One of my favorite aspects of digital technology is the illusory perception of permanence. In the world of Ctrl+Z, autosaves, auto backups, and cloud repositories can often give one a feeling of invincibility against the forces of entropy and forgetfulness. Using a combination of contrived negligence and calculated risk I revel in the opportunity to have my digital files corrupted, lost or misplaced. I admit, that I have dampened this sense of wantonness in recent years as the projects that I am involved in demand more adherence to societal norms of organization and priority, but nature and the universe has a way of always reminding us who is really in control. No one.
Case in point; I had been working on a new demo for Sleeves aptly titled 'Caring No More' and after struggling with the initial four bar loop that underpinned most of the song, I felt I had finally cracked the code and come up with a charming instrumental. Perhaps not my favorite of all time, but another one in the can, nonetheless. I bounced it. I saved it and that was that.
I had finished the demo the night before and it was during the next evening when a sudden power outage engulfed most of my county. I am infatuated with large scale power outages, they tend to put perspective on many aspects of modern life. Bringing our attention to our dependencies, weaknesses and downright futility as modern, civilized humans.
In this case, the power was restored within a few hours and nothing was worse for the wear. But when I restarted Logic the next day, it automatically opened the last file used. That simple 4 bar loop of "Caring No More" was staring back at me and nothing else. I searched for an autosaved crashed version of the file to no avail. I had left the program open and this file was active at the time of the outage. I can't explain it, but none of my edits over the past few days were preserved. Perhaps I worked on the whole file for days and never saved it once? It wouldn't be the first time. Digital permanence and non-destructive editing know no match to the ingenuity of human incompetence and chance disaster.
I no longer have the original tracks, but because I did bounce down a completed version, we will always have this symbol of the chink in our digital armor. Or will we?
Case in point; I had been working on a new demo for Sleeves aptly titled 'Caring No More' and after struggling with the initial four bar loop that underpinned most of the song, I felt I had finally cracked the code and come up with a charming instrumental. Perhaps not my favorite of all time, but another one in the can, nonetheless. I bounced it. I saved it and that was that.
I had finished the demo the night before and it was during the next evening when a sudden power outage engulfed most of my county. I am infatuated with large scale power outages, they tend to put perspective on many aspects of modern life. Bringing our attention to our dependencies, weaknesses and downright futility as modern, civilized humans.
In this case, the power was restored within a few hours and nothing was worse for the wear. But when I restarted Logic the next day, it automatically opened the last file used. That simple 4 bar loop of "Caring No More" was staring back at me and nothing else. I searched for an autosaved crashed version of the file to no avail. I had left the program open and this file was active at the time of the outage. I can't explain it, but none of my edits over the past few days were preserved. Perhaps I worked on the whole file for days and never saved it once? It wouldn't be the first time. Digital permanence and non-destructive editing know no match to the ingenuity of human incompetence and chance disaster.
I no longer have the original tracks, but because I did bounce down a completed version, we will always have this symbol of the chink in our digital armor. Or will we?
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