A busy day, went to bed with a cough and had a feverish might of vivid dreams. At one point it was Donald Trump's funeral, which was a glitzy television spectacular. The glittery jacketed host, a Scientologist priest, paid tribute to Donald and introduced tribute acts which included dancing monkeys and a group of singing cats. David Bowie, alive and well in Pierrot garb, at home, watching it all on television, was asked to include one of his songs but he refused permission for the show to use his music.
Many other dreams followed.
In the morning I spoke to Simon at length, then performed a cement repair on the step of the house.
Then, a solid few hours of work on the Franz Hals song. I needed to record live electric guitars and and organ. I had in mid some simple backing sub-melody for the verses, so played a few notes in a rather 'thin' pickup setting, then played many times a thicker lead over each chorus, with leads into a solo immediately afterwards. This was relatively simple, but took a lot of takes. I wanted to be sure I got it right, and this practice is important; it's almost the oly guitar playing I do.
After that I added an organ solo, all chords, to the chorus. The guitars and organs took many hours in effect, and left me exhausted. the song sounds great so far though, very 70s rock sounding, something reminiscent of a band like Focus or Free. Here are the words (so far):
When you gonna paint me with your satin brush?
When you gonna flick my big moustache?
Are the frills I'm wearing really to your taste?
When you gonna make my clothing paste?
Franz Hals, Franz Hals, Franz Hals.
Franz Hals, Franz Hals, Franz Hals.
Paint me as your mother in her rocking chair.
Show me every strand of silver hair.
Dress me in formica if it suits the scene.
Melt my lacy spirals into cream.
Franz Hals, Franz Hals, Franz Hals.
Franz Hals, Franz Hals, Franz Hals.
Break me into fragments of a broken day
Yellows turn to black
What will come of you
Franz Hals?
