Nothing like a broken leg to afford some extra studio time.
I was thumbing through my recording roster to see what I might work on next and decided to punch-up Purgatory of Your Love, not out of affection for the tune but because it supposedly had the least amount of necessary overhaul. But like a writer who intends to pen a poem and delivers a seven volume dissertation on the essence of love, so to goes studio time.
In this latest (and hopefully last) version of this song about romantic malady, I went south with the bass, keeping it simple and spooky, to carry the weight of depression from the mixing board into your soul. Since my keyboard skills are limited, I also went light on the total ivory note count and once again discovered that less can be more. It occurs to me that Johnny Cash was doing the same thing with pianos on his last records.
Purgatory of Your Love
If you have ever felt good about romance, this will put and end to it.
Sometimes a song goes in very different directions once you have time and a few extra instruments to experiment with.
Just the Right Way
This song has been through two significant shifts, and this one was almost accidental. I was unhappy with the lighter sound of the original version. Not bad per se, but it lacked a beat and throb that gave the listener a feeling of passion. And frankly, some of the lyrics are a bit passionate (”When I feel her skin next to mine“). So while tooling about town in my pickup I turned the radio off (for once) and started experimenting with rhythms on the steering wheel, settling on a good ‘ole 6/8 blues variation. Once I returned to Château d’Saster, I rummaged through a set of drum loops I bought from Prosonics and found a suitable 6/8 beat that was heavy on the kicker.
That’s when all Hell broke lose in the studio. Instead of picking up the acoustic guitar, which seems to be where I start most songs, I grabbed the bass and experimented with just the bass and drums. That is when caged harmonic demons started to take full control because that thumping, bass-heavy combo sounds like heartbeats and animalistic boinking in one slightly dirty ball. Once this new direction was set in motion, the acoustic guitar became filler/into and the Stratocaster was added to make people perk-up when listening.
This is not a final cut (the vocals need replacing) but good enough for a demo and for now.
Buyers shop for songs to sell recording artists. These folks are (typically) industry veterans with the psychological scars to prove it. They are intimate with a wide range of musical genre and can instantly connect a demo song to any number of artists who might record it. They are the necessary middlemen that keep songwriting hacks like me from tossing CDs over perimeter fences of recording star’s homes.
I recently pitched to Jason Brawner, an L.A. producer and someone too upbeat and pleasant for what can be a rotten industry filled with saber-toothed scammers. I tossed the latest revision of One Heartbreak into the boom box and he gave a listen while reading the lyric sheet.
Jason’s other uncharacteristic trait is that he had loads of helpful critique, the most painful of which that night was the tempo of my tune. Paraphrasing liberally, Jason said “I see where you are going. Old school, depression blues. Can’t sell it. Double the tempo, bring it up to blues/rock and …” In other words head back to the studio and do it all over again.
Sigh.
I won’t debate his wisdom. While the CD spun, I was having the same thought though I was not yet ready to admit it to myself. The tune as currently recorded has merit. Anyone with Muddy Waters or Uncle Tupelo in their collection will appreciate the foundation I created.
But Jason was right about it not being currently marketable. Anyone recording desperation blues is either writing his own stuff or lifting any of a million public domain ditties penned by original delta bluesmen. They don’t need to pay me for my song.
Time to warm-up the studio gear and find a faster drummer. I’ll start with the beat and build from there.
I want to brag about a local band, not because they are good great musicians, but because they write honest songs.
The outfit is called Houston Jones, and their music is as they bill it “high-octane Americana.” Fitting description as they rather seamlessly weave together sounds from blues, folk, country, gospel and their own cosmic connections. The sound is unique while sounding oddly familiar.
The band’s moniker was hijacked from the last names of their lead singer (Travis Jones) and their most talented and digitally bizarre lead guitarist Glenn Houston (Glenn plays left handed, but with the guitar strung for right handed players. I can only assume he got bored trying find left handed axes and learned to play them upside down as well as backwards).
Chris Kee, the band’s bass and cello player has been accused of writing most of their songs. Bassist songwriters are not unknown, but are slightly rarer than virgin girls in a brothel. Much is explained by the fact that Chris is degreed in ethnomusicology and has so many frequent player miles that new tunes are likely sprouting out of his ears.
I won’t go into any more detail on their songwriting, aside from saying that it ranges from sweet, to driving, to outright silly (Sleepy Armadillo is a song about road kill). Listen and experience and see how music can be simple and simultaneously masterful.
The toughest part of writing songs is understanding one’s limitation. Mine are vocals.
No kidding Guy? Aside from our ears bleeding, we never noticed.
When peddling a song to publishers the recording and mix don’t have to be perfect. Publishers are looking for good raw material done in styles that will make them imagine some particular singer or band performing that song. A tune for sale needs to be developed enough to ignite that ah ha moment — that spark of recognition that blah-blah-blah could record that song and sell a million copies.
But if any part of the song completely misses the mark — especially vocals where most of the emotional outlet of the song lay — then the song won’t sell because the publisher won’t hear the artist in his stable in that song.
Enter Mister Earl J. Rivard, a vocalist I recently met at a long open mic. For songwriters and working musicians open mics are rehearsal opportunities with beer and cute girls watching (or in the case of our local dive, ex biker chicks singing along off key).
Earl took to the mic and started singing like the bastard child of Bocephus and Joe Cocker. I instantly knew I wanted him to do the vocals on One Heartbreak and take the song into the next realm — to make it sound like a ruling blues master could make it their own.
One Heartbreak (Away from the Grave)
In the studio, we ran through several takes. The first was good and Earl was following my requests for placing a certain emphasis or emotion on certain phrases (Earl, more anger when you say “can’t take those lies”). The second take was a hatchet job as we kept over dubbing the parts I didn’t like. I suddenly got smart and said “Earl, on this next take sing it however it moves you.” I figured letting him place his emotions into the song might create some interesting elements I never considered.
I was right. The sounds in the player above are the unedited Earl J. Rivard additions to the song. If you have ever had your herat broken, you may just like his redition.
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