Day 3
On May 1, 1890, workers would strike for an eight-hour work day. We salute the ghosts of the past as 119 years later, their efforts enabled us to depart from our capitalistic institutions, rev up our consumerist cars, and drive the amber waves of grain, through the purple mountains to the land of the free and the home of the brave: Ramona.
Looking through the sleep in our eyes, the recording day began around 5:30pm. Cheebs and Jim began moving the amps around, changing tones, listening intently for that specific sound that Cheebs’ porcelain links would evoke from his custom made Cheebocaster. The first take that we listened to had a heavy, deep sound with a lot of balls, but we didn’t want to literally blow the grille off of the speaker box, so we took it down a couple notches. We finally got the sound we were looking for and Cheebs was off to let his fingers dance. Cheebs ran in the same brick wall of confusion that I, Kevy Hallus, ran into. However, he persevered through it as only Cheebs can. It was around 3 hours later that the last track was laid and we were all pretty beat as Jims’ slave labor of irrigation work had caught up with him and my lethargy of sitting was encapsulating. We decided to hold off on Cheebs slaying solos until after I laid down my T-Rex like vocals. Another day and another dusting off our hands of recording as we walk to the edge of the world to clean up the coast on Saturday which is also known as Day 4.
Peace,
Kevy Hallus
