I always liked the intensity of the recording.
quote by Chris Bailey
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My recording career has luckily run the gamut of recording environments.
quote by Matt Cameron
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Nowadays, it's like two different arenas, recording and touring. When I started way back in the day, doing both was nothing, you didn't have to think about it, the road and recording.
quote by Bootsy Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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T Bone and I grew up together in Fort Worth, Texas. He had his own recording studio by the time he was seventeen years old. When we were both nineteen he made the first archival recording of my voice.
quote by Betty Buckley
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And for me the only way to live life is to grab the bull by the horns and call up recording studios and set dates to go in recording studios. To try and accomplish something.
quote by John Frusciante
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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You can alter movie singing so much because you go into the recording studio and, just technology for recording has gotten so good, you can hold out a note and they can combine a note from take 2 and a note from take 8.
quote by Anne Hathaway
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The thing is that I have a really intense, almost compulsive need to record. But it doesn't end there, because what I record is somehow transformed into a creative thing. There is a continuity. Recording is the beginning of a conceptual production. I am somehow collapsing the two - recording and producing - into a single event.
quote by Rem Koolhaas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The History of Now
The recording of culture is history;
but our culture is more than that.
It's the world of human action,
and the myths we make of the fact.
The recording of history is culture,
but our history is more than that.
It informs a hidden agenda.
Unconscious of motive we act.
It's the history of now, the history of now.
It's only the present that exists as endowed.
It's the history of now. The moment - KAPOW!
That knocks you right over and muddies your brow.
Through the prism of language, we know what we know.
We carry our baggage and stories of woe.
Victor and vanquished pride cannot budge,
the dead weight of hatred and ancestral grudge.
We fight our good fights with our hand on our heart;
the music is swelling as loved ones depart.
As sheep to the slaughter, the script cannot chart,
a course more ignoble: the propagandist's art.
The recording of history is culture,
but our culture is more than that.
More than the great individuals,
the scholars so love in their tracts.
The recording of culture is history;
but our history is more than that.
Not simple dates or statistics,
the full horror and gore still attracts.
It's the history of now, the history of now.
A strange contradiction that makes sense somehow.
It's the history of now, a mystery and shroud.
The past and the future: best fiction allowed.
poem by David SmithWhite
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In Mind Spaces Where We Live
sometimes in intensity
focused moments
in mind spaces
where we live...
we say
what we
are doing
as an answer...
rather than how
we are
how we feel
sometimes in intensity
concentrated thoughts
absorption rates
are source only...
precise precision
accurate adequate
indicators of mood
talent feeling personality...
effort is how we feel
detailed analysis synthesis
we feel what we do
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Love has its own language
The intensity of kisses,
the look in eyes
that burns flaming,
the touch of hands
which is loaded with intensity,
is all without true meaning
if there isn’t love
between partners.
Love has its own language,
that people speak with each other
and at times words are needless:
The silent understanding
of what is going on in the heart,
the gladness and trust
which leaks out of its own accord,
the being together
without having
to touch each other;
says deeper things
without having to use words.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Was Made For Loving You
Back when I was dating Rich,
he gave me Kiss’s guitar pic.
Gene Simons handed it to him,
in the 1978 recording session.
“I Was Made For Loving You Baby”
the song they were recording at the time,
Gene was playing the bass and singing just fine.
Now if I google the price of this guitar pic,
It would be the price of ten times 9.
But I’m not selling I’m sorry to say,
I will play my guitar with it someday.
poem by Christina Sunrise
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I Was Made For Loving You
Back when I was dating Rich,
he gave me Kiss’s guitar pic.
Gene Simons handed it to him,
in the 1978 recording session.
“I Was Made For Loving You Baby”
the song they were recording at the time,
Gene was playing the bass and singing just fine.
Now if I google the price of this guitar pic,
It would be the price of ten times 9.
But I’m not selling I’m sorry to say,
maybe I will play my guitar with it someday.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Atheist Intensity Attacks
I belong
to that decreasing
western minority
which actually
believes in God
deep convictions
but you must
make your own
decisions of belief
I have no desire
nor right to change
any of your thoughts
God gave you
life intelligence plus
individual free choice
what surprises however
is atheist intensity attacks
upon their conceptions
religions are fairy tales
if fairy tales in reality
why intensity of attacks?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Fierce Poem Escapes Me
The fierce poem escapes me
The deepest intensity is not here-
In calm I write
In calm I listen-
Quiet and easy now
Waiting in the blessing of my own long silence-
The fierce poem escapes me
The deepest intensity is not here
I am no longer young
And my words have the wisdom
Of a tiredness I too barely know how to bear.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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In his eyes, his eyes
His open eyes, one catching the sun,
shining towards me – presumably
they still function optically:
recording, unmoved, unmoving, my presence;
this dead soldier, sodden in the ditch,
half his body peaceful, as if
welcoming his death; the other half
unmentionable; animals must eat;
his eyes recording my presence, yet
the brain now with no need
to question whether I’m the enemy; or friend;
the medic; the man who’s just shot him several times
at close range, standing over; or
the man he shot just now;
come to greet him as his newest friend.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Time Before Death
Friend? hope for the Guest while you are alive.
Jump into experience while you are alive!
Think... and think... while you are alive.
What you call 'salvation' belongs to the time
before death.
If you don't break your ropes while you're alive,
do you think ghosts will do it after?
The idea that the soul will join with the ecstatic
just because the body is rotten --
that is all fantasy.
What is found now is found then.
If you find nothing now,
you will simply end up with an apartment in the
City of Death.
If you make love with the divine now, in the next
life you will have the face of satisfied desire.
So plunge into the truth, find out who the Teacher is,
Believe in the Great Sound!
Kabir says this: When the Guest is being searched for,
it is the intensity of the longing for the Guest
that does all the work.
Look at me, and you will see a slave of that intensity.
Friend, Hope For The Guest While You Are Alive
Friend, hope for the Guest while you are alive.
Jump into experience while you are alive!
Think... and think... while you are alive.
What you call 'salvation' belongs to the time
before death.
If you don't break your ropes while you're alive,
do you think
ghosts will do it after?
The idea that the soul will join with the ecstatic
just because the body is rotten—
that is all fantasy.
What is found now is found then.
If you find nothing now,
you will simply end up with an apartment
in the City of Death.
If you make love with the divine now, in the next life
you will have the face of satisfied desire.
So plunge into the truth, find out who the Teacher is,
believe in the Great Sound!
Kabir says this: When the Guest is being search for,
it is the intensity of the longing for the Guest
that does all the work.
Look at me, and you will see a slave of that intensity.
To be a Slave of Intensity
Friend, hope for the guest while you are alive.
Jump into experience while you are alive!
Think...and think...while you are alive.
What you call 'salvation' belongs to the time before death.
If you don't break your ropes while you're alive,
do you think
ghosts will do it after?
The idea that the soul will join with the ecstatic
Just because the body is rotten -
that is all fantasy.
What is found now is found then.
If you find nothing now,
you will simply end up with an apartment in the City of Death.
If you make love with the divine now, in the next life you will have the face of satisfied desire.
So plunge into the truth, find out who the Teacher is,
Believe in the Great Sound!
Kabir says this: When the guest is being searched for, it is the intensity of the longing for the Guest that does all the work.
Look at me, and you will see a slave of that intensity.
Intensity
The leopard looked with dark disdain
And ever-growing dread.
He sensed this day would bring him pain,
With trouble dead ahead.
A broken twig changed everything!
Of fear, he wasn't fond...
Who knows what fickle fate may bring?
Some creature lurked beyond...
He stared with great intensity,
Alerted and alarmed...
No longer strolling fancy free,
No longer feeling calmed...
How big and bold the danger was
As yet he couldn't guess...
And yet his heart went cold because
One fight steals happiness.
Reverse and run? Too soon to say...
New courage made him wait...
Perhaps this was his finest day
And he would celebrate.
If not, then death was way too close...
For tensions filled the air.
Two predators are vicious foes,
Like devils who don't care...
His claws were poised like daggers gripped,
Outstretched, the fight to win...
Death laughed at him, as from its crypt,
Yet leopards don't give in!
The fight begins! Not one relents!
The fur flies to and fro!
The leopard wins through violence!
His foe turned tail to go...
Alone, the leopard stood his ground...
With such intensity...
And with no other creature round,
He savoured victory!
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Intensity'.
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Heart Whispered
The heart whispered,
After the intensity
Of the pangs would reduce,
I would write the verse;
After the bewildering horror
Of death would decrease,
I would write the verse:
The intensity
Of the pangs does not reduce;
The bewildering horror
Of death does not decrease.
The wailing, the bawling,
The crying, the mourning,
Do not let heartily sleep,
Do not let heartily weep.
Then after
Cheerful sleep and weeping deep,
I shall write the verse.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Nothing Remains to Sustain An Intensity Given
The cresting that comes and wanes...
Does not fade within a heart,
That has felt the gift of Sun!
It remains and not falters...
To sparkle bright and reflect,
Upon those who witnessed...
And accepted a change that has occured.
Nothing remains to sustain an intensity given.
It is an experience to be collected.
Shared and remembered for what it is.
Not to be held to define one's greatness.
Attempting to achieve a stability that keeps evolving...
Results in defeat and overwhelming conflict!
Nothing remains to sustain an intensity given.
It is an experience to be collected.
Shared and remembered for what it is.
And passed on.
But some with greed would like to perceive,
With beliefs worshipped and symbolized!
That this giving done is of their own creation!
And they can not let it go.
Like a leaf refusing to fall from the tree of its life.
Remembering what it was.
And not accepting this process that moves on!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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