Arthur Rohlik
It has been an interesting two years, I daresay.
I had a computer failure recently, taking me out of my recording and emailing of song files.
What to do? I still play everyday.
Instead of recording,
I sit in the BIG ROOM at our house, looking out the window at Oakland Bay, WA, with microphones plugged in and headphones on. With a judicious application of reverb, I can simulate a small cafe or auditorium, and I play concerts for imaginary audiences. Instead of practicing, I perform. Stretching out and taking chances with my voice or with my fingers, making mistakes and playing on.
Literally, performing. Including chatter between songs, which took some getting used to. Having been pandemically bereft of the usual amount of human interaction, I was out of practice. But just like an imaginary friend, my audiences were forgiving and periodically adoring. Okay, always adoring. As I am their creator, they are obedient.
Having confessed my coping mechanism, I now await the resumption of real venues where I can test myself, justify my existance.
Doc
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