Voice Overs
One month removed, three months to go. How quickly, and bizarrely, the time do fly. Things are just active right now. Not exactly busy, I don't feel overwhelmed just yet (give me a couple weeks), but I do feel very active. And, to a lesser extent, pretty tired. But like I said, things are going well; my album's almost finished. Mia came in and added violin to a track this past Thursday, which was most excellent. It's so pretty, it will make your disgruntled biker uncle cry. Of course, that might lead him to kick a squirrel or something in defiance, so maybe this isn't a good thing? Ah well. Frickin squirrel probably deserved it.
And now, I humbly present Ben C-F's Pet Peeve Number 426. (Those of you who haven't submitted your review/critique on number 425, I'm still accepting them until Wednesday, after which there will be a half-grade reduction.) Today's pet peeve is: vocal majors who like to sing constantly.
You know the type. I'm not talking about people who walk around humming stuff a lot. There's nothing wrong with that, I do it all the time, especially when I'm writing a new song. I'm talking about kids who walk through the halls, or outside, or in an auditorium, or at their house, or in their car, or in the restroom, ditto ditto et cetera et cetera, belting out a song. Or maybe they're not belting out a song. Maybe they're just belting. But the point is, people who walk around singing in full-voice, without stop. It's just annoying, especially when you come across the same people constantly, and they're always doing it. In one way, it completely kills the element of surprise you get by bumping into a friend. If you hear them singing from yards away, there's no suspense. But more than that, it's just plain annoying to hear someone glotting out a tune, full-throttle, with either no consideration of the world around them, or a clear belief that they're actually bettering the world around them by sharing their gift. They're not. It's annoying.
To put this in another perspective, you don't see me walking around producing constantly. I don't patrol the halls tweaking fake nobs, turning up faders that only exist in my head. You'll never hear me say stuff like, "Dude! That dog bark would sound so cool if I ran it through the Summit pre!" "Okay, Bill, tell me I'm fired again, only this time, put more feeling into it. You know, like you're angry. Make me believe you're angry." "Damn, what a car crash. Could we get a second take of that?" "Mom, stop yelling at me! I'm totally gonna have to put a 4:1 compression ratio on your voice if you keep it up! You're clipping, you're clipping!" No. I don't do that. Because I know when there's a time to be a producer, and when there's a time to be a normal human being. (Well, also, I'm not getting paid at the time.) And it's not just producers either, it's all other musicians. Violinists don't walk around mock-bowing their arms and screeching "Eeee, Eeee, Eeee," and similarly, trumpeters won't be out on the street doing really lousy Miles Davis impressions. (Unless they've had a lot of cough syrup. Or just ate some really spicy Thai food.)
It's just bothersome, that's all. Don't intrude on other people's space. Think about how the folks around you might react if you're just singing at the top of your lungs constantly. We must be considerate, in this day and age. I mean, Christ, I'm a drummer even. And it's not like I'm always walking around hitting. . . things. . . rhythmically. . . hmm. . . um, nevermind.
I'd list the current weather in Guatemala, but at the moment, Rainey is off vacationing somewhere in the Caribbean. They're celebrating a four-day weekend, in honor of Guatemala's Independence Day. But she'll be back tomorrow, at which point I'll resume the obligatory, obtrusive Guatemalan weather reports. I mean, hell, she's taking a break, I might as well too! Later on, my good foolios.