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I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

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Wednesday, October 7   >>


This is substantially creepy.


Last night I walked into one of the nicest recording studios I've ever walked into and schooled a session for aforementioned live gig (re: yesterday's post). Sorry, but I've lived my entire life way too modestly, and I have to give myself a hearty pat on the back. It's time to wear my talents on my sleeve more often.

You never realize how much you know about creating music until you're surrounded by a bunch of people who really don't know nothing about creating music.

Most of the other session players were either still in college or had just graduated with music degrees and it dawned on me how sad it is they actually are in the works or have either already completed a music program.

"Why don't you put a forte in bar 38..."

"Yeah, we should have a decrescendo..."

"Put a couple tenutos in the first one and accents on the last five notes..."

This is how music academia talks. It's annoying, and it wastes a lot of time.

"Forte in bar 38" could simply be said, "Just play louder on that cool part."

"A decrescendo" could simply be said, "Fade out."

"Put a couple tenutos in the..." blah blah blah could simply be said, "Dude, just don't fake it; think like a black person for once, for fuck's sake."


The music was, after all, not so bad. I didn't even feel like a sell out for one moment. The tunes were good and ...oh yes, the hot model.

There was this super hot model sizing the group up as we were rehearsing some charts. 2 songs down and then it was just like that episode of Fresh Prince where Uncle Phil goes to that shitty bar to play billiards with a bunch of gangsters and throws all the games away and challenges the gangsters to double-or-nothing on their high-roller bet and then he tells Jeffrey, "BREAK OUT LUCILLE" and then Jeffrey pulls out Uncle Phil's custom billiard stick named Lucille and then he kicks everyone's ass and wins Will's money back.

Essentially, this hot chick was seemingly stupid and judgmental, but then she pulls out a violin and teaches us in a lesson on prejudice. She was super duper good. And not THAT big of a bitch after all.

Guys, next time, she may look like she's sucked 500 dicks, but she may have also played the violin after sucking those 500 dicks.


Why is it that the deeper I get into a journalism career, the opportunities to make a living off of music just become that much more feasible? It's fucking annoying, like God saying, "HEY GUYS, WANNA FUCK AROUND WITH THIS ASSHOLE? LET'S DESTROY HIS SPIRIT BY MAKING HIM STAND ON A FIGURATIVE FORK IN THE ROAD FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE! HAHA, FUCKING ASSHOLE. HEY, WHERE'S MY AXE SPRAY."

God is a fucking douchebag sometimes.