Some of my recent music writing has included interviews with musicians. It had been a decade since I interviewed anyone. My first jump back in the saddle was a very rusty one with protruding nails.
I used to write everything in shorthand in my trusty notebook, but my hand no longer moved as quickly as people’s mouths. I could piece together most of what had been said, but my second attempt would require transcribing twice as many words. Up to 1200 of them. So I accepted I needed to record this conversation. There is an app you can download for your phone that allowed you to do this, but I instead opted for a website that allowed you to record each conversation under its own domain name. I figured if all went well people would be able to listen to the interview instead of merely reading it.
This link will not be made available to the public. Not because of the subject, he was interesting and enthusiastic (you can read the transcript by clicking here). No, it is because the interviewer, that being me, sounded like a complete and utter schmo.
I suppose I have had many years to get used to the reflection in the mirror as belonging to me. When I see a photograph of myself I can generally accept that image as how others also perceive me, but man, when I heard my voice it made me cringe.
I pride myself for being a wit, a suave personality, but after hearing what a sycophant and asskisser I am on tape (or in this case on broadband) I must second guess myself. This was a thousand times worse than cell phone conversations where you hear your own echo. Partly because I have to replay my words countless times so I can type them correctly, but most of the suffering was due to my verbal tics. My sole response to whatever the subject said was, “Awesome.” Where did this come from? I had not surfed in many a year. Even worse my attempts at humor completely fall flat. Could it be possible I am not funny as I think I am? The proof is in the recording which will destruct in five… four… three… two…