Firstly, I apologize for the lapse in entries. I was doing so well there for a bit, too, in getting one out every day. I haven’t been sleeping well, and work’s been insane.
Okay, forewarning - this is going to be a lengthy one. So lengthy in fact, I need to give it a name - let’s call this section: An In-Depth Look At The Anatomy of An Indie Rock Band. Relax! It’ll be a lot more exciting than the title suggests!
(“Why not change the title then?” The internet asks?
“Because it would ruin this sorry attempt at a joke.” Adam replies.)
We’ll start with a breakdown of the gameplan:
1. Christian flies to California for a roughly one month period, where upon he will stay on the couch in my office/studio/guest room thing.
2. Christian, X and I record three songs I had already demoed.
3. I schedule a makeup artist and photoshoot for promo materials.
4. We attend aforementioned photoshoot.
5. Mix and master three songs for distribution.
6. Be crushed by the lack of overnight fame and glory.
7. Cry alone in a shower by candlelight.
8. Talk to Doctor about getting better meds. Zoloft clearly ain’t cutting it.
Easy enough right? Well, it’s straightforward, at least.
Step “1”:... was completed that Friday, when I picked Christian up from the airport.
With his lack of luggage or anything, we went inside my house and I showed him to my office. My cat, Kenny, took an immediate dislike of Christian, and waddled his way down the hall with his tail whipping in a display of dissatisfaction. I told Christian not to take it personally, as Kenny takes an immediate dislike to... well, everything - he’s a cat.
I showed Christian the main staples of my studio: my mic, my keytar, my handheld recorder that I use for song ideas, and my pitiful home-made isolation booth that gets surprisingly good results, thank you very much.
“It’s cool, man.” Christian said, nodding in apparent approval. “Do you want to get started?”
“You’re not jetlagged?” I asked.
“No.” He replied.
“How is that even possible?”
He shot me a smile. “I have my secrets.”
“Right, okay.” I said. “I don’t want to go in the bathroom and see coke lines left on the toilet, though, alright?”
He raised his right hand in mock salute. “No gram left behind, sir.”
So with that, I called X, and we began Step 2.
Step “2”:... started with “Here’s To Eternity.” I pulled up my demo, plugged in X’s guitar, set Christian up in the vocal booth, and we got to work. It came together in just a few takes and I must say, it is a very odd experience to hear someone sing words you wrote. After spending a few minutes mixing the song, we all sat and listened for the first time.
It was... okay. The chorus line at this point just repeated “Hey, hey, Here’s to Eternity... Hey, hey, hey, eternity” and the percussion was more like a loop, with dancy techno drums. Now, with the crunchy guitars and sassy vocals, it just didn’t work.
“I like it.” X said. “It’s very...” he gesticulated as he searched for the right word. “...cool.”
“It’s missing something.” I sighed.
“Such as...?” Christian asked.
Me: “I think we need real drums.”
Christian: “Do you have a drummer?”
Christian: “Do you have a drum kit?”
Me: “Nope. I have mics though.”
X had pulled out his phone at this point and was quietly tapping away on it.
Christian: “That’s not too helpful without a kit. Do you propose we beatbox?”
Me: “Why? Can you beatbox?”
Christian: “No. I can’t beatbox.”
Me: “Yeah, me either.”
X tossed his phone down and stood.
X: “I just emailed you some Craigslist ads for drum kits. I’m gonna go smoke.”
As he left the room, I checked my phone and sure enough, there were four links to drum kits for sale in my area. Three of them were great looking kits, but I wasn’t willing to throw down one to two thousand dollars on a whim. The fourth link though was a nice kit, complete with cymbols, snare, throne and sticks, for $110.
“What’s it say? Are they broken or anything?” Christian asked, peering at my screen.
“No, it just says ‘Please text first.’”
So, I did, punching in the number given. I received a message back shortly thereafter:
hi adam. yes the drums work. they were my husbands but he’s passed on now. my address is (redacted). anytime is fine. - eunice (redacted)
“So we’re going to play a dead old man’s drum kit on this record?” Christian asked after I read the text aloud.
“Who says he was old?”
“Well, one, he’s dead--”
I cut him off. “Right, because no young people ever die, Christian.”
“...two,” he continued, ignoring my interruption. “His widow’s name is Eunice.”
“These are... specious... points at best, bud.” I said, clapping him on the shoulder as I walked past him. X appeared in the doorway.
“C’mon,” I told them both. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” X asked.
“We’re going to buy a drum kit off an old lady.” Christian said.
“Okay.” He replied.
To be continued...