Too Much Nick

It was a musical piece where different instruments play at many different time signatures, all convening after many bars, with each conjunction signaled by a gong (or some other deep sound). I’m pretty sure all the instruments were percussion. The liner notes talked about a “life beat” or some similar phrase; the piece was supposed to evoke the rhythms of life.

This was one track on a compilation of experimental music from various artists. The track may have been one movement of a longer piece. The collection was out on CD by 2002 or so, but it could be much older.

Google hasn’t helped so far.

Any ideas?

bn2b:

If you don’t have to do it simultaneously, seems Dropboxable, no? Not a Premiere expert, but the source videos don’t change much right?

Oh duh, that’s probably the best solution for now. I think the real bottleneck is the excruciatingly slow upload times for the source files (and the real answer to that is nationwide Google Fiber), but as you say, those only need one upload, and then the project file is basically a thin layer of metadata. And a $700/year corporate Dropbox account will pay for itself.

Background: This is mainly about Slacktory, where I publish two to three supercut/remix videos a week, each edited by one of several freelance video editors working from various cities. We can’t afford to hire an editor fulltime.

Slacktory has grown enough that I’m wasting too much of my time dictating edits that I could make myself, just like an editor working with text. When I don’t do any of the actual work on a project, I feel like a plantation owner. But I don’t even get a white three-piece suit.

I shouldn’t even try, right?

And none of the web-interface video editors are nearly as powerful (video-in-video, gain adjustment, automatically matching sequence settings to original clip settings), right?

I was 18.

4-18-02

“Sorry, closed, please call again / Will return at ten of ten.”

I must search for Irish pub songs.

It annoys me that the benches on Niagara-on-the-Lake all have their backs to the road. Finally, I’ve found three facing the Prince of Wales Hotel (est. 1864) from across the street.

At my picnic-cum-writing table, dozens of sunny-day scribes have kept records of their +es and ex-+es. I also find the pink and blue callsign ‘hot lips’ and an accusation that Joe is gay, the admission that George is the writer’s friend, wishes of copulation and fecal consumption on the reader, and some highly stylized ghetto script, proving that graffiti is not a purely urban nuisance.

This was my “always wearing an old man’s hat” phase.

Previously: Page 1

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