martes, 6 de agosto de 2013
lunes, 8 de julio de 2013
miércoles, 3 de julio de 2013
miércoles, 23 de enero de 2013
Studio Cassette Part 1
There's traffic, I get to the passageway at four. I walk up to the shop and he's waiting there with a couple of other guys I've seen before. He just got a beer so he asks if I don't mind waiting until he finishes it. I say cool, I'm gonna go grab something to eat anyways, I rushed over after band practice. I walk away and buy a shitty sandwich and some chips. When I get back, MF intercepts me. We talk for a while about his clothing line and some expos he's gonna have with the other dudes. I bite and nod most of the time, oohing and aahing on autopilot, while I think about the session. I hurry back.
He's almost done with his beer and he says we should head out. I ask where we're going and he says: Studio Cassette, I'm sure you know it.
I don't.
He hands me money for the parking fee and I follow him in my car.
When we get there this dude I know from the summer is here. Apparently he's renting the place. He has rapper dreams, I hear, thugz and bitchez and what not, one of those guys that thinks that he has the responsibility of keeping hip hop alive, while wearing cargo shorts and doning a curly ponytail. He's nice though.
The studio has red carpets and wooden crafted panels, geometrical designs on a pleated surface, a lonely drumset and a mastersound room with a big window looking into it. I'm informed that despite it's 80's look, it has never been used, given that the dude setting it up died before it was done. Dead space. Sad place.
Ponytail dude tells us where to play music even though we have none. He leaves saying he'll be back in an hour, and that he'll call ahead. Please do.
I'm slightly nervous, given that we haven't worded the exact requirements of this meeting. He says he wants something from the store and asks me to come with him. On the way he tells me about his overseas tour, about the parties and painting in Anna Frank's house, about living with 6 people who spoke different languages, about the Germans' inability to land a punchline, about being confused for a Native American for having long hair and about finding a mexican band playing in the middle of the street on a Berlin night and disappearing with them for 3 days. It's interesting to say the least. We walk back with his six pack. I can't drink because of the cold, for the third week in a row.
We walk in and talk about nothing. I'm being cheeky to make up for my uneasiness. He seems shy about it and we finally approach the point. He tells me he wants it to be natural, and that I'll set the boundaries. He motions for me and I ask, should I take it off? He nods and looks at his beer.
I take my shoes off, then my socks. I didn't bother to retouch my nails, I barely even shaved. Whatever. We talk about how hungover he is. I take off my jacket, my necklace, my dress. I laugh at something he says as I unclip off my bra. As I take of my panties and fold them on the red chair we're chit chatting about the weather.
He's almost done with his beer and he says we should head out. I ask where we're going and he says: Studio Cassette, I'm sure you know it.
I don't.
He hands me money for the parking fee and I follow him in my car.
When we get there this dude I know from the summer is here. Apparently he's renting the place. He has rapper dreams, I hear, thugz and bitchez and what not, one of those guys that thinks that he has the responsibility of keeping hip hop alive, while wearing cargo shorts and doning a curly ponytail. He's nice though.
The studio has red carpets and wooden crafted panels, geometrical designs on a pleated surface, a lonely drumset and a mastersound room with a big window looking into it. I'm informed that despite it's 80's look, it has never been used, given that the dude setting it up died before it was done. Dead space. Sad place.
Ponytail dude tells us where to play music even though we have none. He leaves saying he'll be back in an hour, and that he'll call ahead. Please do.
I'm slightly nervous, given that we haven't worded the exact requirements of this meeting. He says he wants something from the store and asks me to come with him. On the way he tells me about his overseas tour, about the parties and painting in Anna Frank's house, about living with 6 people who spoke different languages, about the Germans' inability to land a punchline, about being confused for a Native American for having long hair and about finding a mexican band playing in the middle of the street on a Berlin night and disappearing with them for 3 days. It's interesting to say the least. We walk back with his six pack. I can't drink because of the cold, for the third week in a row.
We walk in and talk about nothing. I'm being cheeky to make up for my uneasiness. He seems shy about it and we finally approach the point. He tells me he wants it to be natural, and that I'll set the boundaries. He motions for me and I ask, should I take it off? He nods and looks at his beer.
I take my shoes off, then my socks. I didn't bother to retouch my nails, I barely even shaved. Whatever. We talk about how hungover he is. I take off my jacket, my necklace, my dress. I laugh at something he says as I unclip off my bra. As I take of my panties and fold them on the red chair we're chit chatting about the weather.
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