Let’s get one thing straight: I write for a music website. That does not mean that I am any sort of a musician. In fact, if you subscribe to the “those who cannot do, teach” philosophy, it probably means that I’m a worse musician than Milli Vanilli. This project is as much for “the communication” as it is for “the hilarity.”
That being said, I present to you a new project:
Part of what Destructive Interference is about is communicating across borders, communicating common ideas. Or at least what I believe to be a common idea. I have a very good friend with whom I share common ideas on what “good” music is. We went to college together, read a few books, drank a few beers, and played a lot of guitar pretty terribly. Despite this common background, we are now separated by over 4,000 miles.
Here, we present to you the way in which we communicate. The rules:
1. Every week or so, the both of us must record a commonly appreciated song.
2. This song must be recorded in as raw a form as possible. This means: low fidelity, no mastering, no touching up. Just hit record and start singing.
3. Recordings must always occur either late at night or when completely alone.
Without further ado, here I present to you two versions of Emperor X’s “Raytracer.”
Our second effort (and I use the term quite lightly) is called “Jet Ski Accidents.” Originally by Jason Anderson, we used the version off of a bonus disc by The Blow as a model. The lyrics are chock full of awkward engagements and Bob Mould references. We don’t care if they Blow or are a Husker DO, they are fun. And are kind of what I’ve always wanted to say to someone.
Who doesn’t enjoy The Chiffons? Joe and I certainly do. So does John Darnielle. Thus, our third effort is dedicated to Carole King’s classic, “One Fine Day.” In my opinion, this song is one of those really rare pop songs that, when sung one way, can sound ridiculously happy; when sung another, amazingly happy.
It is for that reason that Joe and I have each taken the liberty of recording it in a state excitement. A state of thrill. A state of arousal so pungent with the smell of transmutation that it could only be brought about by vapid inebriation.
So here they are. Joe, on a roof in Argentina, sunstroaked and drunken with a keyboard; myself in a basement, soaked in rye with a guitar.