Hello, my name is Looptron.

Oh. No.

Ok, ok, no posting for a bit. I know what you're gonna say. Sorry. For the most part it's the usual reasons but I've also been spending an unnatural amount of time with my acoustic guitar these past couple of days. I have been tricked by my friend Tom McHugh into getting up and playing a couple of tunes at the Spice Of Life's open mic night. There will be two songs (this one and that one) and I have to figure out how to sing and play the guitar parts for them at the same time.

Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap. Haven't been this nervous before a gig in years, but then I've never sung lead vocals before, and only rarely play acoustic.

Crap.

It can't help that I've already had my first beer. And I can feel the second one looming.

I'll let you know.

Crap.

Fancy a quickie?

I really can't explain why my most productive time seems to be the hour or so between me getting out of the shower and leaving the house on weekday mornings*. I spent ages last night working on music stuff for the various projects I'm involved in and achieved precisely nothing. This morning I staggered out of bed and came up with this...

Machine Quick [demo 001] [MP3]

Literally the only thing that existed for this tune prior to today was a set of lyrics I wrote on an aeroplane somewhere between Melbourne and Sydney and a vague idea what the chord progression would be. Of course, the moral of this story is always leave your gear set up so you can just record and not have to worry about levels and stuff.

Originally in my head it was gonna be a bit faster, glitchier and more NIN-esque, but I'm really enjoying the Echoes-era Floyd leslie-fest thing. Didn't have time to get the basic vocal melody down (and peanut butter on toast really gunks up your vocal folds anyway) but I do have one sorted. I'll try and get it down this week, but there's a Cassette gig looming this Thursday so time may be short. I haven't even got the regulation haircut and man-in-black outfit sorted for that yet.

* If Sunday was anything to go by the only thing I produce during that same hour on the weekend is sambuca-flavoured vomit. Niiiiiiiiice.