Sup, Santee.

It seems I spent another weekend out on the ocean, as I covered for Shirley on Saturday to have her work for me on Sunday and my boss decided to take RDub and I out on the boat for some fishing.


It sucked.


It's the farthest thing from relaxing that I have ever seen, and my arms are as red as plums. There's a lot to the day we went fishing but in short, it was hot, sunny, wavy, too hard, and Ryan just about threw up over the side towards the end.


Whatever. It was an experience that I don't think I'll try again.




So on the Southern front, you may already be a friend of my new band. Product of Southern Longcut. I've put up a song with dry (un eq-ed, un compressed, un reverbed) vocals and hope to soon rerecord them and wet 'em all up. I also have two more songs on HDD with no lyrics.

I want 8 songs ideally, and I want then to follow multiple back stories all coming to a climax in one or two of the last songs. I have written out the stories for multiple characters already, and I've noticed a funny trend: the cooler the riff I come up with the more stoked I am to write lyrics to it and record it. And in vice versa, the cooler the lyrics I write, the harder I push the guitar writing further to get recorded. It's cool being on the vocal side, and hopefully I'll work on the pipes and get them sounding like Mr. Croom's, or Mr. Buckley's soon enough.

I noticed it's also hard to find time when everybody's out of the house to record vocals. I'm at the easily embarrassed stage. And yea, yea, I know the vocals suck but I figure there's plenty of bands out there with terrible vocalists, at the very worst I'll just join their ranks. Nothing lost.


That's it.


Oh yea, and I'm not dating Amberly.


I guess that's the common view held by the Santee townsfolk?
Whatevskies.