Studio Messings: Seventy (Voices)

A quick hour of messing around in the studio gives you this seventy (voices) demo .  It’s a rough draft of a recording.  In other words, as messy as all of my other “in progress” music

Seventy (Voices) is a conversation between a widower and the voices in his empty rooms.

The recording levels are a tad low, so you may need headphones.

 

Seventy (Voices)

How very strange to be seventy (when you’ve gone away)
The years go by so fast (will you be waiting?)
The doors are locked at seventy (close the door)
The race is over at last (over at last)

Smoke curls from the cigarette (grey inside the morning)
Greyer than my hair (smoke is curling around)
Raspy cough in the morning (light is growing)
Speaks of breath that isn’t there

And I still keep my side of the bed (keep my side)
And I still dream that she’s not dead (dream)

How very strange to be seventy (when you’ve gone away)
With no one at my side (will you be waiting?)
Morning tea is quiet (close the door)
When no one hears me sigh (no sees inside)

And I still keep my side of the bed (keep my side)
And I still dream that she’s not dead (dream)
Yes, I still keep my side of the bed (dream)

 

More music from earlier posts

 

 

 

Music from earlier in the week:

Some of you may recall a work in progress of mine from last year, “I’ve Got Ghosts.” I hadn’t touched it for awhile, but for a lunchtime project, I thought I’d revisit it for a few minutes.

I have to say, the song has a peculiar swing to it, a tick-tocking clock thing that stems from the background 3-part harmony. It makes the vocal melody a bit of a chore during parts, because if I don’t manage to stick with the tick-tock, my vocal is left exposed and rhythmically out of joint — which seems to happen a few times here.  I’m going to have to re-record the vocals carefully.

I think that halfway through the instrumental bridge, I’ll introduce some strummed tenor banjo. And keep it up for the rest of the song.

I’ve Got Ghosts — demo monday 1

I’ve Got Ghosts

Midnight weary
Midnight dreary
Hold me, love, and cheer me
Before the dawn breaks bleary.

Oh, no, I’ve got ghosts of the most late nocturnal
I’ve got ghosts, I’m the host with the most paranormal
Well I’ve seen how they scream as I dream bloody murder
I shouldn’t dream, so it seems, please don’t scream with such fervour.

One’s a ghost crept from the past
One’s a future now precast from the present fading fast
Another one’s inside my head showing me the walking dead
Feasting on my sense of dread as I toss inside my bed.

Oh, man, skeletons, boogiemen, hell, I’ve got Saskwatch
I’ve got vampires keeping watch, they’re drinking scotch, but they want blood
My closet’s full and so’s my skull, it’s never dull, this nightmare
When the dead wont stay dead, and shriek instead, I’m so scared.