Mark's Pages

January 6, 2004:

Fantasy digs. Second-floor warehouse space, very large, glass windows and skylights. Wooden bookshelves against concrete walls, furniture grouped at will around living-room sized throw rugs, forming whatever subspaces are desired at any particular time. Armoires and retail-style clothing racks for closets. Let's put the bedroom upstairs in a wooden loft, with curtains.

On the walls: photos, yours, friends. Color: arpillera, batik, tapestry. Hang the guitars from strong metal hooks.

Computers: servers in rolling cases, workstations atop the same wooden table you use today. Wireless network. Recording equipment: more rolling cases, grouped around a central control station atop another wooden table. Tube mics and pre-amps. Wooden drum riser; amplifier baffles. But mostly you'd leave the huge space open, recording natural reverb when possible.

Instruments: drums and percussion toys from around the world; guitar and bass amps from the fifties to today. Guitars: a second Custom Shop Strat; a couple of Les Pauls; a Danelectro; a Hummingbird. Piano. The best samples, but only for comps; you'll dub real instruments wherever that's practical.

Mostly what you feel here is the light, from industrial windows on at least two sides, with skylights for ceiling, open when it's warm.

This is a place to work in. Actually it's sortof a spiritual shrine dedicated to work. But it's also comfortable, far more so than the office-like efficiency of your current space, despite the beauty of its ocean-front cliff.

This was your fantasy ten years ago, recently reactivated by a gentle reminder. Could you leave the ocean for a space like this?