Time passes so quickly. Winter Term is running down to its last few days and I still have a lot to do with this recording project. Ken and I have run into tensions. He seems to have flip-flopped and instead of being stressed about getting it done, he’s not so concerned about it and tells me not to stress or worry about getting it done. He said something the other day which I think really puts it into perspective. He said the project is more mine than his. And that’s the main source of the tension because that one comment made us both look unfavorably on the project.
He does have a point, though. They are his songs, he did the writing and it’s his expression, but the recording is my production and more of me is going into these songs than he would ever intend. Maybe I’m diluting the songs by putting a dimension of me into them and so I think he thinks I’m trying to usurp the songs or the project. Which would explain why I’ve been losing sleep doing this project. But if he’s disassociating himself from the project because he thinks I’m taking control of it, that makes me disassociate from it because these aren’t my songs, they aren’t my expression, I’m not the talent involved here. The value of my work only exists if he sees value in it.
Today I worked for about five hours on “The Ballad of Charlie Ohara”, “The Damage is Done”, and “Seven Years”, getting them ready for Ken to put down vocals. I ran into the time that we had agreed to get together and I think he was pissed at having to wait. It pretty much summed up the tension between us. But when he put down some vocals and they turned out really well, I think he was happier about that because he could finally hear results of what we’ve been doing. But then I think I pissed him off again by cutting things short because I had to meet Pasha and Ann for dinner and I wasn’t about to cancel on time with Pasha.
Weekend had more babies. I’ve got thirteen gerbils in that ten gallon tank. There were eight new babies total, but two died. Such innocence. Such life, not knowing anything, just doing what it does - live. Then being crushed, having that life squeezed out and feeling pain, but not really since it didn’t know what pain is. Then being dead. Was that a soul right there, come and gone?
