Why I'm here.

I'm not interested in making the greatest rock album of all time.

I'm not interested in making a million dollars off a hit single.

I'm not interested in radio play or touring or acclaim or being the next great producer.

I just want to make neat sounds and get the damn voices out of my head for a few minutes.

I like toys, new and old, I like spending time in the company of decaying sounds that aren't quite the same every iteration.

I like pretending to be my own echo unit.

I like squelching walls of mistracked wierd, of synth noises coming from nothing.

I don't have much time left on this earth (but really, do any of us)?   I'd rather spend it making glorious noise than moping.

I don't get much out of brickwalling noise; the  decay, the trailing fade all vanish at 0db, and it's like watching classic films on a one inch screen rendered at eight frames per second.  There's no point.

I'm just a nobody though.  I recorded my first albums on bulk-erased 1/4" and 1/2" language lesson reels that the university threw out, using a Sony tape machine that I bought at a thrift store for $15 and 'stabilized' the transport speed with a spring from a Stratocaster's tremolo unit.   But I have logged a lot of time behind a desk, whether it was for me or for the many people I've called friends.

What I have noticed though is few people actually comment or post in any meaningful manner about making fun or interesting noises, and I'm not talking about that electronica stuff that masquerades as "experimental" music today.  

I'm talking about music made by human beings, flawed and all, without piles of studio trickery - even if it's just one person and a multitracker, be honest.   Save the flaws, relish the flaws, embrace and work with them.   

This will be my ongoing commentary as I record various pieces and play with hardware, music, and life itself.

It's that latter part that makes experimental, weird music come alive - you aren't just throwing out random notes hoping for the best, you're making an environment for a moment that wasn't there before, and dong so from scractch.  With pure improv, you're doing so without a roadmap, a virtual God in an empty sonic landscape.

Smash your little clay men responsibly.

In the end, though, Phil Spector taught me everything I needed to know about recording - your most important production device is a good .45.

There's nobody who can save you production-wise or mix-wise in wierd noise land - you're going to have to learn to do this the hard way, since "how to make a contemporary single" goes straight out the window once you're dealing with bells, bleeps, whistles, and epistles to Satan.