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BUG G CAME back into the studio, the sound of a flushing toilet cut out as the heavy soundproofed door closed behind him. - Am I a’needing a smoke afta that or what. Damn it brothersucka, it's summin but it needs summin more, a decent hook or... - Bug, G-man, I plead for the last time: No can do, I tried all sorts a things but it interferes with certain frequencies and the end effect is a big fat nunlickin nada-nothing. - But it take ‘bout four minutes, I can’t see... playing that at the club.... no, there’ll be a nunlickin’ riot. - Hey, take a trank, It ain’t the weekend, it’s downtime-nite, we’re only a’goin’ t’get a few thou head. I reckon if they’r’all Eed or Kayed up and you stick it on during a slugtime, then, OK you’ll lose some dancers, but...... - Four minutes though, are you George Bernard Shaw on this? - Sure I’m sure, one fuckin’ year of every possible way of doing things sure, trying it with all known drugs sure. It has to be, for the last lickin’ time, a’ least four minutes. Mira, I got five mins here but if you’re that shit nervous just come back in with the drumstuff after four but gimme the full four, OK? - OK. But tonight?, for George Bernard? - Big G.B. sure. Mira brothersucka, morrow is Thor’s-day, start o’ End-week, so Bug, if not this night then when? I been testing this little muginnafug for a fuckin’ year and I’m shit itching to try this sista out on a lotta shitsniffin’ people. For fucksake, you know...we must go soon or be goon. - Hellshitman, you the ‘Heff’, own the place an’all...it a’going be you they lynch so why’m I a’worrying . Your neck, heff. Anywhose, you gonna bring the synths to the club or what? - Nah, too much hassle. I’ll toast a D-CD on BigMac, quicker if we need to run. - Ha, that aint that actu-ally funny... well look..I gotta flit ‘n’ split so I’ll catch ya at the club...usual time? - Nah....later, oh and can you set the club’s AmbiSound to my studio’s setting before the crowds arrive? I’ll e-mail them over so check around the eight hour..ta. - Ta yersel, mad nunlicka... heh, heh.
Alone in the studio engulfed by the monotonous pitched fan noise from various computers he set to work. There wasn’t that much to do; the soon-to- be-delivered dance track’s soul was in various memory banks and had been for months but only now did he feel confident to take it from the various hard drives, mix and compress it from its 45 source points and put it on to a two-track Sound Around Surround D-CD. He smiled at the Atari St. He understood that they were mindless slaves built in faraway countries and not Disneyesque cuddly toys, but his affinity for his ‘babies’ seemed to build dividends; they really did seem to thrive and survive in his machine friendly environment. He never gave great thought about why he saw some machines as female and others as male. The Atari had become GrandmAtari. "She" was the start, the birth, of his huge empire and so when her hard drives wore out or her memory started to fade he took as much care of her as an aging relative. In computer terms she was ancient, nearly 40 years old, but as full of transplants as she was she still happily creaked along when fired up. As Grandma and head of the family she was used, along with an equally old MCA crack of Cubase, for the final bringing together of major new projects like the one he was about to record now. It was about a hundred times slower than using the Pentium 18s running Gatesoft but seemed far more human.
Except for the elegant LcIIIs he saw his family of Apple Macintoshes as male, maybe the name had something to do with it. The Macs did his day-to-day work and he used a huge G6, one of the last to be built, as the "mainman". Ghosts of machines were everywhere, old Mac Classics had been turned into aquariums, hard drives into chairs, monitors into cistern tanks and mouses converted to light switches. Apart from his extended family of computers there was also his priceless collection of classic analog and digital synthesizers and samplers. Like some of the computers, the 16 Wasps and 6 Spiders for example, many of the synths were now reduced to wall decorations. But most lined the studio walls on racks three tiers high and were in pristine condition linked to each other via umbilical cords of midi or CV and gate cables that went into what looked like ‘ye olde’ style telephone plug boards that in turn were overseen by an old Mac G4. A large bench had other synths sitting on top with their guts pulled out in mad electronic vivisection to make them do things the original designers only dreamt of. Wires were everywhere, but the apparent spaghetti mess was highly organised; years of wasted time and nearly being driven insane tracking bad midi or sound leads had taught him order. The Music as Weapon studio was maybe a bit cramped and may have looked like a museum but it was not only the starting point of many important and influential projects, it was also very highly profitable.
.....If some of the dancers died...shit pray not...but if some, even one, died what would happen to him?.... No it wasn't him that he was scared about, he'd done the horror of prison once before and was certainly in no hurry to go back, but he'd accept his punishment. No, it wasn't his fate that filled him with dread it was the fate of GrandmAtari and his inanimate, dependent family inactively waiting for him at the studio. His worst fears were for the fate of machines.
-Heff, snap outa’fit. Big Mo say we got some cracked skulls, ambulances on the way and..huh...he say he thinks it wasn't their hearts overworking that floored 'em but, get this, they fell a’funkin' sleep! Us men an’an orgasm heh! What?..say again Mo?...He also say there's an awful lot of people down here with embarrassing stains wanting you to pay their laundry bill, some wanna sue your ass and some wanna know if your a’doing it morrow night...huh.. and...can you give em some warning next time so they can assume the position...that was from a girl... er..no it wasn’t -Assume the position, huh? I really thought I was gonna be nunlickin’ assuming the position over a cop car a minute ago. Fuck, there’s still bound to be some nasty questions and obviously some fuck will try to sue me to the max. So ya never know, ha, Will the court please rise. Here comes da judge...Com'on Bug, my fellow puppetmaster-in-crime let’s go down an' face the music. -Talking of which, what you want doing wit the D-CD? -I reckon I'll leave it here for morrow night -Mmm... may I be drawing your attention to the fact these guys tonight had on their strides, do you think they gonna mess themselves morrow night? I think not, hell they is going to be naked an' if you think I or Mo are a’going to clean up that mess then think again. -Mmm, you're not wrong...hang on..shit, what’s this shit? 2b1af7f3a8