Leonard Faraday

One Saturday afternoon in November of 2006, I decided I didn’t like my job anymore.  In the previous three years, every ounce of creativity or inclination to innovate for the organization as a whole was sucked out of me by the sheer level of effort I’d had to exert just to help make that world turn.  I wasn’t getting any emotional satisfaction: it was deadening my existence.  I was reckless, alienating my closest friends...I was aching to feel even an ounce of really being alive.  Things were continuing to decline for me -- it just kept building...

My boss (who was and still is one of my best friends) was subject to even greater demands, but he, somehow, seemed to be enjoying life -- as were my friends. But me: I dreaded getting out of bed every day, stayed up too late every night, and still managed to hate every minute of all of that.  So I figured it was just me.  I’d just bought a Marshall half-stack, and on that one Saturday afternoon, with my Les Paul connecting me to that Marshall, I felt that somehow this was the path to salvation.  I wanted to play so loud that from my home in the State of Washington, some 15-year-old punker chick in Arizona would be able to hear it and complain that it was just too loud for her.  Those four 12” Celestion speakers you could feel in your bones...and through the wall...and in the back yard...and apparently in the house next door...but for the first time in years, that aching decreased.

So I played...a lot.  Then I started writing.  Then I started recording what I’d written.  I convinced the recording engineer at Rainstorm Studio in Seattle to give me some training.  In two sessions, she gave me a great foundation, and I’ve kept building on it over time.  

I kept my job (because a man’s gotta eat), and I ‘rendered unto Caesar’ the best that I could: I gave them 100 percent when I was on the job because that was what I needed to do -- and I gave 150 percent when it was needed.  Sometimes months would go by when I had to keep this level of effort: I never questioned or resented it, and if I had to do it again I’d do it the same way (with a few exceptions, of course)! 

 

Years passed and I continued to hone the craft.  I listened to a lot of music -- all kinds.  I studied, too -- and now I try to understand what is going on in the recording when I'm listening to it.  By December of 2012, I was ready to record this album, “Foundation.”  

They say that patience is a virtue: sometimes I felt like I was digging out a trench with a spoon.  I wrote, performed and recorded, engineered, mixed and produced every aspect of this album, and got the good folks at CD Baby’s Soundlab to handle the mastering.  What started out as “sanity maintenance” years ago has led to this: sometimes working on it for 8 hours a day; other times spending only 15 minutes (but making it a “quality” 15 minutes).  If patience is a virtue, then hell: I must have gone through the “virtue” line twice by now! 

Foundation - by Leonard Faraday

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