Only 25 days into the mess, and already life without music has become unthinkable. Difficult to believe that a mere 26 days ago (and continuing backwards five years from there), I hardly ever touched a musical instrument. A few have questioned how the time for this project exists, and to that query I offer an amazing and unexpected answer:
I have flicked on the tube exactly once (for a half-hour) since the Redline Project commenced, and I no longer cruise around Facebook or Youtube unless there is some intended purpose. That's it. Nothing else has changed.
I still ride my bike. I still help run the Communicycle co-op. I still play Scrabble and Settlers of Catan with my wife. I still sleep late on Saturday. I still hang with friends midweek for all kinds of shenanigans. I still help with music at church on Sundays. And yes, I still work the old day job. Get the picture?
Two minor epiphanies: First, it is astounding how much time I have wasted doing absolutely nothing over the course of the last several years. Second, it has taken me far too long to recognize the truth of epiphany number one.
It has been downright nifty to figure out that there is plenty of room in my daily life for a new ordeal, and a time-munching one at that. This may become one of my favorite unexpected outcomes of the Redline Project, and I sincerely hope it encourages everyone reading along to consider subtracting a measure of fluff and adding something of significance to the daily grind.
A glance at the project schedule (in an earlier post for those wanting to have a look for themselves) exposes the truth that I can be an overachiever when I set my mind to it. By the 31st of January, my goal was to acquire all funds for the Redline Project, with the follow-up February goal of acquiring all equipment necessary to complete this project.
If you have visited before, you know that Studio Redline has at least enough gear on the shelves to produce the ten scratch recordings peppered throughout these two dozen posts. To be exact, the funds came in (and went back out) for a 12 track mixer, a 49 key midi controller, two condenser microphones, two microphone stands, a pop filter, an electric guitar, and a tangle of XLR and quarter-inch cables. True that many components are stickered with the names of friends who lent them to the project's cause, and for these acquisitions I am forever grateful.
So here I am, surrounded by an arsenal of recording equipment. Professionals may turn up their noses, scoffing that Radio Shack peddles finer offerings, but I am enamored with these electronic components of bliss. And I believe in time they will prove themselves to be the little recording engine that could.
A nice surprise popped into view when I checked the analytics for this site last night. It looks like Google has found this humble project and been so kind as to send not one, not two, but six visitors to its pages. Go ahead, laugh, all ye blogosphere experts. I think that is exciting news.
In the course of three weeks a small but steady stream of folks has materialized. We are over 200 strong on Facebook (The Redline Project) and even have a few people sniffing the bones thrown out on Twitter (@RedlineProject). Google also heralds visitors worming their way to this website from five countries outside of the United States (Germany, Moldova, Australia, Hong Kong, and Canada for the curious).
Regarding a look forward, what do all these bits of excitement mean?
Absolutely nothing.
I am still a nomad meandering around the genres, window-shopping the possibilities of music and musical expression. I have no voice. I do not understand recording theory in the least, and I have no control over the finer points of my extremely powerful and complex software workstation. The electric guitar buzzes and pops, and the acoustic guitar produces a lead quilt of magnetic noise. And the ambient noises from my 1970s split-level infect every attempt to lay down an analog waveform.
Almost a month of thought, effort, purchasing, contemplating, exploring... is in the back pocket, and 11 short ones remain. My level of investment took the plunge some time ago, and I have no confidence in my ability to deliver on the goals set forth on the header of this page. This is a fearful expedition, one that may be without specific destination.
I am left with a question. It nips at the heels of my daily routine and robs sleep from the darkest part of the night: Can I do it?
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