Instrumentation:

1. •Aria AC20 concert guitar (ca. 1970)
   

2. •Taylor 414 (2000)
   

3. •Squire Stratocaster (ca. 1986)
   

4. •custom-built “Robcaster” (ca. 2004)
   

5. •iPad: GarageBand, ThumbJam

Recording Equipment:

1. •13” Macbook 2.0 GHz dual core
   

2. •Bias Peak
   

3. •GarageBand
   

4. •some mics and cables
   

5. •some kind of mixing board
   

Carmine dum tali silvas animosque ferarum

Threicius vates et saxa sequentia ducit,

ecce nurus Ciconum, tectae lymphata ferinis

pectora velleribus, tumuli de vertice cernunt

Orphea percussis sociantem carmina nervis.

E quibus una, leves iactato crine per auras,

“en,” ait “en hic est nostri contemptor!” et hastam

vatis Apollinei vocalia misit in ora,

quae foliis praesuta notam sine vulnere fecit;

alterius telum lapis est, qui missus in ipso

aere concentu victus vocisque lyraeque est

ac veluti supplex pro tam furialibus ausis

ante pedes iacuit. 

                             Sed enim temeraria crescunt

bella modusque abiit, insanaque regnat Erinys.

Cunctaque tela forent cantu mollita, sed ingens

clamor et infracto Berecyntia tibia cornu

tympanaque et plausus et Bacchei ululatus

obstrepuere sono citharae: tum denique saxa

non exauditi rubuerunt sanguine vatis.

Ovid, Metamorphoses XI:1-19

The Thracian bard leads the souls of the beasts

through the forest with such a song—even

the stones follow along—when lo, behold!

A Ciconian maiden, all afrenzy,

breasts covered by bestial pelts. The women

watch Orpheus from the top of a hill

as he joins poetry to the strumming

strings of his lyre. One of the women,

hair blown back in the light breeze, says: “Look, look!

Here is the one who spurned us once before!”

She sends a thyrsus spear at his singing

mouth, at Apollo’s bard, a spear covered

in thick leaves; it left a mark but no wound.

The next weapon is a stone, which—even

hurtling through the air—is won over by

his harmony, his voice, and his lyre;

almost as if begging forgiveness for

the women’s frenzied daring, the stone lay

at his feet.

                  But then the reckless women

escalate their war, and moderation

disappears while mad Fury reigns. All of

their weapons would have been likewise softened

by his song, but their enormous racket—

curved horns, Cybelian pipes, tambourines,

hand-clapping and Bacchan shrieking—drowned out

the sound of his kithara, so that the

rocks, finally heedless of his song,

made the bard blush with blood.