You can barely hear anything from the street, just a faint and distant heartbeat when the rhythm rises. Several inches of padding and a few thick doors have done the trick. It’s nice to be back here, moving amongst the amplifiers, the instruments, the suitcases and makeshift sound makers as the band experiments with grooves and various sonic realities.
There are no limits, no preconceived formats. It’s a limitless canvas, crazy full of the eclectic & the odd, the screeching & the Felliniesque. Fat synth pads to rattle your bones and guitars that scream & wail.
I could do this all the time. I could shoot musicians, dancers, actors in this intimate act of performance and experimentation day in, day out. I’d never get bored.
I could live inside the incubator.