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Diary: April 12, 2016
When I arrived at rehearsal, Kim was playing a riff on the bass. She gestured toward her Goldtop guitar and said, “You work out something to play on that.”
Yesterday, about to record my, ahem, guitar solo, I observed that the strings felt as responsive as… well… actual string—which is, #tbt, how Kim likes it. I hesitated to ask, but was surprised when she agreed to installing a new set.
Later, when Kim played the guitar, she bemoaned it’s zesty brightness and dearth of dark earthy tones. New strings should be subdued, according to the Kim Deal school of thought, just as pre-show flyaway hair is tamed with the application of a slice of ham from the deli tray. She proceeded to smear a technical mixture of hand lotion, coffee grounds and butter onto the strings.
Still too crisp for her, we rummaged in a drawer and found some strings possibly even older than those I took off. I unfurl them and ask rhetorically “Do you care that there is rust on them?”