The Making of an Album

It's a warm Toronto day, with that languid air that seems to only happen in humid places. The sun burns a hole through the blue tissue paper sky and the trees quiver in anticipation of the inevitable fall. I am told the maples are changing further north, but that it will be weeks before the colour spreads southwards. It seems the city holds it breath waiting. The studio though is isolated from all thoughts of sun and sky, the space quiet and thoughtful. It truly is a world outside of the world. 

Today is the bones. The skeletal forming of the songs in percussion. Ray Dillard is in the studio, an evocative and sensitive player, who adds so much more than just rhythm to the tracks. There are instruments I have never even heard of that will form the shaded light of my new album. It is daunting in some ways, and exciting in every way. The songs are still finding their pathways and I watch awed as the notes, the words become their meaning through the addition of each new track. Right now the swelling timbre of cymbals is as the crashing of waves in my Mermaid Song. ~smile~ It is a good day. 

Soon I will be singing, my turn to stand before the mic and let the vocals become. Hopefully they will flow liquid from my throat, though I feel dry right now, nervously awaiting. 

I love this, I love this process, the fluid organism of recording, the way everything melts into a delicious whole, the dense soft air of the studio, the insular vulnerable space that cradles my songs into their evolution.

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