I’m still really enjoying recording
Sound with Jason
Duguay. I’m finding that my strong point is singing all the
harmonies. The hardest part is the final mixing when we want to get
everything in its place and sounding great. Jason and I work well as
a team and the songs keep coming out fantastic. I mentioned last month
that I was having trouble with “Forgive Me”—the song really jelled
after a little slicing and dicing—it maybe the best one yet. Now I’m
working on a pair of songs with connected storylines—“Oceans of
Love” and “Five Mo Daze.” In the former, the wife sings about
missing her soldier boy and where her loneliness leads her. The latter
is the tragic tale of that soldier boy gearing up to return home but
on his last day he is slapped with another 365-day tour of duty. Looking
forward, I intend to assemble a choir for the gospel tune, “We Don’t
Want Your War.” If you’d like to add your voice to the recording,
Their Universe – Lowbudget
Records Does The
Songs Of The Beatles is now available at iTunes and amazon.com.
For a small taste of this Beatles compilation you can listen to my version
of “No Reply” at myspace.com/dreamerswanted.
If you read Rita and Lolita’s column
closely, you know that Rita is now making driftwood mirrors. I am too.
We found a market for them. First we go shopping—that means we go
to one of the many beaches in New England and search for anything that
looks worthy of a creative project. We get back home and have to clean
off the finds. Some things need to be boiled, some need to be bleached,
and they all need to be dried out in front of our propane stove. Then
the wood is taken downstairs and stared at until I can visualize cuts
that will fit nicely on a frame of strapping (the strapping also is
found on the beaches). After the frames are constructed Anne Brown decorates
them with seashells and/or beach glass, maybe some crab shells or tattered
rope (okay, she refuses to use the mangly rope I find)—whatever works.
Then we bring it to B & R Glass (Newburyport) and have Brad fit
the frame with eighth-inch mirror. Brad’s a fun guy who always makes
us laugh. When the mirrors are set, we pick them up and attach hanging
wire on the back. After Anne calls every gift shop in coastal New England,
we drive around with our wares and get what we can for them. So, if
anyone out there would like to skip the middleman and buy a wholesome
American product made by moonlighting Noise makers, get in touch
and we’ll be happy to service you.
This driftwood mirror is called Gay Head. It measures 9.5" tall x 11" wide.
Here’s another excerpt from a
book I’ll publish one day…
DOG SLED RACES by T Max 2/1/98
I went up north this weekend with my
girlfriend, Holly, and her friend Suzen, to watch dog sled races. It
was pretty neat. We stood all day out on a frozen lake that overlooked
a big white-capped mountain (I forgot the name of it, but some Indian
committed suicide by throwing himself off the peak after being chased
by the white man for some crime he didn't commit—or so the story goes).
The weather was perfect—mid 40s and clear blue sky. It was in Tamworth,
NH. Holly knew an older gentleman, Paul, a family friend, who
filled us in on all we should know about the races (and the suicide
mountain). It was quite an experience to be around hundreds of dogs
that were very excited to race. At times they would all be hootin',
barkin', and squeelin'. Right before their race would start, some of
the dogs seemed to be out of their minds in a frenzy. I volunteered
to be a sled handler during the open competition. Here, the sleds could
be pulled by as many dogs as the drivers saw fit—usually 16 to 18.
Because of all those hyper dogs pulling and tugging, they needed extra
hands to hold the sleds at the starting line. It was sort of like playing
tug of war—humans against dogs. Between the sets of races Holly, Suzen,
Paul, and I walked along side the lake where all the trucks were parked
that held the dogs. We pet the huskies, half-wolves, and other assorted
mutts—they were all well mannered. The dogs weren’t big in size.
The majority of them were pretty thin. We all took turns using Paul’s
snowshoes to take long treks around the lake. No one broke though the
ice the whole day—a terrible fear of mine. We ended the perfect day
by stopping at an Italian restaurant where, for dessert, I got a huge
ice cream sundae that looked like Suicide Mountain.
T Max/the Noise
24 Beverly Drive
Georgetown, MA 01833