Avoid the Lo Mein

Plotnik decided to pick up a container of Chinese food for dinner last night, since the other guys in the studio are all eating various versions of Studio Grub. Plus, they all smoke. But he should have stuck with the pork rinds, because last night his stomach was in an uproar. His little bed next to the grand piano became a thrashing hell hole, and since he had forgotten all his sundries back in Saint Plotniko, he couldn't even uncover an Advil. Yuk-o.

ThIs 'new' way of recording sucks eggs. It's terribly boring. Plotnik sits while Wave of Blue and Brian, the engineer, and Austin, who is Brian's assistant, do various tasks to various sounds. Yesterday, Brother Virgil, who is the star of The Perfect Pitch, came over to do a little more recording. In the old days, you set up a mike, and the performer performed. When he was done, you had one or two takes to choose from, and you used one or the other, and that was that.

Now, he makes 50 passes at line one, and 50 passes at line two and 75 passes at line three. When he's done, Austin has to listen to every take and sync its wave form into the correct wave program and it takes hours and hours. Austin's happy to have the work, but what he says is right: Computers have made our lives faster but not easier.

Ah, coffee! Plotnik enthused this morning. Wrong. It's, like, almond or hazlenut or some putrid imitation. He never thought he would dream of a Starbucks, but there you have it.

Progress? Oh, who knows? Plotnik can hear the songs in the other room, being played and diced and analyzed and futzed with and he guesses that must mean progress. The truth is he would rather be home peeling off the aluminum siding, and that's saying something.