關於 how to record drum ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

Repost from @adele Cannot love her more!!!! •

This is 31...thank fucking god 💀
30 tried me so hard but I’m owning it and trying my hardest to lean in to it all. No matter how long we’re here for life is constant and complicated at times. I’ve changed drastically in the last couple years and I’m still changing and that’s okay. 31 is going to be a big ol’ year and I’m going to spend it all on myself. For the first time in a decade I’m ready to feel the world around me and look up for once. Be kind to yourself people we’re only human, go slow, put your phone down and laugh out loud at every opportunity. Learning to REALLY truly love yourself is it, and I’ve only just realized that that is more than enough. I’ll learn to love you lot eventually 😂

Bunch of fucking savages, 30 will be a drum n bass record to spite you.
Chin up eh ❤️

this record changed my life.

LOW ALBUM RELEASED 38 YEARS AGO TODAY

“There’ll be others on the line filing past, who’ll whisper Low...”

January 14 1977 saw the release of the first instalment of what came to be known as Bowie’s Berlin trilogy. That album was the Bowie/Visconti produced Low and it was followed later the same year by "Heroes" with the trilogy completed in 1979 by the arrival of Lodger.

Most of the music across the three albums wasn't even recorded in Berlin, the unifying factor actually being Bowie, Visconti and Eno.

Much has been written about the brilliance and braveness of the music on Low, and rightly so. It’s probably hard to imagine with the ears of today how absolutely unique the record sounded back in 1977.

Apart from the obvious slicing of the album into two distinct sides (reflected better in the original working title of New Music Night And Day), Visconti gifted Low that distinctive drum sound, among other things, via his latest gadget, the Evantide Harmonizer. The Eventide was a machine that Visconti described to Bowie and Eno in a conference call before the sessions, thus: “It fucks with the fabric of time.”

Though Low was a record purportedly informed by the likes of Kraftwerk and other German musicians of the time, it actually sounded far more organic and not at all mechanised.

This was in no small measure due to the nucleus of the band Bowie had favoured during this whole period (starting with Station To Station), of Carlos Alomar (guitar), Dennis Davis (drums) and George Murray (bass).

Despite a very mixed press reaction to Low, the album was a commercial success, peaking at #2 on the UK Albums Chart and number 11 on the US Billboard Pop Albums chart. "Sound and Vision" and "Be My Wife" were released as singles; the former reaching #3 on the UK Singles Chart.

More recently, the album was also voted #1 on Pitchfork.com’s "Top 100 Albums of the 1970s". (http://smarturl.it/PitchforkLOWbest70s)

If you've not heard Low, go listen now on Spotify (http://smarturl.it/SpotifyLOW) and prepare to be transported by its gloriously uplifting melancholia and majestic musical language from another time and place, that has yet to arrive.

Low sounds as fresh today as it ever did...thirty nine minutes of untouchable genius.

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….

1. Make a simple chord progression and sexy drum beat .
2. Choose a synthesizer or any keyboard instrument to record the notes you imagined (don't play your guitar !)
3. Change key randomly
4. Play every notes on your guitar : )

The idea inspired by Owane , a fashion guitar hero .

#EDM #solo #guitarsolo


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#amiradrummer #drumworkshop #live



#amiradrummer

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I do not own this songs and of course i do not have any revenue from all drum cover video's. I'm creating Drum Cover and others content on my Youtube channel for FREE to watching, learning something or have a fun. But you can help me reduce the cost of my studio maintenance by join me as contributor. Become a contributor and get access to a AMIRA BEHIND THE SCENE in Facebook Group and enjoy watching what I'm doing behind the scene! You decide how much you can contribute by click this link https://app.senangpay.my/pay/contributor

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瑞士聯邦

瑞士屬內陸山地國家，地理上分為阿爾卑斯山、瑞士高原及侏羅山脈三部分，面積41,285平方公里，阿爾卑斯山佔國土大部分面積，而800萬人口中，大多分布於瑞士高原，瑞士高原也是瑞士主要城市如經濟中心蘇黎世及日內瓦的所在地。瑞士因自然風光及氣候條件而有「世界公園」的美譽[註 7][15]:162[10]:1[16]:307。
瑞士一開始有僱傭兵制度，後來才改採武裝中立，自1815年後從未捲入過國際戰爭，瑞士自2002年起才成為聯合國正式會員國[註 8]，但瑞士實行積極外交政策且頻繁參與世界各地的重建和平活動[18]；瑞士為紅十字國際委員會的發源地且為許多國際性組織總部所在地，如聯合國日內瓦辦事處。在歐洲區域組織方面，瑞士為歐洲自由貿易聯盟的創始國及申根區成員國，但並非歐盟及歐洲經濟區成員國。
依照人均國民生產總值，瑞士是世界最富裕的國家之一，同時瑞士人均財富也居（除摩納哥之外的）世界首位[註 9][19][20]。依國際匯率計算，瑞士為世界第19大經濟體；以購買力平價計算則為世界第39大經濟體；出口額及進口額分別居世界第20位及第18位。瑞士由3個主要語言及文化區所組成，分別為德語區、法語區及義大利語區，而後加入了羅曼什語區。雖然瑞士人中德語人口居多數，但瑞士並未形成單一民族及語言的國家，而且其國民中外國出生的比例相當高。對國家強烈的歸屬感則來自於共同的歷史背景及價值觀，如聯邦主義及直接民主制等[21]。傳統上以瑞士永久同盟於1291年8月初締結為建國之初始，而8月1日是瑞士國慶日。

蕾夢湖

凱爾特人曾把日內瓦湖(Lake Geneva)稱爲「大水」(large Water)或“Lem an”， 這正形成日內瓦湖的法語名字Lac Léman (中文譯作蕾夢湖)。日內瓦湖確實很大，固定班次的觀光遊船、古式輪槳蒸氣船和小渡輪，不斷在日內瓦湖582平方公里的湖面縱橫交錯。

詩隆古堡

詩隆古堡（法語：Château de Chillon），又譯「西庸城堡」，是瑞士西部的一座中世紀水上城堡，位於沃州蒙特勒（Montreux）附近的維托（Veytaux）鎮。
石墉城堡歷史悠久，坐落在日內瓦湖東端的小島上，由一座廊橋與岸邊相連。城堡最初為薩伏依公爵所有，16世紀被伯爾尼占領。18世紀以後，成為沃州政府財產。
1530年至1536年間，日內瓦的獨立主義者弗朗索瓦·博尼瓦（François Bonivard）曾被囚禁在此，後來英國詩人拜倫（Lord Byron）寫成了著名長詩《西庸的囚徒》，歌頌自由，城堡因此聲名大噪。

洛伊克巴德

洛伊克巴德（德語：Leukerbad，法語：Loèche-les-Bains）是瑞士瓦萊州洛伊克區的一個市鎮，該地擁有65處溫泉每日可湧出共計390萬升的溫泉水，是世界著名的溫泉度假勝地。[


★影片目的
係呢度，我地會用短短時期一齊偷走飛一轉，世界很大；時間太少，
旅費未必係大問題，但要時間去旅行就是困難事，拿起旅行箱作遊記，還是參加旅行團，亦想每次旅途中，找尋當中旅途的意義。
無論係為左旅行美食，為左旅遊Shopping，為左遠離煩躁，係偷走飛一轉呢度，短短幾分鐘，令你睇左當去左！
帶任何意見，就留低MSG比我，我有空會回你～感恩！
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推薦影片：
東歐巴爾幹遊記【Part 1】https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJYmAPmZ_Gk
【Day 1 大阪篇】 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kz-Lm2GtGkY
【病遊北海道雪國 Part 1】https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AeSJbNhc2vs
【遊走沉沒了的漢城Part 1】https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=210IbEJXu_w
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Keywords:

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