Dear Friends
Through this cold contact, offer an overview of our current light.
As you well know, Tan Bionics is in the process of finalizing its new and long delayed album. This fact gives me enormous pride and great pain.
The moment we are passing on a painful and happy has been called by fence to see who • Process to mix. "
This process is fundamental Starring the album's producers: Pepe Céspedes Duarte and Oski Righi. The engineers Martín Pomares, Eduardo Pereyra and Hernan Agrasar guest engineer. Two of our best men and Emiliano and Diego Bambi Sasal that works directly and indirectly from a not too distant suburb. To explain this process
prefer first disclose the reasons for my self-exclusion. My reason is cowardice worthy and unworthy my reason is the metaphorical blindness that haunts me each of the events in which a work is handled once did. If you were a child should witness the birth? I do not answer now.
To meet me wish that you, most unaware of these avatars understand this process. I wrote a modest test or analogy of the mixture, which can read below. MODESTO
ENSAYITO ABOUT THE ANALOGY BETWEEN THE MIX AND THE FATE
From an early age my vision of life was very negative. I thought the fact of existence in the universe was to resist many ailments as inexplicable loneliness, disappointment in love, missing souls away and the absolute rejection of everything you do.
always thought that in my years as an infant should have been happy and unhappy that he caused pain to my loved ones. Fact that apart from the unhappiness generated blame me. So the best shelter for my sadness was the composition, and that was the most interesting of my loneliness.
At some point I realized that all those things that I suffered were the most valuable tools to run my practice of writing. Is something greater than myself, I grant that suffering will always support, to transform them into bricks to the bricklayer, in the salt for the cook or the engine to the mechanic. In the elements of my work when I write. Transite
and happy moments of magical things populating all my loneliness, fantasy filling the gaps of my absences and my fisuritas patching up with the sun of happy birthday.
I wrote and wrote and imagined finish the work with instruments and sound that mixed colors in my head and needed put them in my ears.
For that Bambi, Sebi Diego and recorded the instruments and all the heroes I mentioned before had to violently assign a volume and a place in space to each of the components recorded. Many arrangements of guitar, bass or synth are cleverly riddled during this process, to finally decide on the most relevant or the most beautiful.
The mixing process is a savior. Is to end the eternal pursuit of endlessly correct recordings.
is the escape for not spending eternity changing the songs so sick. Mix to finish, to get rid forever of the work, not to listen, to give to you, to not go crazy with what should have been. It is the end of the recording. It decides who dies and who lives.
The mixing are aware that they are employees of the universe, fate. They know that true beauty is not in the work. Beauty is not in the field. The real beauty is in the ear of the listener.
is a complex process intimately gives a deceptively simple result.
(Applause from engineers and producers)
I think for musicians is also a way to apologize for our previous works and is also a good mix. A moral duty. Yesterday I sat
's chair cielito and I realized that every move of the engineer moved some of my life, and what I really was trying to do was mix up my emotions. Trying to highlight those things that move me and trying to hide as many that hurt.
life suggests to me constantly and these songs have to sound one way or another. But each has something special, things that sound because someone put it there, either an engineer, a musician, god or a giant force ever seen and we can not stop or escape it. We can only understand the force and align with it to an illusory happiness. That
magical force that arises from the murderer of my calculations, the executioner of my speculations, the persecutor of my actions in advance is: FATE.
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