My new Focusrite Scarlett 2i2 (third generation!!!) audio interface arrived today; my late Christmas present to myself for keeping the day job going for well over a year now. I've lacked a decent input terminal for my musical instruments, microphone, etc. for far too long.
My Zoom R24 recorder/interface seemed to work briefly, perhaps on Windows 10, but certainly doesn't want to play on Windows 7 (which I fell back to when win.10 slaughtered itself during an automatic update). I suspect driver problems, who knows.
After a few re-installs and reboots and much swearing at my bloated creaking OS for doing too many illogical things, the hardware, software, and firmware all now appear to be peacefully coexisting. Audacity, at least, can record the audio. Ableton will need trying next. Hooray for small miracles.
Next, to overcome my lifelong writer's block, whose name is Who Cares.
It's the most spectacularly paralysing self-limiting belief, born of being abandoned as a child to an archaic boarding school about 100 miles from home, for four years from the age of eight, then internalising the indisputable truth that I had no voice and that I didn't matter. Plus plenty of other unmet needs from childhood.
So it's kind of fun to consider that there's a new wave of psychological help out there, calling us all to defuse our childhood traumas. I wonder how good a subject that would be for writing music about.
I won't bore you dear reader with full details of all my woes, millstones around my neck, crosses to bear, etc. For that would be rude, in my book. But as this blog snowballs, I'll share a few things now and then, in the name of a) alerting the public to atrocities that should never happen again, as well as b) miracles that need singing about.
Rejoice, for we still have the present moment.
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