An attempt to write. I thought about it for a few minutes, though it had been in my mind. I figured, why not? See what will come out. Isn’t that always the case? For a part of the day, I was thinking about something and plotting how to write it. It was part of the way I was feeling. Anxious, lost, sad, happy, engaging, loving, understanding, and resolved. And that was in the course of a minute.

I spoke with Brian, my brother. There is an uneasy past between us. The famed Faulkner quote came up somewhere recently, ‘The past is never dead. It’s not even past.’ For me, it was a phrase I heard for years, but at some point in my life, it made sense.

Brian is 5 years older than me. He was a bit of a bully, and I don’t think he knew about it until one day, 41 years ago, I told him, and he was surprised. Damage was done, and I’m haunted by it, though I am not sure if Brian is. I bear no hard feelings, but it is always there, for me at least.

I filled him in on the new gig, which will begin on Monday. Today is Thursday. Plans made to adjust my sleep schedule have not come to fruition. Indeed, I’ve mostly stuck to the same routine since November of last year.

Brian is a good guy, though. Our late brother Frank once remarked about how we all fit in with each other. I felt that I was the exception. My siblings were born three years apart from each other, I was five years from Brian, eight years from Annemarie, and eleven years from Frank. I was always a bit off in most every sense.

I did try to tow the line, and I’m sure I succeeded somewhat. With society, though, I really can’t, and I have tried. I’ve come to terms with it. And I certainly do intend to do better this time with the new gig.

Brian is not as liberal as Frank was, nor as Annemarie and I are, nor Frank’s wife Elaine. But he does not like L’Orange Merde, so that is a plus.

Brian and I went to concerts on occasion. One particular night lingers in my memory. We saw Talking Heads at the Capitol Theater in Passaic, NJ on election night, 1980. Good seats, great show. After, as we were heading back to the car, someone yelled that Jimmy Carter conceded, Reagan had won the election.

Brian was happy; he voted for Reagan. I voted for the independent, John Anderson. It being my first election, I said I voted my conscience, John Anderson was the only candidate to be against the Selective Service.

Brian explained that you were supposed to vote for who you thought would win. That explains the difference between me and Brian in 1980. We have gotten better, and I am quite happy about it. So, I called Brian today. The next call is on him. Having written that, it is on record.

You’re Gonna Lose That Girl by the Beatles is on my computer. The clip from their second movie (in colour), ‘Help!’. I did like that movie more than A Hard Day’s Night for a long time, and when I first started smoking jazz cigarettes, it made sense, considering that The Fabs themselves said they were so stoned while making the movie. High knows High.

Watching the clip could possibly explain why so many musicians and bands think recording in a studio would be just like that. It isn’t really. It might have been then, but for a while it’s piecework, like fitting pieces of a puzzle. And with digital equipment, it’s that much easier.

I worked in recording studios from 1992 to 1997-98. Actual times may vary. I worked with some big names in music, some on top, some on their way up. More often than not, the artists were fine and pleasant. Sometimes the people around them were awful.

I heard David Bowie’s assistant, Coco Schwab, was difficult, but I got along with her just fine. She informed me that Absolute Beginners was her favorite David Bowie song. Sometimes Iman would call for David. My job was to answer the phone, and so I would always ask who was calling, to which Iman would reply, ‘Mrs. Bowie’.

My imagination pictured Iman in curlers, smoking a butt and sweating over an ironing board calling to tell David to pick up some mile and bread on his way home. Meatloaf’s people were annoying, insisting Marvin Lee Aday’s nom de stage was spelt as two separate words, like the way the New York Times would publish, Mr. Loaf.

In 1995 Metallica took over the studio for a number of weeks. They were pleasant, Jason was the best, Kirk enjoyed cigars with me, James was lumbering and Lars was aloof, though his then wife Skylar was charming. The people, mainly management, were something else.

I had words with their manager over the phone about some poo poo thing and one of their managers didn’t like what I was telling him and threatened to pull out of the recording dates. I called his bluff and told him to go ahead. And then nothing happened.

It was a good ride in the world of recording studios. Not much glitz or glamor and not much money since you could always be replaced by someone who would work for less pay, so no stability.

A friend of mine was scheduled to work on a Mariah Carey session and being an assistant engineer, his job was to write down settings on various meters and machines in the control room. Mariah Carey was sitting in front of the meters and since one simply did not speak with the then Mrs. Tommy Mottola, he tried to look around her. She felt he was staring at her and had him removed from the session.

The atmosphere at Skyline Studios was relatively pleasant when compared to Right Track Recording, which was not pleasant at all, despite Barry Bongiovi’s efforts. I admit having had a crush on Barry Bongiovi.