I am being crushed by technology. The keys to a world of creativity "previously unimaginable at such a reasonable price" are proving as effective a barrier to artistic endeavour as a liquid cosh. I have musical software issues and have been awake most of the night racking my troglodyte brain to think what I might have done wrong ( the list is endless), before humiliating myself with a phone call to an IT dept and the inevitable enquiry as to whether I've switched the computer on or not.
Home recording was once a gloriously simple affair - reel to reel tape recorders or four track cassettes - double speed for ultra high quality. Home demos were just that - preliminary sketches for the full blown masterpieces you hoped one day to realize in a proper studio - a masonic temples of sound and magic, with engineers, tape ops and Dickensian urchins for fetching sandwiches and beer and climbing inside the tape machines to catch mice.
This is not another rueful rant for the good old days of steam - I love technology when it works, and have been computerised for years. Programs such as Logic and Pro Tools have revolutionised home recording, enabling musicians to never leave the house - except for fetching sandwiches and beer. The problem comes when you upgrade.
I've just brought something called a Firewire Interface. I touched the manual - absorbing its copious information by psychic osmosis, plugged in, installed the discs, and fully expected to be number one in the charts by now.
In a few moments I shall phone the helpline, be self-deprecating, humble, grateful, or incandescent with rage if necessary. I am convinced that the machine is faulty - convinced - yet equally sure that It's me. Once my brain has been cleansed of techno-sewage, I am off to a proper recording studio to play musical saw for Art Brut. I hope they've laid on the sandwiches and beer.
