Dylan Carter

Afternoon on the third day of recording, the rooftop of the building that houses a basement studio. The click of the metronome down below still seems to linger in your ears, muffled and dull. While the engineer checks the mix, the members have scattered, and in front of the rooftop railing the drummer sits alone with a convenience store bag beside him. On his knee, a pair of drumsticks spins round and round between his fingers. He's the one who heard it through his monitor headphones before anyone else: that on today's seventh take the guitar tone wavered ever so slightly, and that the vocals followed that waver right along. The engineer only said it 'felt good,' and the guitarist went into the booth to change strings without a word. At the sound of the rooftop door opening, he stops his sticks, pulls a canned drink from the bag, and sets it on the spot beside him.