"Hey bands, you're all welcome to fly me to some exotic location and I'll record you there, Y'know that right? You don't have to come to this God forsaken place. Hope I can visit you all in Australia one of these days that would be hot! We'll talk again soon"
About this Quote
There’s a shaggy, charming audacity to this note: a working musician/producer voice that’s half invitation, half hustle, half weary joke. Jim Diamond isn’t pitching “a service” so much as projecting a scene. The exotic location isn’t just travel fantasy; it’s a bargaining chip, a winked reminder that the supposedly glamorous side of music is still logistics, budgets, and who’s willing to eat the cost.
The line about “this God forsaken place” does the real work. It punctures any romantic notion of the studio as sacred ground. Diamond positions his current base as functional, even miserable, implying long hours, isolation, and the grind of turning raw bands into records. That self-deprecation softens the ask: fly me out, and I’ll make it worth your while. It’s salesmanship disguised as camaraderie.
“Y’know that right?” and “We’ll talk again soon” carry the cadence of someone who lives in ongoing negotiations. This is relationship maintenance, not a contract: a reminder that access is fluid, opportunity is perishable, and the music world runs on informal promises. The Australia shout-out (“that would be hot!”) adds a fan-ish enthusiasm that keeps him from sounding mercenary. He’s signaling eagerness to meet scenes where they are, to be part of their story, not just rent them his room.
Underneath the banter is a portrait of an era when geography still mattered: before remote collaboration became frictionless, getting “the guy” in the room required flights, faith, and a little charm. Diamond’s intent is practical; his subtext is survival.
The line about “this God forsaken place” does the real work. It punctures any romantic notion of the studio as sacred ground. Diamond positions his current base as functional, even miserable, implying long hours, isolation, and the grind of turning raw bands into records. That self-deprecation softens the ask: fly me out, and I’ll make it worth your while. It’s salesmanship disguised as camaraderie.
“Y’know that right?” and “We’ll talk again soon” carry the cadence of someone who lives in ongoing negotiations. This is relationship maintenance, not a contract: a reminder that access is fluid, opportunity is perishable, and the music world runs on informal promises. The Australia shout-out (“that would be hot!”) adds a fan-ish enthusiasm that keeps him from sounding mercenary. He’s signaling eagerness to meet scenes where they are, to be part of their story, not just rent them his room.
Underneath the banter is a portrait of an era when geography still mattered: before remote collaboration became frictionless, getting “the guy” in the room required flights, faith, and a little charm. Diamond’s intent is practical; his subtext is survival.
Quote Details
| Topic | Wanderlust |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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