The recording at Grace Acres is off to a start. With my romanticized recollections of past studio work here, I forget one detail. That the people were all gone. Ashley painted outside on the porch in those days, the family was away, and we were watching the farm alone. To get away from the laughing baby, busy kids, and chatting ladies I can’t go in the basement which is just under them. I went upstairs to Zoe’s bedroom and sat under a bunkbed at her desk. The dryer in the hallway outside hummed, even squeaked.
So there I was, sitting at a middle schooler’s desk under a bunk loft and next to a hamster cage when I started fighting my same old problems. Finding levels, placing the mic, fighting the freaking hum of the fan in my laptop. Also my own easily fatigued vocals and the frustration of losing takes due to too much coffee and the frog in my throat. Forgetting my words, and I forgot my notebook entirely on this trip. The album is in danger.
I did finish one good take. In two hours of trying. I’m resting my vocals now, and whining to you. But the one take I’ve got is really good, so there’s that.