So I’m going to go ahead and make the redesign-in-progress live. Things will continue to be broken for a while (and in fact will probably get a bit worse before they get better), but in the end I think I’ll be pretty happy with it, and I hope you will too.

And because posting without a song just seems wrong, here’s a recording I made last year of Elliott Smith’s Waltz #2, done up as an instrumental two-track on classical guitar.

But I’m trying to come back. It’s going to be different, in a lot of ways, but my hope is there’ll be music rolling off this site—and into your feedreader or your iPod—again, and soon, and regularly. (more…)

You are wondering, I imagine, where I have been. (more…)

Ernesto! Ernesto! Ernesto!

Ernesto!

Another grateful nod to Paul Hunt (who is Dutch, not Danish, which fact would certainly never be misrepresented and then hastily amended in a prior issue of this publication, because we know the difference) for this contribution. (more…)

In the office, we’ve been trying out Interns again, but there’s been nothing but disappointment this week—these kids don’t understand The Aural Times. They don’t understand music. They don’t understand why they wouldn’t get paid.

“Tuition,” they cry. “How can I pay my semester fees?” Crybabies.

Today’s contribution is the second we’ve run from a fine Dutch correspondent, Paul Hunt—who stages his mad schemes over at Wolkenvelden. You may remember his previous composition, a touching consideration of the letter W and its recent formal adoption by the Swedes. (more…)

And so, a look back—it is March, and the President of the United States is taking a trip to the subcontinent.  And what were we doing, here at The Aural Times?  We were taking a trip to the dance-pop continent.

Enjoy, and expect a brand new composition on Wednesday.  Happy listenening.

In office news, I interviewed another potential Intern yesterday. Spirited young fellow going by the handle Beakers, for reasons he did not go into in any depth. I suspect it may have something to do with pharmaceuticals, however—he recorded today’s song on the spot, insisting in a sort of frenzy that he had to “rock my face with a demo”, and then ran screaming out the door as soon as it was in the can.

If he ever comes screaming back in the door, I think I will keep him.

This scoop, and indeed today’s song, comes from our latest field correspondent, a talented remote agent who operates under the enigmatic cover of The Great Big Mulp. Where this “Mulp” can be found is a bit of a mystery, but I am in his debt.

Specifically, I am still short on Interns. Yes, don’t ask, Greg is still around, and I remain pleased with his awkward pluckiness—his plucky nerdiness—his nerdy awkwardness— especially after the fine work he did on his debut issue—but he’s a bit useless today. I’m not entirely clear about the details, but he’s rather distraught over the fallout of a fire at his “apartment”.

To be clear, apartment in this case means his mother’s basement. And no persons—or dogs or otters—were harmed. But he blubbered something about a “mint condition 2nd Edition PHB” being burnt to a crisp, and he is currently inconsolable. His mother tells me he has been sitting in the ashen mess of his room and sniffing moistly and rolling a pair of twenty sided dice again and again for the bulk of the day.

Be strong, Greg. I need you. I need you to make fresh coffee.