colby caldwell

Jaye Bartell - Day Seven

colby caldwell
Jaye Bartell - Day Seven

You can only observe what’s where your eyes are—how’s that grab you, Hegel? The second day in the studio, with a quick outing to an offsite basement to record a piano. That’s J Seger on the competent end, and me on the little kid side. We recorded the music into a tape deck—a Walkman actually. The original—by Yoko Ono—sounds as if it was recorded in a similar fashion. Whereas yesterday we managed 10 songs, the sense of progress is deceptive: There’s still the matter of outfitting the arrangements. I’m pretty limited outside of classical guitar, so friends such as Seger and Emily Easterly bring very much to the table. It’s not simply a meat and potatoes scenario––the bass Seger is adding right now to this Sinatra song elevates my version from a coffee shop number to something with some gravitas—like a coffee with scotch in it. God, what a sappy analogy. I grew, like, a Steely Dan ponytail just writing that. Onward into the evening, so here’s hoping for a fruitful one.

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A picture from life's other side, or from the week's other side. I'm back at Anthology after a busy but heartening week in Asheville. After two days of recording, the visit concluded with a banquet table, socially speaking, with many longtime great friends in company, drinking tequila and talking about things to laugh about them, except for when we got on the topic of how I got shingles at age 31, when I worked at Mountain Xpress. Long story, but most rashes are. Early day to the airport–like 5 a.m. early. Jodi and Duncan picked us up; their son, Jasper, was coincidentally on our flight. He's going to an engineering camp for the week up here in NYC. I love that kid. I've known him since he was born. No surprise considering who his parents are, but he's such a charming, smart, peaceful guy. Anyway. Pictured is the window that started it all last Sunday, on this is the projection it casts on the floor. Light is so constant and always so new. It's still there where it was last week, but it's different. I'm not trying to put on some kind of faux-naif wonderment act–it's beautiful, fuck it (my phrase of choice). So, likewise, I'm back. But here's to the people, and the place itself, of my other home.