Producer Q&A - Ginz
While Chunky’s methodology and legitimacy is often the subject of controversy, and he has more discreditors than adherents, those in his inner circle possess no doubts as to his attainment and transcendental wisdom, so when he commanded me to travel from my modest 15
The boundaries of the retreat were as follows: we were not to sleep for the entirety of the month and we were to subsist only on Pina Coladas, pancakes, maple syrup and a powder Chunky called “Juju Jones’ Magic Table Salt”, which he had been importing from a little known Tibetan monastery in the hills of a remote Columbian forest, we were to gamble whenever we weren’t eating, imbibing the powder, or in the hot tub with women he called “princesses of the sky”, whom he said those with clear vision would see as enlightened deities, though at times I must admit they did seem to me to be ladies of the night, loose harlots performing all manner of devious and delightful acts upon us both. In order to facilitate and finance this retreat I mortgaged my manor house, an act Chucky assured me would pay metaphysical dividends that far outweighed and outshined the worldly value of pecuniary accumulation and security.
My breakthrough arrived three weeks into the retreat, I know not the hour what with the infernal casino’s complete prohibition of chronometric technologies, when I was playing my three hundred and fourth game of roulette that day. Having played the “Voisins du Zero” all day, with a categorical and complete lack of success, a sequence of failure I was worrying might mean having to sell off my collection of 1960’s champagnes, I had bet on red 7 (as a man ethnically ginger, I always bet on red) and the wheel was spun. Staring at the centre of the wheel I was entranced, utterly absorbed by the rhythm of its rotation and the quite mantras made by the sounds of the white ball bounding around as if it were a blind albino lemming leaping in search of a ledge, suddenly the wheel wasn’t spinning, the world was spinning and the roulette wheel was absolute stillness, the central point of infinity, surrounded by a dynamic non dimensional lattice of interpenetrative nodes and connections, and the roulette wheel was the essence and I was the wheel we were all both the stillness and the infinitely dynamic.
I came to, pina colada dripping off my face and hair, covered in maple syrup coloured vomit aware of having defecated in my undergarments, on the floor of the casino being dragged out by a group of large, and might I add terribly attired, security guards, who violently and mercilessly threw me into the street where I again lost consciousness. I was hospitalized for a week, though my memory of the stint is largely hazey and episodal, a series of vignettes in which nurse after nurse slapped me in the face and a parade of mustached police officers visited me to hold interviews I can not quite recall. Ultimately whatever it was that did, or did not happen, I am writing this from my chamber at a rehabilitative and correctional facility somewhere in Nevada. I haven’t heard from Chunky since, and amusingly the correctional officers and psychiatrists do not believe in his existence, in fact they tell me I am suffering from delusions of grandeur and paranoid schizophrenia, that I am a very sick individual. I know he hasn’t written or called because this is part of my training and an extension of the retreat itself. Oh Chunky, you loveable rogue you! How delightfully risqué! In the end, as I rest and recuperate my realization still glows in my mind and towers over any small matters of discomfort or incarceration, and that is this: I am the Boss of all Bosses.
How do you approach a tune? Drums first? Melody?
Most of the time they approach me, in dreams, visions or in are spelled out magically in bowls of alphabet soup. The drums dance a cha cha and melodies sing songs of spontaneous realization, and I loom over them playfully with a net made of stardust collecting and storing them on my macintosh-power-machine until they are ripe with an effulgent odor.
What time of day do you work best and where do you get your inspiration / motivation from?
In the sun, the shining sun, beams of liquid energy enliven my corporeal structure, but the moon, that wicked moon, how he enervates, devouring my life force, straw-sucking my vital powers. At the four gates of the day (dawn noon sunset and midnight) the portals to the other world are opened and the crystalline meshwork of my studio pod manifests my “works” operating as a form of transdimentional semi permeable membrane. Its a good example of osmosis, for those doing A level biology.
What do you do when you're not feeling inspired?
I like to read my poetry primarily, I find I draw both inspiration and comfort from the musings of my younger self. Here is a pithy one:
When pumpkins and crust
Become one
The sun, the greatest pie of all,
Baked in the cosmic oven
Is done.
Do you start a tune from scratch, or do you usually have a drumset/template/etc to work from?
I am becoming a tad bit impatient with your questions, who is behind all this, are you working with the doctors, is this another psychometric test? I demand to speak to my advisors. I will say no more, not a single drop of ink will be spilled to create punctuation jotted to give structure to answers you will use against me, villains.
If you got a chance would you write pop stuff for a major label (if the money was good?)
Let me out, I can’t breath in here, the pate is only passable, and I have suspicions the butter is being cut with vegetable oil. Why does the wall stare so? Why does the window, encrusted with safety glass, circumambulated with a security frame, adorned with bars question my vigour, why world do you look on as if at one whom you never gave safe haven to, whoms loins have not carressed your grasses and weeds?
What's the boring, workhorse plugin/piece of kit that you use all the time?
I
What's the coolest bit of kit you've got and do you actually use it much?
Am
Do you mixdown your own stuff? Reckon there's a stigma around this?
Done
What production technique do you think is really overused / annoying?
With
What do you know now that you wish you had known when you started out?
