Maybe I wasn’t the kind of person that could pull all-nighters and crank out a masterpiece in two weeks. And maybe that was okay. Joel Piedt of Carrousel, a musician I greatly look up to, has suggested that the circumstances under which a work is birthed are immutably written into the DNA of that work. As such, works born in anxiety will bear anxiety in their essence. Following this line of reasoning, one could argue that a frenzied, hyper-condensed recording schedule would kill the very work I was trying to save. Tightfisted, white-knuckled cramming and corner-cutting would simply run counter to the reflective, peaceful disposition of the piece I was trying to write, thereby destroying i
