Morning all!
Practice this morning. Big one. Max has already pulled up with a bad ear :(. Let's hope the boogey woogie doesn't desert us.
Four men who play instruments at the same time and in the same place. Some would call that a band but we're not fans of restrictive labels. Check out our website
Saturday, 25 February 2012
Sunday, 19 February 2012
Moving pictures!!!
So, it's been a while since this was updated. But we here at 41st night HQ wouldn't want you all to get the impression that we've been idle. Don't get us wrong, it's not as if we've been churning out tunes like a crazed, sonic production line. We have been known to kick back a little, have the odd beer, and contemplate life's vicissitudes. In fact it would probably be fair to say that in the 6 or so months since the last blog post the 4 lovely boys that make up the night have spent more time contemplating agrarian reform in Eritrea than they have writing, arranging, recording, and performing music. But we have done some of the latter, that's the point that we're trying to make.
And for those of you sitting there, sipping your mug of Bovril, and sneering "well you would say that wouldn't you, but I bet all you've actually been up to is purchasing, wearing, and occasionally washing unnecessarily slim-fitting jeans" we made the following short promotional film by way of proof.
Enjoy
And if for any reason you feel that you want to you can hear full versions of two of the tracks that we recently recorded on our shiny new website.
Cheers
41st night
And for those of you sitting there, sipping your mug of Bovril, and sneering "well you would say that wouldn't you, but I bet all you've actually been up to is purchasing, wearing, and occasionally washing unnecessarily slim-fitting jeans" we made the following short promotional film by way of proof.
Enjoy
And if for any reason you feel that you want to you can hear full versions of two of the tracks that we recently recorded on our shiny new website.
Cheers
41st night
Saturday, 2 July 2011
The Look of the Night
Famously secretive and only secretly famous the London-based musical collective known as 41st night are notoriously hard to pin down. Even less is known about the four individuals at its heart. Their pasts, their faces, even their names are shrouded in mystery. Known only by their function titles of Mr Sing, Mr Guitar, Mr Bass, and Mr Drum they can at times seem to be more cultural constructions than flesh-and-blood individuals. Or at least that has always been the case.
Armed with the latest in concealed audio-visual equipment and a range of disguises we sent our reporter Ted Otterman undercover with music’s least investigated enigma. What he discovered will both startle and disturb.
Subject 1: Mr Sing aka Tommy Humbucker
Following a tip off that the night would be engaging in one of their all-to-rare practice sessions Ted installed himself in the studio the day before, cunningly concealed within a defunct air-conditioning unit. After enduring four hours of the aneurism-inducing strains of Norwegian Black-Metal-Rage-Pop combo Heroin Baby his chance finally came with the somewhat late arrival of four pasty, argumentative, and at times faux-intellectual individuals matching the vague descriptions that he had gathered of the big 41. This first picture would appear to show Tommy H doing to prog-rock what Peter Sutcliffe once did to the night workers of Yorkshire. What remains of Ted’s notes indicate that the poor quality of this image is due to his attempt to aim a camera whilst avoiding a barrage errant drumsticks. It can be assumed that the general miasma of sweat, alcohol, and recrimination that the band are famed for generating cannot of helped.
Subject 2: Mr Guitar aka Danny Blasphemy
With ears bleeding, higher brain function slowly returning, and the coast clear Ted extricated himself from his wall-mounted observation post. At this point, his notes inform us, following 23 hours inside a crate the size of standard archive box, he was only able to return feeling to his legs with alternating applications of direct mains voltage and a staple gun. Finally ambulatory, somewhat short of blood, and with a 45 minute head start to make up for he headed out into the early evening of East-Central London. Without any leads but assuming that alcohol would be a considerable draw on his prey he began a sweep of the local hostelries. It is apparent from his increasingly incoherent scrawl that Ted was by this point not so much disguised as confused, gin-sodden trap as well on the way to becoming one. It is believed that is was under this guise that he managed to capture the accompanying image of Mr Blasphemy. The nature of the telephone call depicted can only be guessed at but, if the time code is correct, it preceded by only minutes an unprecedented collapse in the value of the Tanzanian Shilling.
Subject 3: Mr Drum aka Max Noise
It is at this point that our tale takes its darkest turn. The lack of notes makes it impossible to ascertain exactly Ted’s movements after his late night encounter with Mr Guitar but this image of The Noise, known enforcer and hatchet man of 41st night, was the last recorded on his camera’s memory card. The camera itself, smashed beyond repair and smeared with the bodily fluids of several unidentified contributers, was found some 15 yards from Ted’s beaten and broken body. The best wishes of this writer, and all at this paper, go out to the Otterman family and we pray for Ted’s recovery, in whatever form it takes. While investigations are ongoing and, it is hoped, details will be revealed in the fullness of time, it can be surmised that Ted’s activities were discovered and Mr Drum, as befits his calling, took care of business and pleasure alike.
Subject 4: Mr Bass aka Owen Wilde aka Erasmus Pendleton
Ted’s valiant and possibly suicidal efforts failed to yield a single image of the night’s fourth member. However, further investigation suggests that this 2002 cutting from Madrid’s El Man' de trabajo; diario de s de la lucha revolucionaria (The Working Man's Journal of Revolutionary Struggle) may well be the only existing image of the Wilde one. Curiously, when first published, it was claimed to be a shot of equally reclusive Belorussian novelist and political agitator Alexander Kazulin. Kazulin was later revealed to be a hoax perpetrated by political satirist Ivanov Sergo in a scandal that caused considerable professional damage to much of Eastern Europe’s intellectual elite. Recently released documents indicate that Erasmus Pendleton, a known alias of Wilde’s, was visiting Madrid at exactly the time that this picture was taken and, whilst first hand accounts are rare, it would appear that he capitalised on his physical similarity to reports of Kazulin to win favour with not only the Madrid Workers Commune, with whom he boarded free of charge for nearly two months, but also some of Spain’s more impressionable and nubile students. For more on the whole Kazulin affair I would recommend Simon Webber’s surprisingly readable The Bela-Ruse: Alexander Kazulin and the Old Left’s New Myths (2007, Oxford University Press).
And there we must close. With all four members of 41st night still at large, but at least now somewhat better understood, one open police investigation, and Ted’s prognosis far from clear, all that is left to be said is that this publication will not rest until all of the facts of this sordid affair are brought to light, no matter how many journalists that takes.
Be safe, and as always, beware of the night.
Armed with the latest in concealed audio-visual equipment and a range of disguises we sent our reporter Ted Otterman undercover with music’s least investigated enigma. What he discovered will both startle and disturb.
Subject 1: Mr Sing aka Tommy Humbucker
Following a tip off that the night would be engaging in one of their all-to-rare practice sessions Ted installed himself in the studio the day before, cunningly concealed within a defunct air-conditioning unit. After enduring four hours of the aneurism-inducing strains of Norwegian Black-Metal-Rage-Pop combo Heroin Baby his chance finally came with the somewhat late arrival of four pasty, argumentative, and at times faux-intellectual individuals matching the vague descriptions that he had gathered of the big 41. This first picture would appear to show Tommy H doing to prog-rock what Peter Sutcliffe once did to the night workers of Yorkshire. What remains of Ted’s notes indicate that the poor quality of this image is due to his attempt to aim a camera whilst avoiding a barrage errant drumsticks. It can be assumed that the general miasma of sweat, alcohol, and recrimination that the band are famed for generating cannot of helped.
Subject 2: Mr Guitar aka Danny Blasphemy
With ears bleeding, higher brain function slowly returning, and the coast clear Ted extricated himself from his wall-mounted observation post. At this point, his notes inform us, following 23 hours inside a crate the size of standard archive box, he was only able to return feeling to his legs with alternating applications of direct mains voltage and a staple gun. Finally ambulatory, somewhat short of blood, and with a 45 minute head start to make up for he headed out into the early evening of East-Central London. Without any leads but assuming that alcohol would be a considerable draw on his prey he began a sweep of the local hostelries. It is apparent from his increasingly incoherent scrawl that Ted was by this point not so much disguised as confused, gin-sodden trap as well on the way to becoming one. It is believed that is was under this guise that he managed to capture the accompanying image of Mr Blasphemy. The nature of the telephone call depicted can only be guessed at but, if the time code is correct, it preceded by only minutes an unprecedented collapse in the value of the Tanzanian Shilling.
Subject 3: Mr Drum aka Max Noise
It is at this point that our tale takes its darkest turn. The lack of notes makes it impossible to ascertain exactly Ted’s movements after his late night encounter with Mr Guitar but this image of The Noise, known enforcer and hatchet man of 41st night, was the last recorded on his camera’s memory card. The camera itself, smashed beyond repair and smeared with the bodily fluids of several unidentified contributers, was found some 15 yards from Ted’s beaten and broken body. The best wishes of this writer, and all at this paper, go out to the Otterman family and we pray for Ted’s recovery, in whatever form it takes. While investigations are ongoing and, it is hoped, details will be revealed in the fullness of time, it can be surmised that Ted’s activities were discovered and Mr Drum, as befits his calling, took care of business and pleasure alike.
Subject 4: Mr Bass aka Owen Wilde aka Erasmus Pendleton
And there we must close. With all four members of 41st night still at large, but at least now somewhat better understood, one open police investigation, and Ted’s prognosis far from clear, all that is left to be said is that this publication will not rest until all of the facts of this sordid affair are brought to light, no matter how many journalists that takes.
Be safe, and as always, beware of the night.
Sunday, 20 February 2011
Quarterly update (admin)
Greetings all
I've just been reviewing the receipts and it appears that we haven't had a blog post in the economic quarter Dec-10 to Feb-11. No post would mean no K41N write down which in turn could see us carrying a 2.6% deficit into the fiscal year end. I obviously don't need to explain to you what THAT would mean.
So, a post. Let's see. Well, it would appear from the P914s that I've been receiving (late as usual) that the Mighty Mighty Night (as I'm assured the kids are calling them) are claiming to have acquired a semi-autonomous, meat-based sing unit. Hard to tell from my end whether this is legit or an attempt to score an extra oyster card, but claims for 28" waist jeans and skinny-fit check shirts have gone through the roof and let's face it, those would be of no use to Mr Drum unless he's building another one of his nests. Oh god let's hope he isn't, not after last time.
Oh, I have here a requisition slip for the following: 1x early 1990s laptop, 1x USB interface thingy, 1x soviet-era recording software, 3x bacon butty, 1x pure-organic-dolphin-fancying-tree-hugging-tofo-wrap, 1x Keira Knightley. Signed: Mr Guitar, Mr Bass, Mr Sing (appears to be different hand writing) and what looks to be a smeared hand print in what I'm dearly hoping is mud. Partially filled. I'm no investigative reporter but I'd suggest that either those crazy night boys are having a go at recording some some sort of Extended Player, or they think that their weekly soggy-biscuit get together is now worth preserving on tape. I feel like a gossip columnist!!
Other than that all of us down here in the basement are having a lovely 2011. In a shock move Tracy is engaged!! Oh Tracy, how do you expect us to keep up? Here's hoping that this Mr Right is for the long term, and that Tracy get's a banister installed so that she doesn't keep falling down the stairs every couple of months. That kind of thing just wouldn't be good now that she's pregnant.
Oh, and they've fixed the copier. Happy days!!!
Well, thanks for reading
Dave Hermish (Junior Accounts Manager)
I've just been reviewing the receipts and it appears that we haven't had a blog post in the economic quarter Dec-10 to Feb-11. No post would mean no K41N write down which in turn could see us carrying a 2.6% deficit into the fiscal year end. I obviously don't need to explain to you what THAT would mean.
So, a post. Let's see. Well, it would appear from the P914s that I've been receiving (late as usual) that the Mighty Mighty Night (as I'm assured the kids are calling them) are claiming to have acquired a semi-autonomous, meat-based sing unit. Hard to tell from my end whether this is legit or an attempt to score an extra oyster card, but claims for 28" waist jeans and skinny-fit check shirts have gone through the roof and let's face it, those would be of no use to Mr Drum unless he's building another one of his nests. Oh god let's hope he isn't, not after last time.
Oh, I have here a requisition slip for the following: 1x early 1990s laptop, 1x USB interface thingy, 1x soviet-era recording software, 3x bacon butty, 1x pure-organic-dolphin-fancying-tree-hugging-tofo-wrap, 1x Keira Knightley. Signed: Mr Guitar, Mr Bass, Mr Sing (appears to be different hand writing) and what looks to be a smeared hand print in what I'm dearly hoping is mud. Partially filled. I'm no investigative reporter but I'd suggest that either those crazy night boys are having a go at recording some some sort of Extended Player, or they think that their weekly soggy-biscuit get together is now worth preserving on tape. I feel like a gossip columnist!!
Other than that all of us down here in the basement are having a lovely 2011. In a shock move Tracy is engaged!! Oh Tracy, how do you expect us to keep up? Here's hoping that this Mr Right is for the long term, and that Tracy get's a banister installed so that she doesn't keep falling down the stairs every couple of months. That kind of thing just wouldn't be good now that she's pregnant.
Oh, and they've fixed the copier. Happy days!!!
Well, thanks for reading
Dave Hermish (Junior Accounts Manager)
Monday, 8 November 2010
What on earth is 41st night?
An excellent question. For want of a better term 41st night is a band, or more precisely the latest incarnation of a long linage of music collectives.
The first appearance of a group of individuals with the audacity to claim the moniker of 41st night dates back to the turn of this century and a moderately well respected east London university. At its inception 41st night mk I consisted of the current Mr Bass (though at the time he played that fiddly six stringed instrument) and Mr Drum (who as our story opens doesn't play anything more advanced than a CD player, and even that only with great difficulty). So, Mr Bass and his two newly-found muso friends, Mr Short'n'hairy and Mr Fopp, decide that they would do a little better with the ladies if they could claim to be in a band. Possible looks, album titles, stage setups, and video concepts were discussed. Then, eventually, talk turned to who would play what instrument. Mr Short'n'hairy and Mr Bass, both having some form in the area, claimed six string duties, with Mr SnH also winning a nail-biting cock-muff-bum hole to take vocal duties. Mr Fopp, a worldly fellow, was quick to claim the long-necked four string as his own, and a band was 75% formed.
Now, Gloria Estefan famously warned us that the rhythm is gunna get ya (sic) but if you're a start up band hoping to impress it's fairer to say that you gotta get some rhythm. And so Mr Drum enters our tale. At this time he was but a simple fire warden living at the end of the hall, but the the fledgling nighters saw something in him that they liked and, as was only fitting, subjected him to a grueling entrance interview:
41st night - [Mr Drum] you don't play drums by any chance?
Mr Drum - Nope
41st night - Do you, err, fancy learning?
Mr Drum - Well, I'll give it a go.
And so the first faltering steps of 41st night were taken. This would soon lead to poorly attended gigs, annoyed neighbours, self-financed demos, and several years later, not so much a split as a falling apart.
Belt forward to the middle of what we of a certain age loving call the naughties and Mr Drum, now a fully fledged human beat machine, discovers that his hither-to annoying-as-a-paper-cut younger sibling has actually picked up some game when it comes to six-string shredidge. Several home recorded demos result and promise is very much shown. However, music is much like sex: the more willing participants the better, and so feelers are put out for potential collaborators. Mr Bass, still naively insisting on wielding a gee-tar, is quickly co-opted, as is Mr God, a seventeen stone, barrel-chested bruiser with a vocal styling like a tracker trying to reverse out of a minefield. Somewhat controversially the 41st night tag was not retained through this period. Far more surprisingly, despite the utter mish mash of this particular setup it is, to date, the most successful period of our protagonists in terms of both gigs and recordings.
However, like an improvised explosive device, such arrangements are unstable and often do more damage to their creators than the intended target. Once again things fell apart and our plucky heroes went their separate ways. Darkness fell and threatened to remain.
And then
And then there was new years eve 2009. A party, a lot of drinks, and a rather fruity beer whose providence may well be the feature of it's own post. Suffice to say that, back in a room together, Messrs Guitar, Bass, and Drum, realised how they fat, their true respective roles, and what they had to offer. A union older and more stable than some break away ex-soviet republics was born and to this day remains in intensive care with little or no hope of ever developing higher brain function. Not to mention the need of a regular singer.
And what of the name 41st night?
The first appearance of a group of individuals with the audacity to claim the moniker of 41st night dates back to the turn of this century and a moderately well respected east London university. At its inception 41st night mk I consisted of the current Mr Bass (though at the time he played that fiddly six stringed instrument) and Mr Drum (who as our story opens doesn't play anything more advanced than a CD player, and even that only with great difficulty). So, Mr Bass and his two newly-found muso friends, Mr Short'n'hairy and Mr Fopp, decide that they would do a little better with the ladies if they could claim to be in a band. Possible looks, album titles, stage setups, and video concepts were discussed. Then, eventually, talk turned to who would play what instrument. Mr Short'n'hairy and Mr Bass, both having some form in the area, claimed six string duties, with Mr SnH also winning a nail-biting cock-muff-bum hole to take vocal duties. Mr Fopp, a worldly fellow, was quick to claim the long-necked four string as his own, and a band was 75% formed.
Now, Gloria Estefan famously warned us that the rhythm is gunna get ya (sic) but if you're a start up band hoping to impress it's fairer to say that you gotta get some rhythm. And so Mr Drum enters our tale. At this time he was but a simple fire warden living at the end of the hall, but the the fledgling nighters saw something in him that they liked and, as was only fitting, subjected him to a grueling entrance interview:
41st night - [Mr Drum] you don't play drums by any chance?
Mr Drum - Nope
41st night - Do you, err, fancy learning?
Mr Drum - Well, I'll give it a go.
And so the first faltering steps of 41st night were taken. This would soon lead to poorly attended gigs, annoyed neighbours, self-financed demos, and several years later, not so much a split as a falling apart.
Belt forward to the middle of what we of a certain age loving call the naughties and Mr Drum, now a fully fledged human beat machine, discovers that his hither-to annoying-as-a-paper-cut younger sibling has actually picked up some game when it comes to six-string shredidge. Several home recorded demos result and promise is very much shown. However, music is much like sex: the more willing participants the better, and so feelers are put out for potential collaborators. Mr Bass, still naively insisting on wielding a gee-tar, is quickly co-opted, as is Mr God, a seventeen stone, barrel-chested bruiser with a vocal styling like a tracker trying to reverse out of a minefield. Somewhat controversially the 41st night tag was not retained through this period. Far more surprisingly, despite the utter mish mash of this particular setup it is, to date, the most successful period of our protagonists in terms of both gigs and recordings.
However, like an improvised explosive device, such arrangements are unstable and often do more damage to their creators than the intended target. Once again things fell apart and our plucky heroes went their separate ways. Darkness fell and threatened to remain.
And then
And then there was new years eve 2009. A party, a lot of drinks, and a rather fruity beer whose providence may well be the feature of it's own post. Suffice to say that, back in a room together, Messrs Guitar, Bass, and Drum, realised how they fat, their true respective roles, and what they had to offer. A union older and more stable than some break away ex-soviet republics was born and to this day remains in intensive care with little or no hope of ever developing higher brain function. Not to mention the need of a regular singer.
And what of the name 41st night?
Sunday, 24 October 2010
We actually do play instruments
You might not think that a band would need to spend much time defending the fact that they do, actually, play instruments. They may spend a great deal of time defending the idea that they play them in time, or in tune, or in a way that other people would want to listen to, but usually the basic fact that they own, wear, and make noise with musical tools is usually taken as read. However, in the case of 41st night and one sound engineer at Rooz studios in Shoreditch things are not quite so simple.
This past Saturday our newly acquired singer was not able to to make an appearance so the rest of us thought that we could most productively make use of the time doing a little recording. Now, the trials and tribulations we went through in simply getting our recording software (Cubase) to work could and may be the subject of an entire post (nearly three of the four hours that we were there were taken up. And to anyone involved in the production of Cubase we mean no criticism of your product. It was very much the workmen and not the tool that were at fault) but it's not what I want to address at the moment.
Now, once we had finally sorted out our technical difficulties and appropriately miked up the drum kit we hit the big, red <RECORD> button and set off the drummer like some meat-based metronome. However, playing solo is not the natural habitat of your common-or-garden drummer and they are far more used to have actual musicians playing along with them. As a result our one-man-beat-machine fluffed the first few takes by jumping from verses to choruses to bridges seemingly at random. The preferred solution to this oft occurring problem is to attach headphones to the drummer's upper-most extremity and pump a guitar line that they can follow directly into their head. Sadly, we're not the most organised group of gents and hadn't remembered to bring any usable headphones so this was not an option. In what I'm sure drummers would refer to as wisdom (or possibly 'Big Think', verbal communication not really being one of their strengths) he suggested that the guitarist and bassist could mime, in an air guitar fashion, as it helped him remember the melodic lines. With the tired resignation and desire for an easy life that usually accompanies the humoring of a particularly slow child this was agreed to.
So, jump forward fifteen or so minutes and we are laying down our second track (oh, get me and my industry lingo). Mr Drum is hitting things like a drunk at a whack-a-rat machine and Messrs Guitar and Bass were air guitaring it up like two dads at a wedding disco. With no warning the lights in the room flash on and off. All three nighters momentarily look to one another before tuning to look at the light switch, which is positioned next to the door. Framed in the doorway is the studio engineer on shift for that session. He stares back at a drummer, seemingly playing solo, and two skinny white boys dancing around in some bizarre imitation of a Van Halen gig. Whether he thought is was avant-guarde theater, two musicians so poor that they been forced to sell their instruments but too committed to give up the dream, or simply applied himself to getting away from these questionable characters in short order is not known. What is known is that Mr Bass, overcome by the ridiculousness of the situation and a little worse for wear from the evening before, collapsed to his knees and laughed for a solid couple of minutes. To his credit, Mr Drum, whilst laughing like a chimp on nitrous oxide, kept the beat alive and put down a usable take. Sinor Guitar, to his enormous credit, turned, fixed the newcomer with a 'what are you looking at' stare, and then calmly returned to air jamming away. All the while keeping a completely straight face. For his part, the engineer took in all that he needed to know, collected his jaw from the floor, and slowly backed out of the room. Suffice to say the conversation when we were returning the mikes on the way out was stilted and short.
So, if you are the hard working, curly-haired engineer who was doing to 11-3 shift this Saturday we would just like to say: we actually can and do play instruments. Despite what you saw we are a fully functional bad with tunes and everything. We are not a live action advert for Guitar Hero. As we probably will be seeing each other again we just wanted to get that clear. And keep up the good work.
41st night
This past Saturday our newly acquired singer was not able to to make an appearance so the rest of us thought that we could most productively make use of the time doing a little recording. Now, the trials and tribulations we went through in simply getting our recording software (Cubase) to work could and may be the subject of an entire post (nearly three of the four hours that we were there were taken up. And to anyone involved in the production of Cubase we mean no criticism of your product. It was very much the workmen and not the tool that were at fault) but it's not what I want to address at the moment.
Now, once we had finally sorted out our technical difficulties and appropriately miked up the drum kit we hit the big, red <RECORD> button and set off the drummer like some meat-based metronome. However, playing solo is not the natural habitat of your common-or-garden drummer and they are far more used to have actual musicians playing along with them. As a result our one-man-beat-machine fluffed the first few takes by jumping from verses to choruses to bridges seemingly at random. The preferred solution to this oft occurring problem is to attach headphones to the drummer's upper-most extremity and pump a guitar line that they can follow directly into their head. Sadly, we're not the most organised group of gents and hadn't remembered to bring any usable headphones so this was not an option. In what I'm sure drummers would refer to as wisdom (or possibly 'Big Think', verbal communication not really being one of their strengths) he suggested that the guitarist and bassist could mime, in an air guitar fashion, as it helped him remember the melodic lines. With the tired resignation and desire for an easy life that usually accompanies the humoring of a particularly slow child this was agreed to.
So, jump forward fifteen or so minutes and we are laying down our second track (oh, get me and my industry lingo). Mr Drum is hitting things like a drunk at a whack-a-rat machine and Messrs Guitar and Bass were air guitaring it up like two dads at a wedding disco. With no warning the lights in the room flash on and off. All three nighters momentarily look to one another before tuning to look at the light switch, which is positioned next to the door. Framed in the doorway is the studio engineer on shift for that session. He stares back at a drummer, seemingly playing solo, and two skinny white boys dancing around in some bizarre imitation of a Van Halen gig. Whether he thought is was avant-guarde theater, two musicians so poor that they been forced to sell their instruments but too committed to give up the dream, or simply applied himself to getting away from these questionable characters in short order is not known. What is known is that Mr Bass, overcome by the ridiculousness of the situation and a little worse for wear from the evening before, collapsed to his knees and laughed for a solid couple of minutes. To his credit, Mr Drum, whilst laughing like a chimp on nitrous oxide, kept the beat alive and put down a usable take. Sinor Guitar, to his enormous credit, turned, fixed the newcomer with a 'what are you looking at' stare, and then calmly returned to air jamming away. All the while keeping a completely straight face. For his part, the engineer took in all that he needed to know, collected his jaw from the floor, and slowly backed out of the room. Suffice to say the conversation when we were returning the mikes on the way out was stilted and short.
So, if you are the hard working, curly-haired engineer who was doing to 11-3 shift this Saturday we would just like to say: we actually can and do play instruments. Despite what you saw we are a fully functional bad with tunes and everything. We are not a live action advert for Guitar Hero. As we probably will be seeing each other again we just wanted to get that clear. And keep up the good work.
41st night
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