we’ll bring you a photo expos

Bubba Da Cat, Claire Lynn, Tim, Carrie, Dresden, Vicky, Steph, Patrick McKernan

name: Bubba Da Cat
query: I’ve been without a womanly companion for many months now. I’m 19 and I’m going to go back to school soon, but I’d love some tips from you guys on how to “woo” the women. Any help is appreciated.
From me to you,
Bubba Da Cat

Bubba D.C.,
The most important thing for attracting women is saying the right thing during conversation:

  • “Hello am I Bubba.”

  • “Do you mind if I order for you? I certainly prefer it.”
  • “I want to be fucked by you, like an animal; I want to feel you on my insides.”
  • “You’re an old soul, [girl’s name]-Mae.”
  • “Can you keep a secret? It’s about an illegal violent crime.”

Those are all great places to start. Rule #2: Just be yourself!
—————
name: Claire Lynn
query: Hey, WAS. Here’s my question. It’s a doozie, so brace yourselves. If you were invisible for one day (that’s 24 hours, mind you), what would YOU do? I’m simply stumped, personally.
Hey, Claire Lynn. Unfortunately we didn’t take your warning very seriously, and so we didn’t brace ourselves, and that question very nearly knocked us off of the ladder and into the fireplace. Thank jesus it didn’t. It’s not a working fireplace, this being New York City and fire codes being what they are, but we still light fires in there all the time and there was a near-bonfire tumbling around in there like a load of laundry in the dryer, except the clothes were pure flame. So again, thank sweet bellowing christ that your question didn’t send us flying right off the damn ladder like a stuntman yanked by a cord, as it very almost did.
Hey so what’s your question? Invisible for a day? Hmm…. Well, I think we would definitely go to the nearest river and catch fish with our bare hands, which would be easy if you were invisible because the fish would never even suspect danger and then *POP* — they’re being rended by your mighty jaws, your two-inch teeth exploring their most private physical terrain. They’re lunch. Probably sell the extra fish we couldn’t eat at Fulton market and make a fucking killing, live like kings the rest of our lives.
—————
name: tim
query: you all suk cock, especially the dustin guy. u make me sick, go drink some egg nog bell tend
Tim: Of course Dustin sucks cock, friend — that’s the reason he’s in the band! Why, if he didn’t suck cock, what the hell use would he be? Can’t sing, can’t play an instrument … CAN suck a mean cock! Thank god for it! Sometimes it’s exactly what you need after a long day on the road, your cock sucked. Sometimes that’s what you need more than a good meal or a good night’s rest or some Emergen-C, is your cock sucked by Dustin, that guy in our band.
—————
name: Carrie
query: Right. I’ve been pondering something: why do people say “Happy Holidays” but still show a picture of Santa? I’m just not convinced that Santa is also wishing people a Happy Hanukkah. If one is going to write a holiday-themed message in front of a picture of Father Christmas himself, wouldn’t it be more appropriate to say “Merry Christmas”? Trying to make a religiously neutral statement with a picture of St. Nicholas seems counter-productive. What can be done about this?
Carrie,
That’s not Santa on the card, it’s notorious screen curmudgeon Wilford Brimley.
—————
name: Dresden
query: This is kind of a three part question…
Have you guys ever heard of a band called ‘Gatsby’s American Dream’ ? If so, what do you think? What are some bands that the good ol’ scientists like? AND…I live in WA. Will you guys ever play a show in Seattle, or around? I’d like to see you guys in concert. As well as throw my money at you, in exchange for a t-shirt and CD(s). Thanks!

Dresden,
Never heard of GAD, but we’ll keep our eyes open. A couple of randomly selected bands that we’ve been spinning on our matching U2 iPods lately are Dirty Little Secret, The Blood Arm, Ram it Home, and Foreign Born. And yes, we’ll undoubtedly play Seattle at some point this Spring. Here’s a joke about Seattle:

Why does it rain so much in Seattle? Because birds love to pee on Seattle. That’s not rain it’s bird pee. Every day thousands of birds fly over Seattle at great altitude and they loose their bladders all over “fair” Seattle.

Our grandma used to love to tell us that one when we were little and she was drunk. That’s right, the three members of We Are Scientists have the same grandma, at least for the sake of Official Myth. For the sake of Official Myth, we are all sexually potent as well, all three of us.
—————
name: vicky
query: Hi-
i recently purchased a male pygmy goat, because the pet store was out of kittens, and i was wondering if it would be safe to keep him with my small pen of male rabbits. they really tear at the pen door when the goat gets close, i think they just really want a new roomie. isn’t that just adorable?

Vicky,
Stop right where you are. DON’T: put that pygmy goat in with them rabbies. Them rabbies, let us assure you, want more than a new roommate. Them rabbies want to take the pygmy goat’s male goathood away from him, to sever it from his undercarriage with their satanic teeth, speaking technically. Then they will run around laughing their horrible silent laughter and smearing themselves with that goat’s vitality. Look, rabbies are among the most jealous, mean-spirited, cuddly creatures in god’s whole nutty kingdom, and the best thing for you to do — if you even have a shotgun — is to go out back in the garden and gun them rabbies all over their cage.
—————
name: Steph
query: There’s this band I really like, and I want to buy one of their extremely cool t-shirts, but the only color available is really ugly. Should I buy the shirt anyway, or wait and hope they eventually come to their senses and make more attractive shirts?
Steph,
Fuck it — if they’ve got no taste, don’t reward them! Just get one of our shirts, they’re pretty cool: Merch page.
—————
name: patrick mckernan
query: know any 13 year old girls who need a boyfriend please
HELP!!!!! im very desprate

Dude,
These 13 year old girls — if we knew them, they wouldn’t need a boyfriend! See what we’re saying!

Chris reviews NEW YORK CITY’S WEATHER

Holy sweet narcoleptic jesus, what the sonofabitching fuck is going on here? We’ve returned from recording to find that the temperature in New York is literally 50 DEGREES LOWER than in LA.
IQ quiz, first question: These two major cities have a temperature difference of 50 fucking degrees. Answer: Um, Baghdad and Camp Shackleton, Antarctica? Wrong!
As I shuffled down the sidewalk today, I heard a guy bluster to his friend, apropos of the cold: “It actually doesn’t bother me. I actually find it invigorating.” That’s a lie. This weather is deadly. This weather is invigorating if you’re a seal, not if you’re a man. If you’re a man, this weather is the grim reaper’s icy breath, and you know it.
Thermometers fear this weather. Here is a graphical representation of what the weather is doing to thermometers:

Small dogs don’t freeze in this weather, they explode. You come in from a ten minute walk to find that your body is full of blood-flavored slurpee. Meteors that have just had 80% of their mass burned off squeezing through earth’s atmosphere land cold to the touch. In this weather, the most ardent, anguished, burning love turns into a small bowling ball.

DAYS 4-6 You Blind Filmgoers,

DAYS 4-6

You Blind Filmgoers,
Day 4 saw the number of band members doing absolutely nothing skyrocket from two to a one-week high of three (out of three!). Since Michael got all his drums done in the first three days, this day consisted of Top Gun Drum Engineer Rob Brill and Producer Ariel Rechtshaid editing and cleaning up tracks, loading everything off the studio’s computers, etc., while the gentlemen of We Are Scientists concentrated on breathing 70 degree air and sitting up straight. Here’s a shot of Michael passing the time while Rob toils away in earnest:


Actually, we did accomplish something on Day 4

DAY 3 You Pleasant Dirtbags:

DAY 3

You Pleasant Dirtbags:
Michael nailed song after song after song over the last 48 hours, and at 6:29 p.m. on this, the third day of recording, all the drum tracks are in the basket. “In the basket”, by the way, is a music industry term that means, basically, the stuff is now inside the basket. Still not clear? This pictorial essay should explain everything:


Michael does his thing, which all the pictures and words in the world couldn’t explain to you. Best for you to think of it as magic. As you can see, there were many mics on the guy; all told, 126 mics. Yep, 126 mics. No, you credulous idiot! But seriously, there were 17 mics on the guy, which if you think about it is a lot of mics. You, for instance, will never have more than one mic recording anything you do, maybe. But history cares quite a lot about what’s going on in that sound room when Michael’s rapping out his rhythms, and so the government has asked that we have at least 17 mics recording everything he does.

Rob Brill, Master of Drums, sits next to the highly nuanced, incredibly sensitive, massively articulate, infinitely scalable mega-soundboard that mixes all those mics, and puts his feet up on it.


Producer Ariel takes a five and a half hour time-out on the couch with Rob’s birthday champagne.

The whole gang. From right: Chris, Michael, Ariel, Rob, and, on the far left, some random dude who wandered in from the parking lot and started drinking Rob’s birthday whisky (Johnny Walker Black). And since there was a big swath of bare wall in the picture, you’ve also got Lewis’s head up there peering down on us benevolently, wondering where’s his whisky.


Speaking of Lewis, he continues to kick the ass of all comers. One of the best games to play with Lewis is to take him up to the top of the stairs and set him down and then return to the bottom of the stairs and crouch down and wiggle your fingers around on the lip of one of the lower stairs like a pack of small crazy worms here to threaten Lewis’s territory. Lewis responds with maximum brio: he launches himself down the stairs at a speed three times too fast to be safe, knowing that the mad invading worms can’t possibly deal with such a high-speed assault, not one brought to the table by a little tiny cat. In conclusion: Lewis is going to be a tremendous addition to our nation’s military.

DAY 1 You Lemon-Flavored Canaries:

DAY 1

You Lemon-Flavored Canaries:
Today begins one month of recording on our new, yet to be named, yet to be declared “monumental” full-length record. How many songs will it boast? Which will they be? Will the sound be ‘raw ‘n’ ragged’ or ‘polished ‘n’ drained of life’? Even these things are not yet known. We intend to keep you up to date on them and many other often totally irrelevant pieces of information as they develop over the next thirty or so days, in what will surely be an unprecedented level of activity on this, the freqently ignored, typically disdained News section.
So you’ve just learned — if you were paying any attention at all to the words and their order and, in turn, their meanings — that today is the first day of recording. But what, you are right to ask, the hell was yesterday and the day before that and so on going back five days or so? Your instinct for a story is uncanny. We were doing “pre-production”, which ostensibly involves solidifying arrangements and deciding tempos, but which actually amounted to little more than this:



That’s Producer Ariel Rechtshaid there on the left with Baloo, dog and jedi. On the right, Keith eases into his third straight hour of watching Spats and her 5 tiny kittens lie there and sometimes worm around a little. We also recorded some scratch tracks and stuff, but that doesn’t make for very good pictures — animals do. People want to see animals; as long as the We Are Scientists are in charge of this page, that’s exactly what you’re going to see.
Okay so then, yesterday (Monday) night we flew into Long Beach, and went directly to W.A.S. patron saint Greg Fishbein’s house in West LA, where we’re staying while we’re out here, and guess what, there was an animal at Greg’s. It was this guy, Lewis:



What a little hero Lewis is, and what towering rages he visits on the apartment, like a squirrel possessed by Dionysus. Lewis is made of elastic. Anticipate regular Lewis updates here for the next month.
And today we hit the studio to begin a week of drum tracking. To all you poor bastards who don’t live in LA, eat your goddamn hearts out cuz this is the weather we’ve been presented with:




That first shot’s Sonora, the studio where we weave the magical music capes. Then there’s Michael Tapper pondering the LA river, which is quite a sight to see right now for Los Angelinos, who have seen water in the ocean and in bottles but never splashing all over the land like this. The volumetric abomination has been caused by many weeks of unceasing rain here in LA, a series of highly-uncharacteristic tempests that ended hours after we arrived at the airport last night. For this, LA owes us and they know it. Everywhere we go people are recognizing us and saying thanks. We’re just like, “No big deal: it benefits us, too.”
No pix of recording today, no lusty equipment shots; there’ll be plenty of that in the days to come. Just to give you an idea of what Sonora’s innards look like, though, here’s a shot of Chris in the bathroom posing with a neon cactus:



So you see, there’s a neon cactus in the bathroom, which augurs very well for this recording.

Chris reviews A SMALL SIGN HE SAW AT THE REGISTEROF THE DELI A BLOCK AWAY FROM KEITH’S HOUSE (HERE REPRODUCED USING COMPUTERS)

Wheedling and disingenuous. Passive aggressive. Just say “NO CREDIT that’s all”.