Art in the basement

I’ve spent much of my life in the basement. My brother and I shared an office and a room in our parents house in the basement. My Grandfather practically lived in his, always deep in his chair by his tools and TV waiting for me to roll down the cramped flight and hang out. He was a deeply religious man so he was not up on the modern world (which I presume was considered “sinful”) but that never made a difference to me. Chicago Public Television showed old b&w movies on Saturdays and I remember watching The Sea Hawk and The Prince and the Pauper with him. The rest of the world was still going on but down in the dark under the house I felt very safe.

My old band used what is now my basement (Deanna was still just my girlfriend) as a rehearsal space, and we intended to record there when things fell apart and I created Perfect Child. In time the band faded, Deanna and I got married, and we filled the basement with all sorts of junk. It was dirty enough down there that Soren couldn’t hang out without getting filthy, so we painstakingly cleaned up and last week I moved the studio back into the same corner it had been in 6 years ago. Under the house in the dark I feel more secure about making noise, about creating and pushing forward with whatever it is I’m going to wind up with after I finish re-re-recording the past 4 years of music.

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