If it seems we’re a little subdued at the moment, it’s because our drummer is in Hawaii making conveyer belts and our guitarist is having a some kind of excitement-induced nervous breakdown over his upcoming nuptials. I’m sure I’m meant to be doing something to help out, but I have no idea what groomsmen do. I already wrapped him in Gladwrap and rolled him down a sand dune. From my perspective, the job is done.

Anyway, all this is setting back our album recording plans a little. But I promise to use the time out in the wisest way I know how - by writing a bunch of music and then agonising over putting lyrics to it for up to three years*. I’m going to call it a ‘writer’s retreat’ and apply for $10,000 of Government funding, mainly so I can afford to be drunk throughout.

There are a few options on what to do afterward. But it may be I start putting my piano to good use and recording some kind of solo/duo EPish project, as Dave Parker crouches over his computer and berates my best efforts. Kindly, with tea.

Hayden

*Tono just wrote an excellent post on this exact thing. Unfortunately my crippling fear isn’t located in the ‘writing’, so much as the ‘stringing-the-random-crap-you-wrote-on-some-handee-towels-into-a-coherent-form’ bit.