living on south 2nd st

May 30, 2009

the funniest part about my apartment here is that when i record myself improvising songs (so i can remember them if i am not entirely on the memory-train), there is always a rich- how you say- ambiance, that serves as a depth-enhancer when it comes to these songs. i refer to the incessantly cheery ice cream truck. it not only plays its midis on an entirely loopy loop, it talks! at the beginning (or is it end) of the song, a voice pleadingly creaks out, “HELLO?!” it also whistles. like… the ’90s child-quality keyboard percussive whistle. bad reggae records. every song my ex guyfriend recorded between ’96 and ’00. ya know. 

also next to my humble, charmingly dilapidating apartment is a big old firehouse. lucky for me, the sirens and hubbub occasionally birth right around the end of a masturbatory lo-fi never-to-be-heard hit single i just was finishing cutting.

talk about indie shit.. 


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