The final day of the working week are strange, changeable days in the record world; they either exude that traditional sense of calm and pre-weekend satisfaction, or they deviate into a world of panicked emails, rushed phone calls and hasty deliveries arranged.
Inevitably, this Friday was like the latter. Having bowled into the office around 11.30am after waking up in Bristol that morning, MB and I survey an office that has a distinct hum of activity. Over the next 6 hours, the frequency of the phone ringing increases almost exponentially. “where are the new album promos!” “we’ll have to get more made!” “Can I add two more packages to go out?” “why doesn’t the fucking printer work?” “What do you mean, your wireless connection’s gone?” “See if the mastering people have gone home yet.” “do they work on saturdays?”
…not that anything’s an emergency; the Wichita office is a pretty well-run outfit, certainly the amount of work done for the number of people in it is gargantuan, ridiculous, and generally quite unfeasible. It’s just that, as the clock ticks away towards 6pm (official shut off time to get hold of anyone on a day, even though blackberrys keep on buzzing forever), the pile of things to do never seems to diminish.
I don’t help my own workload by drinking a pair of Cobras at 2pm before returning to a mass of deliveries that need to be sent out. Hazy and confused, my mindset isn’t helped by the controlled chaos that goes on around me.
It all gets done of course; it always does. I think the air of finite time is only enhanced by the realisation that Monday sees an office trip to Glasgow – two gigs involving Wichita bands to enjoy – and that anything not done today is going to have to be addressed (hungover, inevitably) on Tuesday. And that’s never fun.
As Joe, Wichita intern remarked to me on Tuesday; ‘it’s a bit more business like this week, isn’t it?’.
Hello and welcome, 2009.