PRESENTLY SPEAKING REQUEST (**** TIME SENSITIVE *****)
VOCALISTS: We're looking for a chorus of harmony parts to accompany Pamagotchi's lead vocals in the finale of "Presently Speaking."
*** DEADLINE is 10am PT tomorrow (Friday 4/17) - so if you've got some time tonight, grab your mic and show us what you've got!
The full updated lyrics can be found HERE.
The most recent version to reference can be found HERE.
The part we're looking for is at the very end - for the finale of the song. Make sure to listen to the reference mix before you give it a go, and try to match Pamagotchi's vocals in terms of tempo and phrasing.
You're living in the future that they dreamt of yesterday
Yes, you're living in the future that they dreamt of yesterday
We’re living in the future that they dreamt of yesterday!
Notes From JeffPeff: "There's a MIDI file in the original stems zip (HERE) which includes tempo and meter information, for anyone who wants to drop this mix into their workstation and have a proper tempo grid to work with. We're looking for harmony parts to sing along with Pam's lead vocals in the last coda. We don't have any specific notes to direct you towards, so sing what you're feeling. But do make sure to match Pam's vocal in terms of phrasing and pocket… If everyone sings the lyrics as she sings them, it'll make for a nice, tight vocal section."
My family story begins in the Klondike and I wanted to try and tell that story in my own way. Maybe it isn’t really usable for this collab, but I still wanted to share it. I think that of all the national parks (either Canadian or American) there is something special about the Klondike Gold Rush National Historic Park (and not just because so much of my family history lies there). It crosses borders and time, it preserves history and nature and our two nations share it. I like that. So here is my story for what it’s worth maybe someone could turn it into something more usable.
Granny knew how to tell a good story. Her daughters would roll their eyes, never sure how to separate the facts from the fiction. I never worried much about the truth. Now that she is gone I struggle to hold on to all her stories, regardless of their truths and falsehoods, they slip from my lips, finding new homes with my kids, with friends, or on the page. Her name was Shirley and she was born the same year as Mickey Mouse.
She talked often and animatedly about her childhood, telling stories of summers out at the logging camps of the Yukon and northern British Columbia. She developed a love of nature in the north western forests and oceans that defined her and infected all of us.
Granny didn't remember the years that all her favorite forests were deemed sacred, but she considered herself to be a soldier in that battle, one of the many who stood arm in arm, committed to the protection and preservation of nature and the history of our part of the world. The nature she loved, the...
We have a quick update regarding our "Sidekicks" animation.
We're excited to announce that we will be using THIS SCORE by StereoLif for this animation (no further contributions are needed at this time).
His pupils were dilated. Again. The next thing that would happen would be either a screaming match, complete with doors slamming and “Fuck yous” (and everything was my fault and he hated me), or a three-hour rant in which I wouldn’t get a word in edgewise. I had stopped listening to those about two years ago. I used to nod or frown or shake my head when needed. Now, I don’t even look up from whatever I’m doing or even respond. It doesn’t matter. He’s not trying to have a conversation anyway.
I mentally prepared for one or the other, tensing up as the second hand slowed down, painfully ticking away like a time bomb. I chose my words carefully, asking him how his day was and if he wanted to get ready for the show. My mistake was when he asked what he should wear. I was judging him, of course, when I said that he could wear whatever he wanted, as it wasn’t a fancy event or anything.
And then it was my fault that we didn’t go. Forget that he had said forty minutes ago that he wasn’t going. Forget that he slammed the door so hard bits of wall crumbled into little corn flakes on the floor. Forget that any time had passed at all or that he had demanded the ring back or that he had threatened to call the cops on me. He had come home, immediately gotten ready, tried to get me to leave on time, and then I said it was too late. I was the one who said I wasn’t going. I was the one at fault here.
His sister would know what to do. Supposedly, though, she thought I treated him like shit. Everyone thought I treated him like shit. Even my friends thought I treated him like shit. I was unaware of all of these conversations he had in private with my friends. He only ever told me that he liked speaking to them about things they wouldn’t understand. Ivy league kids. They’re sure dumb, aren’t they?
I could feel the bile rising and I ran to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door. It was because I was angry, but I lied and said I was scared. Scared of losing him, scared of him. His animal instincts switched immediately.
He doesn’t understand why he gets anxious or angry. He doesn’t know why he treats the people he loves this way. And he knows better. He knows he has issues, but he doesn’t like himself on medication. Why couldn’t he just not know better?
This is what happens when you invite something wild into your home. You endure it, show it love, pretend like everything is okay. You allow certain things to happen, until you find the inevitable flaws. The infidelities, the lies, the neglect. Then, you don’t let on. You have no idea, in fact. You ask it, knowing the answers yet graciously receiving the lies. Then, you mold it, tame it, give it an addiction. And then you set it back into the wild, knowing it won’t survive. Knowing that the next time it fucks with someone, she could end up like me.
walking along the pavement: charcoal, rectangular brickwork
it struck me
as it often does,
about how there are so
many people in this world
never get to
i passed by acquaintances and shared a nod
sometimes there'll be friends
who'll smile and share jokes,
but there are so many people
who I'll never know
--Under the covers of a threadbare sheet
Or innocuously enough,
At a meet and greet--
i crunch on fresh fall leaves
a true maple leaf
but my heart is hollow.
it just surprises me
that the only impact I'll have on your life
when: our eyes flit to each other's
(a meagre effort)
on a train or bus,
a commonality of shared boredom;
when: you push
against me on a
when: we share the
uncomfortable silence of
riding an elevator
crouched and cramped.
it frightens me to think that if
i walk past you on the street:
all that I am to you is
a mindless body strolling
on another mindless day.
Poem every day: 10/30
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