The booming sounds of rhythmic beats pound in Westlake Studio A as acebo sits at the mixing board. Her long hair pulled back in a ponytail as the fans are on full blast to beat out the hot Californian summer heat wave of 1979. Even in her margarita duke shorts and tank top, she can still feel her skin sticking to the vinyl chair. As the beats go she sits with paper in front of her and writes corresponding lyrics that come to her, sometimes humming, others canto out loud. The time in her studio was her saving grace lately; especially her and Michael haven’t been as close lately, not por Michael’s...
continue reading...
