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.