After I left the Uxi Duxi at about 9:15 PM, it started to rain as I walked down Canal Street towards Carollton.
By the time I got to Carollton, it was raining hard enough so that I "ducked" into the Walgreen's, where I bought a can of cat food, and tapped into what I had left of the 41 dollar Friday night, for a $7.48 pack of American Spirit cigarettes.
What I had left was...41 dollars
-minus:
$1.19 coffee at Quartermaster
.72 cat food at Quartermaster
$5.00 bud of weed from David the Water Jug Player
$3.00 all day bus pass, good until 4:32 AM, Sunday morning
$6.00 double shot of green bali kratom
= $16.28
After buying the cigarettes, I went back home to grab my stuff with only about 10 bucks left in my pocket.
It had stopped raining long enough for me to pack up my gear and go out to the trolley stop, where the rain started back up.
I had just missed the 10:20 PM, and told myself; as I waited in front of the closed down church across the street, that if it stopped raining by the time the next trolley came by, I would get on it and go out to busk.
There is just enough of an overhang above the big door, main entrance of the church (where the pastor would stand, greeting and shaking the hands of the flock) to keep me dry. It rained hard enough to cause huge puddles to form along the edges of Canal Street. These are used by black people in cars to splash white people who might be trundling along the sidewalk. Not all black people; just about 78% of them; the other 22% are pretty decent people.
Then, I noticed that the huge main entrance doors to the church had been secured with a padlock and a chain; the kind of chain that can be snipped through with a decent set of bolt cutters. "They don't even have to be the long handled kind," a guy who has had a few bikes stolen from him told me, on the subject of chains. His advice had been to get a "U-bolt" style lock, should I get another bike.
I tested the big doors by pulling on them. They yielded enough to inform me that, once the chain has been cut off, they should swing open. If I were to cut the chain, then the padlock would still be useful to whomever holds the key, and that person could just re-lock the place, after having determined that the crucifix hadn't been stolen, and the only evidence of an intruder was that one of the holy water dispensers had been used for an ashtray, and there was a guitar pick laying on the floor in front of the statue of saint Francis. He could re-lock it with a U-bolt style lock, I would recommend...
The place would negate the need for me to apply any "church" reverberation settings to the music I record there, and the kicker would be that I would be recording my CD in the church where Louis Armstrong was married; how cool is that?
Once inside, I would have to find an alternate way in and out; a trap door leading to a crawl space, or something. Of course, whomever the caretaker is, might carefully inspect the place for any such breeches, so I'll have to ponder further before spending 30 bucks on a set of bolt cutters...
Maybe it would suffice to record in the defunct rectory behind the church where Louis Armstrong was married.
Someone doctored the sign at the front door, which states that the church is closed, to read "asses are now being held at St. Anthony's (church up the street)"I have talked to my caseworker about seeing if I can go up into the bell tower (left) for therapeutic reasons, but the property is overseen by agencies other than those who run our apartment building
Lost In The Mail?
My mom, upon reading in yesterday's post that I was concerned about her, having not heard from her on my annual birthday, called to say that she had sent a birthday card (with some money in it) which should have arrived on my big day, as well as another letter, a couple weeks earlier.
All I can think of is that the post office, in this age of terrorism, has some kind of sophisticated x-ray type machine that can spot anthrax powder and other mail-able weapons, as well as U.S. currency, and that one of the all African American postal workers stole the money, and probably threw the card in the trash.
Another possibility is that, due to the threat of hurricane Nate, that never materialized, they may have shut the entire operation down, blockaded the doors with sandbags, and then taken a whole week or more off.
The letters should either arrive here, or be sent back to her.
I suppose having a Caucasian sounding name on the return address might have led the black postal workers to believe that they had every right to the contents of the envelope.
My Mom, LaMarion
Next time, use the name LaMarion Washington in the return address spot, mom.
This is just another case where I need to be patient, not jump to any conclusions, and let due process run its course. To go with all the other cases...
Going out and making some money tonight would help.
I could ask other residents if they've had to wait 2 weeks to get a letter mailed cross country before, or ask a postal worker if this is ever the case in New Orleans. I do know that a letter from my mom beat a letter mailed from about a mile away to my mailbox, a couple years ago, by a couple days.
Move Over, Donald Fagan
I stayed up all night, recording music.
I have made great strides in the recording and mixing of an acoustic guitar. One must attenuate the bass notes, in order to give it that "bright" sound featured on professional recordings. I think acoustic guitars are designed to maximize the bass end, as this makes them sound "better" to most ears. A cheap guitar just sounds "thin." But, when it comes to mixing it with other instruments, the tinniness can cut through the mix.
Care must also be taken to subdue the "attack" of the thing, because the pick hitting the strings produces its own, not necessarily musical, sound.
One good practice is to put on a recording of, say, Steely Dan, and then switch back and forth between that, and your own recording (making sure they are the same volume, because the louder one will always sound better, a trick that salesman might use to try to sell more expensive speakers to someone). This can allow you to make basic, wide-sweeping, adjustments, as your stuff will sound blatantly muddier or tinnier by comparison.
But, I am satisfied with the recorded quality that I have been able to produce. I have an arrangement of effects that I run through, with them all preset to give me what will be "my" sound. Some of them, I took a whole evening of experimentation to arrive at.
Like; do you put an echo first, and then reverberation, or the other way around?
In the latter case, the echo will repeat the note, but also repeat the reverberation that trails the note, so then you have echoes of reverberation, rather than reverberation of echoes...there's a subtle difference...
The stuff that you hear on the radio has been super compressed, so I haven't been shy about using the "compressor" effect that comes with audacity. It basically aims, to whatever degree you set as a reference, to make every sound on the recording the same level. This means that you can, for example, set the vocals at a point where one syllable sung a bit softer than the rest of the line, won't be drowned out by a note that the bass player happened to thump a bit harder at that instant.
One of the things that vexes me, though, is that when I listen to an Elvis Costello recording (and he is a master arranger) I can't pick out the words he is singing, unless I already know them in advance.
This is apparently done so that everything on the recording can be heard, from the ride cymbal to the violin, without his voice drowning them out. It would be like listening to a Mozart symphony where one oboe is carrying the melody, but is the same volume as the rest of the woodwinds.
On a lot of my songs, the lyrics are the most important part, and so I will need to go to school on recordings like "The Streak," by Ray Stevens, or "Hot Rod Lincoln," by Commander Cody as; what would those two songs be worth if you couldn't make out the words?
One of my favorite Elvis Costello songs, "Church Underground," has a line in it that I couldn't make out from the official release version, no matter how many times I listened to it, or how much I slowed it down.
I thought it said "I'll be damned or burger to the ground," but, after digging up as many versions of it as I could find, I heard one where it was clear that he sings: "...or purgatory bound," which makes sense, because the title is "Church Underground," and Elvis is a master of weaving many references and metaphors and double entendres for the titles of his songs into the lyrics.
"...It's enough to put a church underground."Hey, it's 9:25 PM, on this Sunday night.
Old, Soft, Lazy And Set In My Ways
I didn't go play outside the Superdome as the Saints played today; as I had told myself I would do, while deciding to go back inside and record music, as it had still been raining when the trolley came the night before, as I stood there, contemplating breaking into a church.
Being up all night recording, and only falling asleep after the sun came up, made the idea of walking almost a mile to the stadium to set up and play (on just 4 hours of sleep) unappealing.
I guess I'm getting a bit soft in my old age of 55.
It's also that, playing outside the Superdome, had always been about running to the big Rouses Market to spend some of the money that I made off the people coming in, on a quality quart of beer or two, maybe a double bock, which I would then sip while listening to the game on the radio, getting a good buzz to propel me through the 25 minutes or so of madness, as the people evacuated after the game.
...Speaking of breaking into places...I guess the good that has come of the latest situation is that, I am reminded that my mother checks this blog, and I might use this as an opportunity to slant it more towards something that she may enjoy reading, rather than making it a personal letter to a pen pal named Alex In California, which it had been in danger of becoming.
"Music Only A Mother Could Love" might be the latest "working title" for my CD, too.
Having decided to center it around the theme of composing for 12 (I think it will be) unique individuals, rather than feel like the whole disc will be scrutinized by any one person, there will most likely be a song "dedicated" to Alex In California.
Maybe I can get Tanya Huang to play the fiddle on "Hot Rod Lincoln," in that regard...
"Blue Bayou," by Roy Orbison/Linda Ronstadt will be to mom, with love.
 |
| What does kratom do for me? Well, for instance, there was | no spotlight above me in this photo! |
What I had left was...41 dollars
-minus:
$1.19 coffee at Quartermaster
.72 cat food at Quartermaster
$5.00 bud of weed from David the Water Jug Player
$3.00 all day bus pass, good until 4:32 AM, Sunday morning
$6.00 double shot of green bali kratom
= $16.28
After buying the cigarettes, I went back home to grab my stuff with only about 10 bucks left in my pocket.
It had stopped raining long enough for me to pack up my gear and go out to the trolley stop, where the rain started back up.
I had just missed the 10:20 PM, and told myself; as I waited in front of the closed down church across the street, that if it stopped raining by the time the next trolley came by, I would get on it and go out to busk.
There is just enough of an overhang above the big door, main entrance of the church (where the pastor would stand, greeting and shaking the hands of the flock) to keep me dry. It rained hard enough to cause huge puddles to form along the edges of Canal Street. These are used by black people in cars to splash white people who might be trundling along the sidewalk. Not all black people; just about 78% of them; the other 22% are pretty decent people.
Then, I noticed that the huge main entrance doors to the church had been secured with a padlock and a chain; the kind of chain that can be snipped through with a decent set of bolt cutters. "They don't even have to be the long handled kind," a guy who has had a few bikes stolen from him told me, on the subject of chains. His advice had been to get a "U-bolt" style lock, should I get another bike.
I tested the big doors by pulling on them. They yielded enough to inform me that, once the chain has been cut off, they should swing open. If I were to cut the chain, then the padlock would still be useful to whomever holds the key, and that person could just re-lock the place, after having determined that the crucifix hadn't been stolen, and the only evidence of an intruder was that one of the holy water dispensers had been used for an ashtray, and there was a guitar pick laying on the floor in front of the statue of saint Francis. He could re-lock it with a U-bolt style lock, I would recommend...
The place would negate the need for me to apply any "church" reverberation settings to the music I record there, and the kicker would be that I would be recording my CD in the church where Louis Armstrong was married; how cool is that?
Once inside, I would have to find an alternate way in and out; a trap door leading to a crawl space, or something. Of course, whomever the caretaker is, might carefully inspect the place for any such breeches, so I'll have to ponder further before spending 30 bucks on a set of bolt cutters...
Maybe it would suffice to record in the defunct rectory behind the church where Louis Armstrong was married.
Someone doctored the sign at the front door, which states that the church is closed, to read "asses are now being held at St. Anthony's (church up the street)"Lost In The Mail?
My mom, upon reading in yesterday's post that I was concerned about her, having not heard from her on my annual birthday, called to say that she had sent a birthday card (with some money in it) which should have arrived on my big day, as well as another letter, a couple weeks earlier.
All I can think of is that the post office, in this age of terrorism, has some kind of sophisticated x-ray type machine that can spot anthrax powder and other mail-able weapons, as well as U.S. currency, and that one of the all African American postal workers stole the money, and probably threw the card in the trash.
The letters should either arrive here, or be sent back to her.
I suppose having a Caucasian sounding name on the return address might have led the black postal workers to believe that they had every right to the contents of the envelope.
My Mom, LaMarion
Next time, use the name LaMarion Washington in the return address spot, mom.
This is just another case where I need to be patient, not jump to any conclusions, and let due process run its course. To go with all the other cases...
Going out and making some money tonight would help.
I could ask other residents if they've had to wait 2 weeks to get a letter mailed cross country before, or ask a postal worker if this is ever the case in New Orleans. I do know that a letter from my mom beat a letter mailed from about a mile away to my mailbox, a couple years ago, by a couple days.
Move Over, Donald Fagan
I stayed up all night, recording music.
I have made great strides in the recording and mixing of an acoustic guitar. One must attenuate the bass notes, in order to give it that "bright" sound featured on professional recordings. I think acoustic guitars are designed to maximize the bass end, as this makes them sound "better" to most ears. A cheap guitar just sounds "thin." But, when it comes to mixing it with other instruments, the tinniness can cut through the mix.
Care must also be taken to subdue the "attack" of the thing, because the pick hitting the strings produces its own, not necessarily musical, sound.
But, I am satisfied with the recorded quality that I have been able to produce. I have an arrangement of effects that I run through, with them all preset to give me what will be "my" sound. Some of them, I took a whole evening of experimentation to arrive at.
Like; do you put an echo first, and then reverberation, or the other way around?
In the latter case, the echo will repeat the note, but also repeat the reverberation that trails the note, so then you have echoes of reverberation, rather than reverberation of echoes...there's a subtle difference...
The stuff that you hear on the radio has been super compressed, so I haven't been shy about using the "compressor" effect that comes with audacity. It basically aims, to whatever degree you set as a reference, to make every sound on the recording the same level. This means that you can, for example, set the vocals at a point where one syllable sung a bit softer than the rest of the line, won't be drowned out by a note that the bass player happened to thump a bit harder at that instant.
One of the things that vexes me, though, is that when I listen to an Elvis Costello recording (and he is a master arranger) I can't pick out the words he is singing, unless I already know them in advance.
On a lot of my songs, the lyrics are the most important part, and so I will need to go to school on recordings like "The Streak," by Ray Stevens, or "Hot Rod Lincoln," by Commander Cody as; what would those two songs be worth if you couldn't make out the words?
One of my favorite Elvis Costello songs, "Church Underground," has a line in it that I couldn't make out from the official release version, no matter how many times I listened to it, or how much I slowed it down.
I thought it said "I'll be damned or burger to the ground," but, after digging up as many versions of it as I could find, I heard one where it was clear that he sings: "...or purgatory bound," which makes sense, because the title is "Church Underground," and Elvis is a master of weaving many references and metaphors and double entendres for the titles of his songs into the lyrics.
"...It's enough to put a church underground."Old, Soft, Lazy And Set In My Ways
I didn't go play outside the Superdome as the Saints played today; as I had told myself I would do, while deciding to go back inside and record music, as it had still been raining when the trolley came the night before, as I stood there, contemplating breaking into a church.
Being up all night recording, and only falling asleep after the sun came up, made the idea of walking almost a mile to the stadium to set up and play (on just 4 hours of sleep) unappealing.
I guess I'm getting a bit soft in my old age of 55.
It's also that, playing outside the Superdome, had always been about running to the big Rouses Market to spend some of the money that I made off the people coming in, on a quality quart of beer or two, maybe a double bock, which I would then sip while listening to the game on the radio, getting a good buzz to propel me through the 25 minutes or so of madness, as the people evacuated after the game.
...Speaking of breaking into places..."Music Only A Mother Could Love" might be the latest "working title" for my CD, too.
Having decided to center it around the theme of composing for 12 (I think it will be) unique individuals, rather than feel like the whole disc will be scrutinized by any one person, there will most likely be a song "dedicated" to Alex In California.
Maybe I can get Tanya Huang to play the fiddle on "Hot Rod Lincoln," in that regard...
"Blue Bayou," by Roy Orbison/Linda Ronstadt will be to mom, with love.
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