My pal Philosoraptor gave me a generous plug, even though I give him nothing in return but existential grief, pain and suffering. He urges me to rock on, and I can now reveal how wise and knowing he is, in that Kantian sort of way of his.
The humble narrator of this blog has been away to the land of Miami, mastering an album for his all-time favorite band, The Cookies. (As a matter of coincidence, he was a member of that particular band.)
A sneak peek at a couple of the raw tracks is here.
The 'Dude wrote the first one but not the second, did the lead vocals, played bass, and recorded the whole mess with his own bare hands.
The story is kinda cool---this was my favoritest band I was ever in. We broke up, in fine and predictable rock band fashion, but Diamond Jim, the drummer, caught me on a gameshow (yeah, I did OK) and tracked me down through my wife's acting union. I mentioned that I co-owned a recording studio and voila!, the guys were on my doorstep a few months later to make the album we never did get to make.
We're putting it out on vinyl on an esoteric label for esoteric-minded True Lovers of Great Art. I'm told that indy god Robert Pollard thinks it doesn't overly suck.
But now I gotta go buy a turntable. Do they still make 'em?
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