Michelle, elle _____.
I’m not a sound engineer, and I know nothing about the human ear. Rhyming in the morning, tralala! The only ears I know something (nothing) about are my own, and they’re not so much of anything, I can tell you that. They never bring desert for dinner, they don’t do you the courtesy of positioning the toilet paper on its right side (there is too a wrong side!) and in general, they’re just not people. They’re ears. Call me a racist, but I don’t think ears are my equal. What…. what was my point? Ah! Right. I hate doing mastering.
To those of you who don’t know what mastering is, audio mastering is a post-production thingy that has to do with sounds balancing & other crap. If you’re not a sound engineer, you probably won’t like doing it. Oh, the guitar is too high, oh, the vocals are too dim, oh noooo now they’re strident, oh no no no nooooo. You know, things the devil loves, FOR IT IS HELL. “Take a freaking sound course!”, or: “give it to a sound engineer already!” you might yell at my face a bit too close and a bit too loud and you might be correct, my friend, you might be correct. But ah… I don’t wanna! I’d rather autodidact myself to death and complain, because it’s more fun. Ok, it’s not fun, I don’t know why I do it, I’m just annoying that way, so! A mastering master (hehe) once told me that if the mix is good, there’s no need for mastering. How great is that sentence? And that’s where I’ll be aiming at in the far, oh so FAR future, when I’ll learn the subject thoroughly. Me, liking the sounds I create? Such a utopic world that could be! And meantime, mastering, to me, will remain like poo. It stinks, but I gotta do it pahaha… Say, isn’t Winnie the poo offended by its own name? Oh, it’s pooh with an H? Aha. Aha. Well, it sounds just the same! Poo is pooh is poo.
You know, “Elle” in French means “she”. I think. So Michelle Elle is actually Michelle she. Michelle, she knows nothing. Michelle, she laughs like a crow. Michelle, she is the greatest pen holder I’ve ever seen!!! Yes, yes. “Michelle, elle _______”, that’s my name. Put anything in the blank there, it probably fits. Even poo fits. Michelle Elle poo = Michelle, she poops. Right, French people? Right? (Please correct me if needed, I just LOVE being wrong, especially when it comes to doo-doo). Michelle Elle poo… Ha, that doesn’t sound half bad, actually. From now on, I shall be called Michelle Elle poo! The bastards call me that anyway. They think I don’t hear them… damned neighborhood cats.
And let us end this fiasco with a little something for the soul:
“Winds rhyme over fields of poppy,
sounds dance around endless spheres,
wonder up, close your eyes, don’t be scared,
for nothing’s as bad as it seems – ”
~ Glorious Thieves of Wonderland / Michelle Elle
(soon to be released on a LIMITED EDITION album! Woohoo)
That’s poppy, not poopy.
After much consideration, I don’t think I appreciate it very much, being called “Michelle elle poo” & such. I’d rather be called “Michelle elle robot”, for I plan to become a robot sometime in the near future. It seems like a good time-management move, you know?Ta ta now! Ta ta! Ta ta da da la la lala
*stupidly runs in a meadow*