Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

"Private press" release of the "1634 Lexington Ave." album by Carlton Jumel Smith. Limited edition, 100 copies made. White label on the album, includes mystery 7" test pressing from Timmion Records catalog.

Around the year, the sturdy red brick walls of an old Cable Factory stand there like a mountain, facing weathers of all kinds rising from the Gulf of Finland. It might be freezing winter winds whipping the whole shore line into submission, fog heavy as concrete, or the relentless sun of the summer months, softening the asphalt to a boiling point. Whatever the weather may be, the narrow courtyard of the old factory embraces those musicians, who are looking to get down. They gather from all directions, making their way towards a pair of doors that lead towards a flight of stairs, again through a few doors all the way to the last portal, where an open padlock and a loosely hangin crossbar signal that Cold Diamond & Mink are inside, locked in a groove.

Who could it be with them this time, perhaps the jazz prophet Jimi Tenor beaming out of his space ship, maybe it's the golden voiced knight of soul Tuomo "Pratt" Prättälä, the number one trumpet wielding dandy Jukka Eskola or the saxman Pope Puolitaival, who loses nothing in coolness compared to the former? The reel to reel is always there in the monitoring room, catching each analog layer of sound, even the silences and banter between takes. Seppo lays down the guitar and tries to catch the riff on organ instead, Jukka throws a rare tune on the turntable, hoping to guide their unit through that wobbly chorus, Sami waits there bass in hand, maybe already thinking about the next production.

After a whole lot of playing instruments, arranging and taking care of business, after the moon has travelled around the old industrial building for some rotations, Carlton Jumel Smith comes waltzing through those same doors. There's a handful of unnamed tracks waiting for him. He sits there listening and then starts writing, maybe echoes of soul classics from his own record collection in New York projecting inside his mind. Then the tape is rolling again. Starting with a short intro rap Carlton lets it out, singing on the edge of shouting "Woman you made me...". After the vocals are in the can, Carlton ascends out of the basement and heads out to entertain an audience somewhere. Some months later, after the mix is said and done, there's the question of the instrumentals. It seems they're pretty good as they are. And here they are.