Musically Speaking, Of Course
2005-02-09 - 11:14 p.m.
before/after
strangely
non-functional guestbook
New Page 1 I leaned on the bar at the coffee shop. It was closing up and the staff was bustling around, cleaning, putting chairs on tables. Mick and Joe were with me. We'd just got done playing our regular show. It went well. I'm starting to trust Joe more, in a rhythmical sense, if not in a general sense as well. Because its important to a band, that trust. If someone can't lay down a solid rhythm, then the whole thing sound horrible, lazy.
Last week I was screwing around and whittled cuts from our prior session down to some acceptable tracks, and winnowed it further. Something like six tracks, of which maybe three were solid. Two of which I adored, and one of which I had been listening to for days. I dropped it off at Mick's, when he showed me the vintage suit he got off of @BAY to perform in. I didn't have the heart to tell Mick he might want to lose some weight before wearing the suit at a show. It was a sharp suit, with threads of copper and beige in a brown seventies era wool suit. The vest rounded around the bottom of his ample gut. It just didn't look right, but, each man must find his own way of _expression. My style got him started. One day, when I was wearing one of my deep red velour shirts, he admired my style, told me so. It was then I saw the wheels start turning in his head. And, after all, I had been after him to dress with a little flair when we played. We are musicians, after all.
Mick listened to the cuts, especially the one I really liked, and asked me, child-like in his understanding of things at times, if I could reduce the echo on his voice, so the rest stayed the same, and the echoes faded more quickly. With the set-up I had, and the way it was recorded, there was no way, and I told him so.
It was fine, he said, but needed work.
And then he showed up with 15 cd's pressed for sale. We sold a handful.
Including one to the guy, Gary, that walked up to us at the bar of the coffee shop where I leaned.
"You made a CD?" Gary asked.
Mick looked at the guy. An older man, with a gray beard and hair, he always comes to see us play.
"Yes I did." Mick replied, "I whittled down the tracks from our last recording session, and chose the ones I liked best. Then I pressed them to cd's. A short run, this one won't be available again."
Which is all well and good, but Mick didn't do any of that. He took the songs I did to someone else, and they copied the disc's for him. I appreciate the money we made, we did all right that night, but I don't like the idea of selling a half-baked demo album so much.
Mick tries to pull things with me, from time to time, prompted by his arrogance and ego. Like getting Joe to call and harass me to be on time. ("The paper says from 7-10, but we agreed to play from 8-10. They fucked up. Why play longer for the same money? Go get a drink.") Things of that nature. But it won't work. His ambition has taken off, which is a good thing. Cat doesn't have a job, might as well focus on the band, especially since I'm perpetually busy these days, it helps to have someone else take on some of the responsibility for the project.
However, I don't like the feel of someone else taking credit for my work.
In this instance, it meant nothing, so I said nothing. But it is something I will keep my eye on in the future.
Interesting how things have moved forward since Aaron left. He was a negative pull on production. Every time we tried to record with him, it never worked out. I pulled a demo together in less than a week with him gone.
And the last time I saw him he'd quit school again, because the psycho ex-girlfriend of his, the one who slept with all his friends, then called him to laugh about it, the one who he had to take a med leave from school for because he pathetically slashed his wrists over her. I flipped him off as I pulled up with Audrey in the car. He smiled. And flipped me off in return.
"What the fuck are you doing back here?" I asked him. Hmm, seems almost redneck now, in retrospect. Of course, now there is pressure on me to quit swearing. Peer pressure helping the Arg evolve.
"Ah, shit didn't work out. Fuckin' bitch." he said. Something like that.
"Right. Get the album done?" I asked, knowing full well he didn't.
"There was nothing that was usable."
Motherfucker. Say and do a lot of things, but don't insult my playing.
"Nothing you could use, huh?" I asked. I think he heard the hard note in my voice.
"Nope. Well-" and he stopped, "There was nothing that was of a good audio recording quality, Okay? That make you feel better?"
Which he meant to mean that there was not enough fidelity. The sound quality was poor.
But we recorded for nine hours. And this was supposed to be the shitty demo so we could book more gigs. We'd tried for months to record with Aaron, only to be thwarted by him every time. There had to be something usable.
He came in and sat on a stool. I guess Mick had invited him to play. Everyone bustled around, getting set to play. I had to set up the laptop to record, set my levels and tune up. Aaron sat there and waited to be served.
"I need a microphone." he said.
"I have to get set up, Aaron," I replied patiently.
"I'll play through the extra microphone, and then when you need it for your steel resonator, I'll sit out."
Excuse me, but didn't you quit the band? Didn't you walk out and stiff us? Didn't you keep all the pictures, album covers, and recorded material, only to blow off working on the album to go do blow for a weekend with your psycho ex-girlfriend that walks all over you? Didn't you lie to me about it and say your grandma died?
What really makes you think you can tell me how it is? Additionally, what makes you think that I'm going to cater to your ass? Because, quite frankly, I'd like to know.
I ignored him. Maybe someone else would help him, since he won't help himself.
I got the computer set up, tuned and, as usual, when I check my levels, everyone starts playing along with me. The show starts. And still, Aaron sat there, like a toad on a stool. Through the first five songs.
Eventually, he got up, and leaned over to me, in the middle of a song, "Hey, I'm leaving. Get a hold of me midweek." he said.
I just looked at him as he walked out. What a cock. Yeah, I'll just wipe your ass, too, while I'm at it.
So, he's called twice since, when I was away from my phone. Didn't leave a message.
I didn't call back. I am growing more as a musician without him in the mix, never mind him being in the band. We sound better without him.
And we are more productive.
Yeah, its interesting to see things move forward since I cut him out.
|