Give me an A. Okay… how about a lower one. Yeah, that’s good. Now, give me a D. No, no…. that’s an H. There ain’t no H, so try D. That’s more like it.

Oh, hi. Didn’t notice you there on the other side of that flat screen. (Damn, it’s tight in here!) Forgive my inattentiveness – we’re just trying to work on Big Green‘s next release, [INSERT TITLE HERE – FOR GOD’S SAKE DON’T POST UNTIL YOU FIX THIS!!]. Quite an innovative title, eh? Took a long time to work it up, but that’s what we’re all about here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill – spending inordinately large amounts of time on stuff that should take five minutes. I know what you’re thinking. That’s why we live in a squat house, right? Well, well… it isn’t a squat house. It’s an abandoned squat mill. Just as easy to get these things right, you know. In any case, here we are, down in the dungeon, the musical dungeon, trying to make this thing scream. The drums are all miked up and ready. Matt’s bass is plugged in and buzzing. I’ve replaced the broken keys on my piano (all 47 of them) and sFshzenKlyrn is cranked up to 111. (Yeah, that thing goes up to 111).

And yeah, I did say sFshzenKlyrn. No, he’s not staying at the mill, chez Big Green, as it were. (Or, rather, as it weren’t.) Our ever-reliable, extraterrestrial friend from the planet Zenon is piping in his parts from many, many light-years away. How does he do this, you may ask? (And well you may ask.) Well… he uses the Zenite equivalent of broadband. It’s kind of like a beam of high-energy particles that slices through space faster than grease lightning. He just adjusts it to a particular frequency, points it at the Earth (or as many of us call it, the “oyt”), and the sound starts emitting from one of our abandoned speaker cabinets. It’s quite amazing. There is a slight latency problem – he actually has to start playing a note sometime last year in order for it to sync up with our performance. Fortunately, sFshzenKlyrn is a transcendental being of no fixed hairstyle and can slip from one place in time to another. (Yes, but can he go from one time in place to another? Huh? Can he?) So he simply dials himself back several months to the precise interval needed for transmission, and he’s right with us. (Monitoring is a little complicated – I’ll skip that bit.)

Then, of course, there’s the process of arranging our songs. You’ve already heard about how Big Green actually composes music. Arranging is a whole other thing. I call it the music-minus method. We start by giving everybody an instrument. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) gets an acoustic guitar, the man-sized tuber gets a trombone, anti-Lincoln gets a pipe organ, and so on. We literally fill the studio with noise, everyone playing at the same time, as many notes as they can squeeze in. Then we start to edit it down. You know – maybe a little less tuba in the chorus… not a constant stream of noise, but just a few notes… perhaps (preferably) none at all. We just keep slashing away at it until it gets close to something listenable. Funny… in the end, we always seem to end up with the three (or four) of us playing the instruments we usually play. So, I guess this whole arranging process is kind of a waste of time. Hmmm…. must re-evaluate. Bear with me, now.

Yeah, well… as we’re mulling that over, you can probably go back to whatever it was you were doing. Check back in a few days to see if we’re still mulling. If we are, kick the mill in the side a couple of times – that should do it.

Let’s see, what was it? Spring back, fall forward. Right? Yeah, that makes sense. Set the clocks back, kids… it’s really only 11:00 in the morning.

Hiya. Yeah, I know… the Daylight Savings Time thingy was days ago. We’re running a little behind here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, here in lovely (rainy) central New York. (That’s why we need to set those clocks BACK, damnit, BACK!) Lost inside this cavernous hulk of a building, you lose track of time sometimes…. especially if you wander into Mitch Macaphee’s laboratory. (Yes, he’s been messing with time again. So if you’re discovering crows feet you didn’t notice a day or two ago, it’s all down to him.) And that’s just one of the many hazards we have to deal with on a daily basis. They say show business is a dangerous trade, but “they” never spent a week in Big Green‘s shoes, no sir. Between the mad science projects, the lingering orgone generation field left over from Trevor James Constable’s patented device, the discarded soap sculptures left carelessly on the stairs, etc., we’re lucky to make it through the week alive. (Not sure we do, actually. MAYBE NOT. EVER THINK OF THAT?)

Whoa, I’m freaking myself out. Okay… this is for the benefit of “them” that do not know anything about Big Green and our uncommon lifestyle. And before I go on, yes, I did say discarded soap sculptures. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has been going through one of his creative phases of late, and has taken to whittling figurines out of bar soap. This is a little inconvenient, as we are going through lean times and we haven’t a bar of soap to spare, quite frankly. It’s also inconvenient because he leaves his discarded shavings and abandoned projects lying around where they end up under foot… like on those bloody brick stairs. (And by “bloody,” I now mean literally.) Damned self-absorbed artists! And Marvin’s still getting spammed – look at this:

Marvin

Our “Reverse the Recession” promotion has been extended to accept an additional 1,000 customers. If you have any upcoming need for working capital, unsecured business credit, equipment purchases, facility upgrades, etc., we should definitely talk. Here’s the scoop:

The first 1,000 customers to apply for a lease or loan will receive a $500 Visa Gift Card if they finance through Direct Capital.*

Marvin – This fills up rapidly. Please call me at (877) 322-9235 so I can give you details or at the very least reserve your spot now by visiting this site: promo.directcapital.com/372/MarvinDrelich1

Thanks,

Thomas

 

These fuckers never give up. Right, now back to my lifestyle point. Hmmm…. What was it again?

Oh, yeah. Here’s a window into our world. Every morning at the crack of noon I get up, shake the sawdust off my bedspread (termites!), limp to the doorway of my converted claw-hammer test lab bedroom, and start making my way down the corridor to the rusted remnants of a factory bathroom. After a quick scrub, I sneak past Mitch Macaphee’s lab, pass through the time portal left over from Trevor James’s experiments, and (if I don’t emerge in restrictive 18th century garb) proceed to the cellar where we keep our studio. Then I have six fingers of brandy. Just a bracer, you understand.

That’s a day in the life. Try it sometime. Or not. (It helps when you have a robot assistant.)

No, I haven’t seen your fork. What do I look like, the lost and found? Okay, don’t answer that. Anyway, why the hell do you NEED a personal fork? Are you some kind of FREAK?

Oh, hi. Jesus, the shit you have to deal with around this stupid hammer mill! Crikey… we’ve got songs to record, albums to hawk, hawks to feed, feed to store, stores to shop, shops to… store… just a whole lot of things to do, okay? The last thing I want to be stuck doing is hunting down lost silverware. But, of course, you’ve got to try to keep people happy, and Mitch Macaphee is one of those people. Believe me, it’s not easy to find a really dedicated mad scientist who’s willing to work with a hardly-working rock band. Most of them expect to be paid. (We always assume that to be evidence that they’re just not “mad” enough for our purposes.) Some expect honorific titles and assorted baubles of scientific status. Still others will just as soon vaporize you for even talking to them (perhaps unintentionally). Next to those guys, Mitch Macaphee is downright affable. Even if he does have a private fork. (He’s been using the man-sized tuber as a taster, too… I’ve seen him!)

Oh, sure… time was in the history of Big Green that mad scientists were relatively thick on the ground. We had your Dr. Hump, your Trevor James Constable, your Admiral Gonutz (though not technically a mad scientist, he was, indeed, mad). Indeed, they populated our early interstellar tours like heavy metals in a neutron star. (Not sure if that makes sense, exactly…. someone ask Mitch.) But they’ve all gone, now. Moved on to richer pastures and more rewarding career choices. Let’s face it…. Big Green was unable to offer them the kind of glory every mad scientist craves. We couldn’t even deliver the basics – a few sparking electrodes, banks of oversized v.u. meters, a gothic castle on a hill, the right little gnome. No, sir… all we could offer is a near total lack of monetary compensation and squatting rights in this drafty old abandoned hammer mill. Just try to hang on to a first-rate psycho-genius with nothing more than THAT as an incentive. Just try!

Okay, anyway. Mitch must be kept amused. He’s the last one we’ve got. Even Matt has decided he’s too big to fail, and has started carving driftwood sculptures to amuse him. (Matt’s good at a lot of things, but I don’t think one of them is carving. Most of his attempts were offered to the beavers, who made damn good use of them… no pun intended.) I even convinced posi Lincoln and anti Lincoln to put aside their differences and try their hand at convincing Mitch not to accept that attractive offer he’d received from the International Association of Mad Scientists Board of Governors, whose convention will be held in Buenos Aires this year. (Hot ticket, you best believe.) Since bribery is out of the question (lack of funds), we thought the Lincolns might use inescapable logic and persuasion. Not that either one of them possesses those capabilities, but someone has to try it on the rat bastard…. and it’s not going to be me. I’ve got work to do, damn it! There’s an album to finish, and it’s not going to freaking finish itself. As it is, Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is doing some of my parts. It’s almost like I’m becoming HIS personal robot assistant.

Okay, I’m a little off just now. Come back in a couple of hours and take another look. If I keep making that noise, take me into the shop and have them look at my bearings. (Could cost a bit.)