Fine, Fine Literature

I just want to meet a man
I adore as much as I do
The smell of urinal cakes
In the summertime

I thought she had no legs
But turns out
They were just tucked in

So you think you can be my lover?
I haven’t told you
That I make robot noises
In public restrooms
So folks think I’m calibrating
Beep boop — beep bop

I’m sorry
That’s a beautiful sweater
(Give me your number)
I’ll get it dry cleaned for you
Is that 100% cashmere
Or are you just happy to see me?
Beep beep — boop bop

This must be what death feels like
— Sponsored by Nabisco!

Like a little Russian baby
Sleeping in her stroller
Beep bop —

As I can see from your tote
You like fine, fine literature!
——  — Boop zeep zoip

A PHOTOGRAPHED RECORD

In my seemingly never-ending pursuit to make an album that is a radical departure from my previous work, I’ve struggled with capturing the true essence of the material I’ve written.

For nearly a decade, my crutch has been abundant layering, but this new material calls for rawness and austerity. With too much deliberation, it looses its sincerity and runs the risk of sounding masturbatory.

Every time I come close to achieving this raw, exciting sound, I find myself instinctively cluttering it until my original vision is a blur and the songs become little more than a parody of themselves. With each layer added, honesty and energy is withdrawn.

Consider the following metaphors:

1. A Painted Record: A meticulously crafted sound with liberal layering and every second accounted for.

2. A Photographed Record: A captured energy — a recorded moment in time, without manicuring. What you see is what you get and all you want.

If Claye is a painting, I would like MHC to be a photograph.

Since releasing Claye in 2014, I have written two new records. I am proud of each. I have a third that I am excited to work on, as well.

But I have yet to successfully record any of it to a standard that I am happy with.

I truly hope to be over this technological hump shortly. I am moving full steam ahead and adore the patience of the few who have continued to follow the music side of my work over the past four years.

I have enough material for the next decade. I just have to figure out how to get it out of my head.

With love from New York City,

Dylan