Vocal recording for Art For Me and Rembrandt today. My singing has improved hugely over the last year and is still improving, showing small and tentative signs of something stronger. When I sang 'We Shall See' for Sisyphus, those high notes were a pinnacle of my achievement at the time, but I can now sing the song in a notably fuller voice compared to then, and Always in the Morning is much stronger too.
I expected this would be the case and remain pleased to have done things this way. Doing the same thing over and over again results in improvement; but one must monitor results, analyse, and work at weak points. It amazes me when people do the same thing for their entire life and seemingly never improve or change. I could have practiced in 'silence' for these months or years, not committed songs to albums until I felt 'ready', knowing that I would improve, but the defeats the aim of art - to do, not to muse or ponder. Things should always improve. I paint to the best of my ability, knowing that my skill will be better next year.
In music, I've held off from CD editions of my vocal albums, allowing the possibility of re-recording parts. That process could continue forever, there is always some sort of trade-off. The Modern Game and Burn of God will do as they are.
Art For Me was joyous to sing, but also nightmarish due to the strange timing. It's basically 4/4 with a strange hint of 3/4 in the rhythm. Here are the drums of one measure - the purple dot is the bass drum, the pink the snare; the blues are all ride cymbals:
I recorded about 5 takes for each verse alone because the lines seemed to jump in at the wrong moment, and each line seems to jump in at a different time. In scale the song is as epic as an Edith Piaf or my other song Out Of Date.
Rembrandt is different fare... easy in some ways but the tones and pitches are a little awkward. It starts almost at a gentle whisper but there are (emotionally) strained higher notes which are challenging to fit.
Here are the lyrics:
I touch your hair
with tender care
my Saskia
as I roll you in crisp linen sheets to sleep.
We have no money.
I haven't got the nerve to tell you.
Money!
The curse of human industry;
so sleep my darling baby,
dream of happy pasts,
I will lie awake
and worry
for us both.
I press you near,
release a tear,
my Saskia,
as I pray to god for providence to shine.
I wish for money,
I don't know how we're going to make it.
Money,
the jester who controls us all,
so sleep my darling baby,
the silver of the glass,
the amber of the lake
will speak
when you wake.
