In most hip recording studios realworld time doesn’t exist — but in Electric Lady it’s denied. Past a closed circuit TV eye and down a flight of stairs from Greenwich Village’s seedy 8th Street is another world. The hallway is curved and long, dim lights accent the floor to ceiling murals of golden-haired children piloting spaceships thru Hendrix-skies. Inside the studios, lights glow" in colors and strengths of your choosing, acoustic sound panels flow into walls — and in the control booths there are more floor pillows than chairs. Sure, there are a few digital display clocks counting silent minutes, but you have to look to find them. Tape machines and mixing boards wait to be fulfilled — and no matter what the weather outside, it’s always the same time here — do it time.