I couldn’t even begin to review such an important piece of literature as I lack the proper vocabulary. I highly recommend understanding this book to anyone who wishes to partake in the human experience.

All men become brothers…

(continued from: January 1 and January 2)

The drum setup was often kept as simple as possible

Our next session was the following Saturday afternoon. I remember admiring the woods and countryside of Old Lyme as I drove south from Glastonbury. The rolling hills would peak and yield antique farmland before tumbling back down into valleys of pine forests; the sun glazing the land and trees with vivid yellows. I wanted to stop at almost every turn in the road and photograph the backdrop, but I wouldn’t have reached Casa Babwe for several more hours had I done so. It was almost too picturesque to photograph though; as the process of taking a photo tends to pull one’s mind out of the moment rather than embracing it.

As went the familiar routine, I pulled into my normal parking spot behind the barn and hastily made my entrance–I was nearly two hours late. Inside Jon was tending to some of his father’s business, and so I was greeted instead by our friend Brian who had driven down from Columbia to spend the evening. Jon had already done his best to set up as much as possible, so the three of us caught up while I shuffled around my equipment completing the task.

Jon with the Telecaster

I had invited Heather down to take some photos of us working. Jon and I often lament that while we are working we cannot also document the process. Heather showed up sometime later that evening, and until she did I can’t necessarily remember what we did, if anything. I know we ran through most of the recordings so that Brian could have a listen. I will be the first to admit that I become insecure at the point when we are to demonstrate our work in progress for an outside mind. Other than Babwe–who is captivated entirely from the first downbeat–I usually witness the music being received on an inattentive level. This has little to do with the individual listener and more to do with the depreciation our entire society’s lack of interest in listening to music. If music hasn’t become almost entirely background noise to our daily lives it is generally accompanied by visuals that provide more than just an auditory stimulus. None the less, Brian seemed interested on perhaps a more than fundamental level; and by this point in the project–and in life–I take an audience’s reaction somewhat haphazardly.

Somehow through the commotion of the evening all of the instruments and microphones were set up. It’s interesting to look back on the entire experience a few months later, as it almost feels like the instruments and mics were just there and ready to go; but I know this was not the case, and in fact it took a strenuous effort each time to be ready to record on a whim. Sure enough, that’s what we did. Suddenly Jon, Brian and myself had pieced together a laid back bluesy riff. It came from nowhere and it came from somewhere all at the same time.  The three of us grew up learning music together, and the fact is we’ve spent countless hours over countless years playing aimlessly. It seems that when you do this it becomes second nature after awhile, and that’s exactly what it was. It was cerebral. By the time I had microphones up and dialed in we had something down. All I had to do was hit record and get back behind the kit. Whatever came out is what we ended up with.

I almost forget that Heather was there that night dancing around us photographing from any vantage point. I had found her a spot light and she worked with it like Jon works with a guitar; an extension of the body, a tool in which her soul could extend itself. The illumination in the barn would change constantly from Heather’s work. I had hardly noticed it happening and I am particularly sensitive to lighting, but each placement seemed familiar and welcoming. It wasn’t until I got the photos back that I was able to reflect on just how transparent Heather was that night. With all her movement around the room I had barely noticed her at work. Can’t say I’ve come across many people who have been able to work a camera around me without my noticing. The results are stunning and vibrant and they speak for themselves. Heather captured the real thing.

Look at that beautiful wood floor

With the mics dialed in, I sunk back behind my drums. I had a hot rod in my right hand and a brush in my left; the hot rod sounded good on the cymbals and the brush sounded great on the snare. Brian sat midway between Jon and I with the bass guitar, his amp directly to the side of the drums. Jon sat across the room perched on a stool with the Telecaster into the VOX. We probably did a take or two and fumbled, at which point I would have paused the session just to hear what I was recording. I hate doing this, but it’s a real downer when you’ve just gone and done a great take all to find out one of the mics sounded like shit the entire time. But that wasn’t the case. Everything sounded great and it only took a minute to confirm. I let the recording run and we spent the next hour playing. It’s possible that we had a good run by the second or third take. I cut out all the surrounding fat and that was it. We had an instrumental piece that as of yet has no real resolution. I can admire it just the way it is though. It’s fluid; dynamic. It represents years of playing music together, and it represents a moment in time in which Jon and I had both become overwhelmed by jazz and blues.

LA2A

The rest of the evening yielded little to no work, but we did take a few stabs here and there. Brian and Heather eventually made their exits, and the rest of the weekend was spent in seclusion.

With Sunday came a new song: House Up On a Hill. From our jam the previous night, I had found a driving rhythm that was fun to play and full of good energy. I was happy to discover it would fit perfectly into this song–almost as if it were written specifically for it. As far as I can recall, we spent all day working on House Up On a Hill. The recording process was nearly default. Jon and I jammed the song together–instruments and mics still in place from Saturday–until it felt right. The rest of the day would have involved layering in bass guitar, more guitar parts, vocals. The vocals were, and often are, the most fun to record. It is at this point my constant shuffling of microphones and cables is stripped down to only one mic that will be in the same position for the next few hours. And it is at this point my responsibilities relax and I am able to begin reflecting upon the song we have now molded together over hours of the day.

We struggle with vocals because when you don’t aim for anything specific you have an infinite amount of possibilities at your disposal. It sounds great, but it isn’t. Unlike the fluidity of recording instruments, Jon will labor over his vocals and will even work a song for hours only to undo everything entirely another day. I am comfortable with this; he is too. We sat together pondering the great wall of sound that we had built up and he now had to climb over with only his voice. We dove right in without looking; without even checking the water for rocks or sharp objects. I would bring the song back to the top, hit record, walk across the room to the wood stove. Jon would dance and sing; I would dance and listen. Again and again we did this. What could have looked like a delve in insanity to an outsider was to us an answer to a question we hadn’t even gone about asking. Over and over, one track after another; our minds wandering into individual fields transfixed on a musical harmony. Jon was completely lost and so was I.

Quit biting your nails

Maybe an hour or two went by before either of us snapped out of it. By this time I can only assume we had to stop just because it was getting late and we still needed to pack up and head home. I’m not even sure how many times Jon sang that song, but it resulted in an entire chorus of only a single voice. It took an interesting precedence over the rhythmic instrumental. What was once a spectacle now encourages a listener to sing along. It’s a welcoming song; one that to me suggests the words themselves are not of any importance but that the true emotion lies within the lure to sing along, to partake in the human spirit.

And so with that, our third session ended. It is the most vivid session out of all four. Did either of us anticipate we’d be playing the blues with Brian that weekend? No. Did we anticipate a rhythmic, inviting House Up On a Hill? Absolutely not. Spontaneity is quintessential to Jon’s work, and the only way to capture that is to allow it.

I will end this session with one of the most profound statements in music I have ever come across.

“Music means itself” – Igor Stravinsky

Of course, this is all subject to opinion, and my opinion should be interpreted and weighed as should any.

I’ll start with a quote from Bob Dylan’s Chronicles: Volume One: “For sure my lyrics had struck nerves that had never been struck before, but if my songs were just about the words, then what was Duane Eddy, the great rock-and-roll guitarist, doing recording an album full of instrumental melodies of my songs?”

I’m generally turned off by the idea that lyrics should be the highest priority in a song or that we should consider shaping an entire mix around their prominence. Also,  does anyone remember when paragraphs used to be longer? Seriously. Web articles have paragraphs that are three sentences max. Ahh… what is this world coming to I tell ya.

Anyways, I lost my train of thought. You can’t take these things too seriously.

But I do think it’s a little ridiculous to say that lyrics are what the listener connects to the most. Come on. That’s great and all for spoon fed music, but why would recording ‘instruction manuals’ preach this? Music is felt between the interconnection of all instruments involved. The human voice is an instrument. I doubt we even strive to understand lyrics all that often. I sure don’t. I honestly don’t give a damn what you’re singing about. Radiohead? What the hell is Thom Yorke singing about? I couldn’t tell you. So why am I turned on by their music? Well, it moves me in a way unlike no other band. Radiohead has driven right through the core of my deepest inner thoughts. I’ll pick up on a line now and then, but it’s usually just to sing along in harmony.

Or what about Sigur Ros? That’s not even a real language they’re singing in. My jaw dropped when I learned this. Can you believe how beautiful their music is? It floods my brain with visions of oceans, mountains, glaciers; places I haven’t ever been to or seen. I can travel the world listening to Sigur Ros. I can explore the inner depths of my own psyche. Their music is a powerful, powerful expression of human emotion. I would recommend everyone listens to Ágætis byrjun.

My point here isn’t to look at what specific bands have done, but rather open up to the possibility that a connection with all music, live and recorded, goes farther than vocals and lyrics. We can’t take for granted the human metaphysical bond to chords and chord progressions. Just because a song contains elaborately worded lyrics doesn’t mean we will all be deeply effected by them.

What does this translate to in recording? I’m not really sure. It’s just something I’m aware of. Maybe this isn’t even a concept worth thinking about. Maybe it’s just something to be aware of. Go now, return to your music. She awaits you.

Alright, the second session: December 31^st and January 1^st. This one is interesting. Our first session had finished up the Wednesday before, so we had two days off from recording — “off” meaning I had to work. I have to correct myself from earlier. We hadn’t packed up after our first session, we didn’t have to. Babwe was off for the weekend celebrating New Years, so we left everything ready to jump right back in and that’s exactly what we did.

We met in Old Lyme late Friday night around nine and worked until about three in the morning. Memory fails me as to exactly what we worked on, but according to my notes we started work on a song named The Great Frog Race. It started out completely acoustic and grew in size and intensity. Listening back to this song, it’s hard to believe that each instrument had to be layered in separately and that most parts were written on the spot within one or two takes. Actually, this song is a perfect example as to how Jon and I work so I’m going to describe it in detail.

We’re a two-man team when we record. We have to put these songs together one piece at a time. We start at point A and have very little concern as to what direction a song takes. In The Great Frog Race, Jon would have sat next to the wood stove with his guitar. I likely put one microphone in front of him — a Telefunken Copperhead — and he would have played with his eyes closed while I watched silently from my command center. Jon would play through the entire song. Maybe he got it on the first try or maybe we did another couple of takes. I couldn’t tell you how it went for The Great Frog Race and project files yield no clues. I almost always flatten and merge right after we’re done with a part. I have no need to keep any extras. If it didn’t feel right we’ll do it again.

Although unconstrained by ‘song vision’, Jon sometimes has parts in mind that were recorded earlier. I don’t know how old this song is but it’s not new. Jon has recorded it once, more than once, and knows the song well. In The Great Frog Race, there was a western-sounding guitar and we wanted to recreate that sound. I’m not a guitar player but I do fancy the challenge of crafting guitar tones. With our trusty Telecaster, VOX AC15, and a Holy Grail Reverb pedal, it took all of 15 minutes to get a huge, western sound. Had I been trying to do that with a dinky plugin it would have never felt right.

With the base tracks down, we go in all directions. Jon was ready to hear drums at some point, so I set everything up, dialed in the pres and shifted gears from recording to playing. This is difficult to do and proves frustrating to get behind the kit watching preamps across the room, but I’ve gotten better at switching concentrations. Anyways, I rarely get the vibe right on the first take. Unlike Jon, I have an instinct to the rhythm but it often takes a few attempts to refine. The Great Frog Race contains at least two drum overdubs if not three. I really got into layering drums throughout these sessions, which I attribute mostly to Arcade Fire. It’s a lot of fun when Jon has an idea for how the drums should sound. I like interpreting his ‘vocal drums’ into the real thing or handing the sticks over.

Over the course of many hours, we’ll layer more and more parts into a song which means there is never really a stopping point or a ‘complete’. We usually move on from lack of interest or time constraints. I think for The Great Frog Race it was the latter. This was the end of Saturday at which point I had slept about six hours in the past 40 or so.

We did have one last go around before we called it a night. With the drums already setup, Jon and I broke into a jam session using his song Angel Nurse and adapting it into a more jazzy, rhythmic song. We worked out some parts and decided we’d give it a shot in the morning.

——–

It had been a great start to the weekend. Jon was off to a New Years party and I was off to my parents’ house for some much needed rest. We had planned to reconvene sometime in the morning around ten but didn’t start until six or seven that night. It’s a funny story. Jon was so hungover he couldn’t even get out of bed… don’t ask me why. I spent most of the day with my parents relaxing and doing some writing. At some point in the afternoon Jon was well enough to get in his car, pick me up, and head to Old Lyme. About 5 minutes down the road we’ve already pulled over and Jon is ready to power-puke his lungs out. He picks up a plastic bag his girlfriend supplied him, looks straight forward and says in all seriousness, “I think I’m gonna lose it, Nate.” BLARGGGG!!! I was stifling my laughter; head turned towards the window trying to hide my grin. It was fucking hilarious. I did admit later on how funny it was. We got further down the road and pulled into a gas station because the car was acting funny. Turns out the car was out of oil; bone dry. Good thing we caught that in time. Just one of many memorable antics. I love recording with Jon.

Eventually we made it to Old Lyme but Jon wasn’t in any condition to record. Laying on the work bench in self-inflicted agony, he could only apologize again and again for his actions. I thought nothing of it. I should have put up a mic and recorded his misery.

At some point we got food into Jon’s belly and he snapped right out of it. Babwe came out to check in on us and his resonating presence was a huge motivator. This is the night we recorded Angel Nurse in its entirety. This was the first song we were able to record playing live off the floor together. I was behind my drum set and Jon was across the room with the Telecaster into the VOX, perched on a stool singing into the Telefunken. Babwe was in the wood shop for one of the first takes. I’ve always hated interruptions but the man knows how to make a poignant check-in. Best of all, he is absolutely silent when we do a take. No one gets this concept; and somehow he manages it without us having ever asked.

A few takes and we had it. The vibe between us playing together was the only way that recording was going to sound right.

After a jazzy bass line, some cello, haunting ‘oohs’, and a second guitar, I couldn’t sit in front of this song without being completely overwhelmed. Each playback demanded focus from my entire body. It must be what Daniel Lanois experiences. I honestly can’t describe it but I bet he’d know what I’m talking about. Angel Nurse moves me.

I must have played that song back at least ten times after we called it a night.

And so that was it for our second session. This is when we broke down and packed up for the first time; another huge effort. Thankfully I had the next day off, because I got home around 4am. I collapsed into bed, exhausted. Hardly anything will top the level of satisfaction I felt that night.

That’s Chris Gunderson playing his saxophone for me last night in his studio. We had a great evening eating chili, listening to jazz, shooting some film… but this was the highlight of the night.

Transfering my gear into road cases

So we made it happen and it was a somewhat calculated effort. I was able to grab up a few road cases, label, pack and move everything down to Old Lyme; about 45 minutes away. It took us about three car loads to get instruments, amps, and recording equipment there — an exhausting effort but certainly worth it. Babwe offered us residence in his wood shop, a red barn he raised next to his beautiful colonial house. Despite an abundance of sawdust, the room was perfect for recording: spacious and open, high ceilings, well diffused. Not to mention we had a US Army barracks wood stove right next to our cozy recording spot keeping us plenty warm.

Ultimately some of our best work, discussion and screwing around would take place in the barn in the month of January. While it is difficult to paraphrase the events, I will do my best to recall some of the more memorable events.

A new R101 for the occasion

As soon as the Christmas shuffle was done we went at it. Actually, our first session was December 27th and 28th but it all feels the same to me. We set up for the first time, things looked beautiful and sounded all the same. With everything labelled and organized well, I was able to setup quickly with no real technical difficulties (although I did almost fry my preamps). Jon and I move constantly but at different paces. Some days we’re motivated, moving faster than I can set up microphones. Some nights it’s best to reflect on what we’ve created alongside the work of others.

Our first task, like all the work we do, came out of complete spontaneity and we decided to re-record the song Castle. I’m not even sure we opened the version done over the summer. Honestly, I think we both just knew it needed another attempt. The night we started turned out to be perfect for Castle: a suspiciously warm, windy, and rainy January night. The shop door creaked open as a gust of air through the barn frenzied our fire, glowing in the wood stove. We recorded guitar parts with a Telecaster through a Vox AC15; what a beautiful sounding combination that turned out to be. At some point, Jon suggested we record the wind so I jostled a few KM184s over to the door and did just that. I believe the song was completed that night. It turned out sincere, honest, emotional. We wrapped up around 2am. What a great way to kick off a month of spontaneous recording.

I remember the first night having a little tension — not dramatic tension but working tension. Let me tell you a little about Jon. Jon works spontaneously and this is evident in his personality. We might do a few takes at the most and then it’s time to move on. This works well for two reasons: Jon knows his music better than any other musician I’ve met and he also has the capacity to write additional parts on the spot. Having been away from Jon for a few months, I overlooked our spontaneous music by invention methodology and took to a more regimented, “let me get you the results you want” approach. It took less than two hours before Jon was agitated enough to let me know where we were going wrong. This was very important feedback. Important enough to underline. We (I) adjusted and everything, in my opinion, went well from then on.

The next morning we started right into a song titled Vincent Van Gogh. This one was a lot of fun, I got to lay in some drums and it’s always a worthy challenge writing drums on the spot that will suit the mood of the song (and hit the pocket — Jon’s music isn’t done in time). This song is oddly anti-climactic, or maybe that isn’t really the best way to describe it. It goes through several quirky, Sufjan Stevens drum inspired transitions and lands on a broad, mellow ending. I often use “crescendo” to describe Jon’s music and this song is no exception but rather than a powerful, story-ending resolution, the lattice work of instrumentation and soft harmonies sustain a brief, albeit profound listening experience. And so with that in mind, I can suggest how overwhelming it was to sit in front of the song as each added layer exposed or further emphasized the purpose.

Maybe this is why I record music. Between the hustle of shoving microphones into amps, wrestling stands and cables, dialing in levels, I am able to listen. Just listen.

It took an entire day to create Vincent Van Gogh and by the end I was exhausted and feeling accomplished about both songs we had recorded. At this time, it was already Wednesday and I unfortunately had to return to the 9-5 routine the next day. We packed everything up and I got home late that night. In three day’s time, we’d be in for another very interesting two days of recording.

Jon plays his guitar in the barn

Our working space for the next few weeks

The whole idea that you could capture the world as it exists in a recording

I’m not going to review this plug-in, I am no professional reviewer and anyone can get a demo and try it out on their own. But! I do have an A/B comparison and I do think the plug-in is pretty awesome. It doesn’t work in all situations. It seems to work really well on tracks and mixes that need the low end to sound more realistic. I have a hard time explaining this but it’s really a feeling when it comes to low end.

Here’s a little background on the A/B. This track was recorded entirely through my TEAC 3340s 4 track deck. I can’t remember if it was at 7.5 ips or 15 ips at the time but I would place my bet on 7.5 ips. It’s a crummy little machine but I am fascinated by it. You’ll hear some image shifts and I had to run it through a de-noiser which affected the hi-hat ever so slightly.

Slate claims that this plug-in recreates the analog non-linearity sound of a console which I would imagine introduces some pleasant sounding harmonic distortion. I think that is why it worked very well with these tape tracks which already have a fair amount of analog vibe.

This is also the most extreme example possible of the plug-in. The settings in this screen shot are the settings I used in the session. Input (not pictured) and Drive were set to +6 dB (max) using the Brit N model console which Slate states to be ” known for a rich, fat, and warm sound.” The Brit N model sounded the best on this mix by a long shot and the more it was driven it the better it sounded.

I am looking forward to trying it more. Here is my A/B comparison. Download the 48kHz 24-bit sample files here and here.

My friend Chris once posed a question: Would you rather live a short life creating music reaching millions of ears or a long life creating music that is never heard? Again, a different answer from everyone. I answered his question instinctively but I reflected on it for many weeks after. It was this question that helped me understand why I record. Yet my question remains. Why do we record?

I subscribe to Bob Dylan’s theory on recording music. This Dylan quote is from Tape Op’s interview with Chris Shaw: “A record is just a recording of what you were doing that day.” Simple. Beautiful. Even better, I can wrap my mind around this mantra and take it with me as I record. I have to admit that out of all the great wisdom sought from all the great recorders, this one insignificant quote seems to shortcut all good advice straight to the core of why we record.

How humbling to know we merely capture a brief moment in time. How conceited to think we do anything more.

Is this the answer to why we record? Probably not, but it’s good enough for me. I find a certain amount of satisfaction knowing we capture zeitgeist through recording. Art, photography, film, literature, doctrines, and music are all a part of what makes us human. As a recorder, we are nothing more than a conduit into the archives of humanity. Every vinyl, every cassette, every CD, every mp3 yields information about our culture and our world. Mankind may collectively shrink the importance of music in society but that does not minimize the importance of recording.

“So many of the sounds in today’s recording studios come out of little boxes that merely imitate the sonic innovations of the past. The range of choices is vast but, in unimaginative hands, it seems to create fewer surprises.”

An opening quote, written by Elvis Costello, sets the tone for the story to come. In the 1960s, Geoff Emerick along with George Martin, Paul McCartney, John Lennon, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr would set in motion some of the most popular recording techniques used today. Close miking, tape loops, sampling, even kick drum dampening were all pioneered by Geoff Emerick and the Beatles. Their work would change recording history.

Think about this with me for a second. This man is responsible for recording techniques fifty years later that go almost unnoticed. When was the last time you saw a kick drum used anywhere that didn’t have some sort of dampening? When I was a kid and my parents got me a kit the first thing I did was stuff blankets inside the kick drum! Now, if you were to have asked me why I did this prior, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you.

What’s more, Here, There and Everywhere contains a plethora of wisdom that is the psychology of working with musicians. Again, this to me is yet another overlooked facet in the art of recording today. Yes, there are plenty of pages written about the stress Geoff faced with the Beatles’ in their later years. But even before that, Geoff Emerick finds fascinating ways to work with each Beatle as each of their personalities were different. Lennon, for example, hated the sound of his own voice and often made requests in an abstract manner. Paul knew what he wanted and sought perfection. George Harrison was the ‘little brother’ yet he became more confident in his music. And believe it or not, Ringo was picky with drum sounds.

The subject of this book might be misconstrued as nostalgia but that just isn’t the case, at least not entirely. Here, There and Everywhere is like sitting at the back of EMI Abbey Road on the first week on your way to becoming an engineer.