The rain left oceans in the streets, refilling them as the day went on. At 5 o'clock, it felt like midnight and looked like hell. getting to the studio, stressed, 6 minutes after the "prompt" 5:30pm call, and drenched with every weight of the word, i was not in the best of moods. My silent and equally pissed-at-the-world companion, jason, plopped himself on the couch in the lobby, grabbed a beer and proceeded to glare at an empty wall as his body regained some form of human. There were only 6 of us in the lobby. Everyone, apparently, was running a little late.
About 20 minutes later, with my full group of five, and a good 25 people drinking free Miller High Life's and looking a little less like wet sewer rats, they opened the studio doors and we all staggered into this wonderful room. fake luminaries lined the room, christmas lights were wound around massive woods beams in the very new looking room. The band was set up on a carpet of reds and tans and looking so comfortable I was surprised no one was barefoot. The piano looked like a yamaha, black, except i didn't know for sure since the front was taken off leaving the guts of the instrument exposed and organic. I have no idea how much this truly affects the recording sound of a piano, but it looked really cool.
In a route 66 trucker hat, white t-shirt and black vest, with suspenders hidden underneath, Langhorne (or Sean to his fantastic Buddy Holly glasses wearing father) stepped up to the mic, but spoke to the side. There had been three shows scheduled for the week. Thursday, for label and music industry people, saturday for real people and same with tonight (sunday). Thursday he felt like shit, and assumed he sounded as such. Saturday he felt even worse and altogether cancelled the show. So tonight was his chance to get some live music down on tape and hopefully someone somewhere will be able to do something with it. He told us not to feel special. But we all did.
to know how truly special we felt, keep a look out for the live album.
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