I got my Tascam 388 fixed, the same tape machine I had used to record my first album, King Tuff Was Dead. It had been sitting in my parent’s house in Vermont for the past 14 years, but I had finally dragged it out to LA. The first song I recorded on it was “Twisted On A Train”, and I was shocked by how instantly I sounded, and felt, like myself again. In fact, I wrote and recorded the whole dang song in the span of a few hours, which was basically the opposite of how I had been working in the computer. Spending hours moving waveforms around like a zombie, comping vocals, second guessing, trying to make things sound not lifeless, trying to make anything sound good at all, took months. But here on the tape it was so much more alive. More like painting or collaging. More like making actual music. Every move I made stuck like super glue. It was effortless. It was pure joy. I stopped caring if there were mistakes.
There’s not enough mistakes.
I played my old, blue, Gibson SG, Jazijoo, and she spewed mangled electrified gold.
For once, I sang and I didn’t hate my voice.
I played the drums badly and bounced them in mono to one track and it sounded like glorious shit.
I wish it sounded even worse.
Rock & Roll is the music of rodents and bugs. It should sound like it crept from a decrepit trashcan or a crypt or a toilet. It is not chill or vibey, autotuned or on the grid. It is not perfect, which is why it’s perfect. And I don’t care if it’s dead or alive, cool or uncool: when I hear it, and when I play it, as a chubby and balding 43 year old punk weirdo, I FEEL ENERGIZED.

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