stink rock
For the last several months, two of my seventeen bands have been able to leave the sacrosanctity of hourly studios to rehearse in a monthly joint in the music building. But last Friday, I journeyed back to Smash Studios to play with the House of Blondes as we attempt to wrap up the recording of songs we've been writing for 10 years.
The rehearsal room smelled like your great-great-grandfather guzzled a handle of gin every Sunday since the Crusades, extracted his liver and kidneys with forceps soaked in boiling garlic water, mashed them into sauna stones and threw them into a heater of fresh tar and skunk spray. The theory of evolution became incontrovertable fact that day at Smash, where I smelled 50,000,000 year-old perspiration.
An open note to the denizens of Smash: The solo to Takin' Care of Business sounds aces. Stop practicing and bathe. Maybe keep your clothes on when you do.
The rehearsal room smelled like your great-great-grandfather guzzled a handle of gin every Sunday since the Crusades, extracted his liver and kidneys with forceps soaked in boiling garlic water, mashed them into sauna stones and threw them into a heater of fresh tar and skunk spray. The theory of evolution became incontrovertable fact that day at Smash, where I smelled 50,000,000 year-old perspiration.
An open note to the denizens of Smash: The solo to Takin' Care of Business sounds aces. Stop practicing and bathe. Maybe keep your clothes on when you do.
posted by stinkrock at 2:47 AM
2 Comments:
Has the parrot been able to survive the SMASHSTANK?
I didn't actually see Mikey there, but I assume he's still kicking it. The smell just makes him angry.
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