Now that the band was back together, I turned my attention to the task of writing a new album. We were overdue for some new material, and without a record label breathing down our necks, we had nearly unlimited creative control over our work for the first time since our garage band days; we could play whatever we wanted without regard for marketability or consumer demographics. All we had to do was write it.
Easy.
The music hovered all around me, pressing in on me from all sides, so close I could feel it. I could taste it.
I hit a note.
Wrong!
I hit a chord.
Wrong!
I tried a progression.
Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!
The notes were worthless and stupid. The chords were worthless and stupid. I was worthless and stupid, playing the same worthless, stupid progression over and over again, h
