Aperture 3 - 32 bit and 64 bit working fine

Moving my photos onto Aperture 3. Its taking a few hours, because its trying to recognise all of the faces. Will leave it to run overnight.

Observations:
1) It took about 6 hours to process and convert an around 80,000 photo library
2) It has made a reasonable attempt at guessing the faces, but theres some laughable mistakes too.
3) The GPS tagging is very quick and useful and integrates with google Maps.
4) It booted Aperture into 64bit mode, but most of my third party plug-ins are still 32bit.
5) Now its completed the processing, its speed is about the same as previously.
6) There's a lot of new functionality, much of which save jumping across to Photoshop or similar
7) The new RAW support handles my Lumix cameras (at last)

I like it and its a noticeable improvement on something that was already pretty good.

Technical moment - running Aperture in 32 bit mode
I've changed back to 32 bit mode for the time being. Its easy to do, there's a little box in Finder 'Get Info' for the application which needs to be ticked and then Aperture starts in 32 bit mode. All my old Third Party plug-ins work fine (eg from Nik, Genuine Fractals, Noise Ninja, One etc). I'll flip to 64 bit once the plug-in fixes appear.

If the little box is missing (for some users), then reboot holding down the shift key (ie Safe Mode). Once its booted, the tick box is installed. Then re-boot again. I have to say this is a most un-Apple like thing to need to do though.

punch and judy bullying allegations denied

The discussions about whether or not the Prime Minister displays temper tantrums has appeared a few weeks before the election.

There's straight-faced denials from Peter Mandelson saying nothing untoward has been happening, yet there seems to have been an undercurrent of questions for at least the last nine months. Ever since a little question about throwing mobile phones was raised in Prime Minister's Questions.

"This is not an account I recognise" being part of the subsequent mandarin response.

It's quite difficult to unpick this kind of thing. I know someone wants to sell books, and there's around two months countdown to the elections, so it seems predictable that the truth is being smeared by anyone within reach of the trough.

For starters there's the jolly poster japes of mydavidcameron.com although the equivalent domains for gordon and nick have already been bought in a pre-emptive strike.

We have to treat the next period as a Punch and Judy show, with accusations and denials in equal measure. Are we looking at a pussy cat, or a crocodile? as Mr Punch would need to decide.

Presumably the same sausages of disdain will be used to parade the current alleged achievements of leadership and the similarly aspirational plans for the future.

Unfortunately, these accounts are something I recognise all too well.



And here's my short orchestral piece inspired by some of this, entitled temazepam bunker and described at FAWM

temazepam bunker (rashbre and the unexpected musicians)

feel your body over mine

I received some comments after the last posting because I appear to have frittered spent some time on the music.

How could I find the time and so forth.

Well, this evening we've just enjoyed a late dinner and some wine, but also managed to jam a jazzy Latin track which wouldn't be out of place in Madrid.

So this one is for anyone alone at the moment.

Jazz of the type you might hear in the Plaza de Santa Ana. But in this case it's here and made on a Mac.

With a little help from my friends.


feel your body over mine (rashbre feat. Christina Nott)

full of java beans, bloops and bleeps

It would be a lazy Sunday ahead, except that I've been drinking freshly ground java bean coffee, which has increased my state of alertness and forced me out of the house.

After a week on the run and then Saturday to restock the larder, the logic suggested a day to read a few newspapers and maybe watch some television. In practice, early this morning I was reviewing a work document, despite my broken disk scrambler. All finished now.

So what next?

Well, the rashbre and Christina Nott collaboration is back since yesterday's 'prophesy' mix and today's track is called 'remember me'. A good excuse to dust off some synthesizer bloops and bleeps.

Somehow we will get an album's worth of content.

remember me (rashbre feat. Christina Nott)

Reminds me I always thought "feat" would be a good name for a recording artist.

prophesy

This is the first chance I've had to actually record anything from those little songs I created last week.

Yesterday evening I had a bash at a couple, which were rather 'one take wonders'. Live triumphs over quality. Still, someone else can pick up the vocals when we eventually arrange the music weekend we've been talking about for a year.

It wouldn't be right to leave out the rashbre and Christina Nott collaborations from this little experiment though, so there's a new track from us, which is the only one that's been through any proper mixing.

It's quite good. And it is here. Prophesy.

prophesy (rashbre feat. Christina Nott)

Empire State of Mind (Part II) deconstructed

I did a sort of experiment today, based upon my recent sideline in boshing out lyrics for this FAWM thing. I tuned into Radio 1 whilst in the car and listened to half a dozen tracks, to find one that stood out as a good song.

Not very scientific, but I just wanted to hear one that was a recent tune and radio worthy. I decided to go mainstream in the interests of deconstruction.

After hearing Lady Gaga the one I alighted on was Alicia Keys, "Empire State of Mind (Part II)", which is a song about New York. Haunting choral type start, some affectionate words about an iconic city, hope and positivity plus an inspirational hook.

A short stop at the nearby Tescos and I had a copy in my hand. Not very digital, but I wanted the little booklet to check the lyrics and the writing.

Very clever. The track credits were at the back of the booklet in italic 8pt. It showed that the song was indeed written by Alicia Keys.

Oh, and Al Shuckburgh.

Not forgetting Sean Carter and Jane't "Jnay" Sewell-Ulepic.
And Angela Hunte and Bert Keyes.
And finally, Sylvia Robinson.

I estimate there's 200 words, including a couple of lines from "New York, New York", so that would average almost 30 words per songwriter (including the Ooohs). Not forgetting the original Jay-Z version with slightly more NYC references in it.

Of course, its worked in that the album is at number two in the Tesco rack and actually the whole album is quite listenable mainstream R and B type music. Many would put Alicia into the superstar category, and her delivery is pleasantly un-diva-esque compared with the Reality X clones.

Comparison with my own efforts, which are for fun, are somewhat minimal. No teams of writers or special production in a different studio to get the right commercial sound. Just ten minutes of tapping. But of course Alicia will sell millions of copies.

It raises a broader question though, about ultimate economics. How few records get bought in full now, compared with track downloads, and how many ways does the 69 pence need to be split? The full list of people on the track in question amounts to 7 writers, 9 record publishers, 2 producers, plus musicians and a considerable production crew. With the occasional million seller, this still works.

For the rest of us, its still just for fun.

I think I need an early night

New security software on my work PC today.

One of those disk scrambler things. My old PC had it, but the new one arrived without it installed so I dropped it in to the technicians to have the software added.

When I picked it up, it was working fine. The trouble was, when I got home and restarted the PC, it didn't work.

Similar to the memory stick with built in fingerprint recognition that jams with a software fault every time I try to use it.

At least the banjo and guitar works.

Thursday Thirteen (V48)

Thirteen song titles and a bonus track. My handiwork was to write 14 songs in February.

Next part of the plan will be to spend a weekend recording them.

Where's the banjo?

cos I'm your hit man

Today's Milan visit didn't quite go to plan, but I've recovered my composure and the concurrent short term headache has subsided. When I used to visit Milan regularly I would often have a sense of calm as I returned to Linate to catch the flight home.

I think its because Milan can be quite an intense city and I suspect those little shots of expresso build up in the course of a day.

Daniel made some remark about one of my last songs and suggested that my random trips could be concealing a less straightforward occupation. Just because there was a revolver on the draining board next to the vodka and explosive fuses.

Oddly enough, some of my family muse about what I do as well.

So, to put things straight, I thought I'd use Daniel's comment as the inspiration for today's little song.

hit man

don’t promise me no promises
and its the same from me to you
on the run from love after all this time
we both knew just what to do

pack my bags, go around the world
sleep anywhere I please
you stayed, but didn’t wait, in this Chelsea flat
when I returned at the end of a mission

'cos I’m your hit man, hit man
always on the run
yeah I’m your hit man, babe
always got a diff’rent gun

last time in Jakarta when the rain was hot
I’d been running for the Java Sea
they came after me with that Mata Hari girl
but my mind was able to break free

and before that, together in St Petersburg
when we were hiding in that Literaturnoye Cafe
I’d done the deed, we were holding hands
that time when we both looked happy

'cos I’m your hit man, hit man
always on the run
yeah, I’m your hit man, babe
always got a diff’rent gun

even then I could tell that our war was over
your warmth told more than lies
a silencer moment of instant truth
a burst of sun from your deep blue eyes

never promise me your promises
we both knew just what to do
still running from love after all this time
and this time its without you.

cos I’m your hit man, hit man
always on the run
yeah I’m your hit man, babe
always got a diff’rent gun

yeah I’m your hit man, hit man
always on the run

That'll be number 14 of 14 then. Now I can resume a normal blogging service.

model romance (je t'aime)

Back from snowy Brussels, where I've been involved in some meetings largely conducted in Flemish. I can just about track the main conversation, as long as it is sprinkled with useful keywords.

Then back to the airport, where the plane was missing from the jetway and eventually back to Heathrow where the jetway was missing from the plane.

The last part was a small advantage, because the bus took us straight back to the main T5 instead of the B Terminal, where you have to catch that little shuttle.

Now I'm up to 12 of 14 in the songwriting thing, I feel compelled to write two more to get to the full set. So here's number 13, about a model romance in Paris.

Met you in that nightclub Rue St George
You talking to me of Voltaire
You with all those art school credentials
Made eyes and love as if you really cared

It was a model
It was a model
Romance

So together we took the Fifth Arondissement
Je t'aime, amour, along the Seine
Somehow you worked your magic
Paris together, Sorbonne, fantasy.

It was a model
It was a model
Romance

But one day you started looking different
Gauloises smoke, your head was turned
His plastic form of dressing
Synthetic as he struck the pose

Plastic model
Plastic model
Romance

That's around the last time that I saw you
You quietly melted away
You found your plastic lover
Left bank, left me, misery.

No more model
No more model
Romance

It was a model
It was a model
Romance

some of your stuff ain't normal

It's Tuesday so it must be Brussels.

Yep. Off to Belgium.

Then just before bedtime I thought I'd blast out another track and this one appeared. I think there's quite a fun framework for maybe adjusting the lyrics too, perhaps to increase the perversity. Acknowledgements to a certain kitchen for providing the inspiration and 'bulk' for this one, which is number 12 of 14.

Not saying its the company you keep
Not saying its your moods
Not sayin’ its the way you spike your hair
But some of ya
Some of ya
Some of ya stuff ain’t normal

Not sayin’ its the vodka in the fridge
' those bottles full a' broken glass
Not sayin' its the way you shake your skin
But some of ya
Some of ya
Some of ya stuff aint normal

Not saying its the barbie full of pins
Not sayin’ its your screams
Not sayin’ that revolver shouldn’t be
But some of ya
Some of ya
Some of ya stuff ain’t normal

I c-can’t understand it
I can’t take a lead
Those chains and studs are cool
You gotta a certain attitude whenever
I raise these things
but some of your stuff ain't normal

Im sayin’
Some of your stuff ain’t normal
Yeah some of your stuff
Ain’t normal.

China Tang

After a busy night out, we headed for China Tang. I'd taken the precaution to book a table for 11pm, and we were there just about on time. We headed downstairs into the restaurant instead of across to the cocktail bar - one less Filthy Martini was probably a good thing.

The subterranean entrance is quite evocative of Shanghai with Chinese lanterns low enough to need to duck and then onwards to the main dining area looking more like a restaurant on an art deco cruise liner, with dozens of staff buzzing around the busy tables.

There's a pecking order amongst the uniforms too, with white sailor costumes for the people clearing, a kind of two tone outfit for those taking the orders and a dark suit uniform with loosened ties like the Crazy 88 fighters from Kill Bill for some of the other floor managers.

As we arrived the evening was in full swing. Across from us another already large table was having extra places added as more and more of the evening fabulous arrived. This isn't a place for timid conversation and there's a continued bustle and theatrics as people's food is prepared at the tables.

We enjoyed mixed authentic Chinese dishes, leaving enough room to share toffee apple desserts and to drink endless China tea. Somehow, the Year of the Tiger had arrived.