Each thing, each unit of stuff, came with its own, pet stuff—a stand, a foam cover, cords, a manual, a little drawstring case. The supply chain is fractal: Zoom in on your stuff and there’s more stuff, ad infinitum.
The upshot of all this is that I have absolutely no musical talent. I spent hours cutting and pasting, turning tiny expressions into whole songs, spinning that jog wheel like a pro, and when I came back to those tracks the next night, I kept discovering that I did not have a single creative idea. My drum tracks sounded like a nervous rabbit kicking a bongo. If you need portentous, pompous digital clown music that might as well be Christmas carols played in dog barks, I am your guy. I am not a musician. I am a systems administrator for my digital audio workstation.
