First Record At Sixty

It all started with a walk through a 19th Century family cemetery in the eastern part of Jefferson County, Kentucky. In the middle of the cemetery was a concrete pad holding parts of a half-dozen or so tombstones that had been scattered by a tornado that struck the area in April, 1974. The added inscription noted that there was no way to determine where the tombstones had been prior to the tornado.

As a Southerner (raised in Texas), I had been taught as a child not to walk on graves, as it was a sign of disrespect of the dead. Folk wisdom had it that when you felt a sudden, unexplained chill, then someone was walking on your grave. I occurred to me as I looked at the concrete pad that I could not really avoid walking on a grave as I strolled around the cemetery.

As I left the cemetery to continue the walk, the phrase “Somebody’s walking on my grave” popped into my head and, as a songwriter my habit and inclination, by the time I got home, I had a chorus and first verse of a song, written in a more-or-less 19th Century call-and-response style. The rest of the tune came together rather more rapidly than usual, so that by the time I next met my friend Michael the neophyte bass player, I was ready to try it out on him. He liked it and we worked it up.

Michael Price and I have been getting together once or twice a week for nearly two years to play music. At 55, Michael had decided to learn to play the acoustic bass in order to be able to jam with his musical friends. He had given up on trying to get us to play with him as he plinked away – badly – on his piano, which he had taught himself to play. We steadfastly claimed that it was not reasonable to match the 88 strings on the piano with the many fewer strings on a guitar and banjo, which is what his main two musical friends played.

I spent the two years reacquainting myself with the guitar (a Taylor), which I had laid aside for nearly a decade or more, while I tended to other things. Like many men of my age, I had played in bars when I was younger, banging out covers of Bob Dylan and Beatles tunes and writing some of my own. Over the years, I had accumulated a fair number of what I thought were pretty good tunes and even had had a couple performed and recorded by more proficient bands. In my mid-thirties, I had decided, for various reasons, not to make the move to Nashville, center of all songwriting activity in the area, thinking that I was too old, too unhandsome and too disinclined to play the game that was required there. I also wasn’t writing much in the way of commercial country music.

Our friend Kyle had also played out earlier, as part of a Louisville-area bluegrass band but had mostly given up his instrument while he built a successful business as a woodworker and tool designer. He had also recently returned to the banjo, having built his business to the point that he had time to play. Bored with making the items he was selling, he regularly hired the teenaged and young adult children of friends to do the work while he practiced. He began to drop by on Monday nights when Michael and I were practicing. Next thing you know, the music began to sound pretty good, not too bad.

After we had been playing “Somebody’s Walking On My Grave” for several months and found that the other musicians who had begun to come around liked the song, I decided I needed to document the song - record it. As it happened, the owner of the Lexington School of Recording Arts / Long Island Recording Studios, Wil Freebody, had been after me to come down to Lexington and visit his new building and record something. Of course, he wanted me to write about it for my newspaper but I generally thought it was a fair trade and an honest deal, since Wil worked very hard on his business and tried to ‘give back’ (as the trite expression has it) to the community. Besides, recording time is expensive and any opportunity for a struggling writer to record para nada is a major temptation.

So I called him and arranged to drive down, along with my bass-playing buddy, and knock out a rough demo. I figured that I could write the story up with a ‘first recording with a neophyte,’ namely Michael. (The story is here: Recording With a Neophyte”)

We drove down one afternoon after Michael got down teaching the classes he had and we whipped out the tune fairly directly, skipping the problem of playing against a click track, which allows for easy editing, drop-ins and such later on. I didn’t want to add any additional stress on Michael’s first experience (or time to the process, as playing with a click track usually requires several attempts if you haven’t been practicing with a metronome regularly.) We did the tune with an LIR producer, Michael Thomas, supervising the process, which made the whole thing much easier.

As we left, Wil asked when I would be coming back and recording some more. I laughed it off and said whenever I had a new tune.

Driving back, I began to think about how I might actually be able to make a record; by the time we got home, I had worked out what I thought would be a good deal for both Wil and me; which was to document the entire process in a blog, posted on his website and mine, with the purpose of driving additional business to the studio. I emailed him the proposal and he agreed immediately.

I made another trip to Lexington to talk with Wil Freebody and Michael Thomas and flesh out the operational details of the upcoming venture. Wil wound up spending his morning with a potential student and his parents, so I talked with Michael Thomas, gave him a CD of seventeen songs I had recorded some four or five years earlier and indicated which ones would be the first to do. There were six ‘bluegrass-able’ songs and six more that were not. We decided that we would take on the bluegrass-able songs first, since I could play the acoustic guitar parts and had a pretty good idea of how I wanted them to sound.

We discussed the matter of session players: Michael T. indicated that there were several available through LIR who were very capable. I commented that I really only had one guy in mind to record - my banjo-picking buddy Kyle - who I thought would be up to session work, but that I also had a couple of other players I thought I could get to do some of the sessions if appropriate, including, with luck, Greg Martin of the Kentucky Headhunters. What a thought.

Michael T. said that he was more a pop-oriented guy than bluegrass, but I figured that what I know about bluegrass will offset that and some of the other tunes might well be pop-ish. In any case, part of this whole process is about getting production-quality demos to pitch as well as something to sell and/or give away.

After I got back to Louisville, I emailed Michael T. an MP3 of a practice session version of the first tune we planned to do. That session was recorded in August, 2005, with Michael P. the bass-player singing backup, on a 3/4″ Sony U-Matic videocassette deck, using a couple of pretty low-quality mics (an old Shure 57 and a Radio Shack PZM). Because the videocassette deck runs at 30 ips and uses 3/4 tape, the quality was nevertheless pretty good.

The tune is here: OnceInAWhileLove_duet.mp3 in case you’re interested.

The first “actual” recording session was Thursday, May 11, 2006. Michael T. had charted “Once-In-While Love,” using the Nashville Numbers system, based on the version I had sent earlier, although my first run-through revealed a couple of differences in how I played it. The tune had changed slightly since the earlier recording; playing the song with other musicians had knocked the rough edges off, as it were, so Michael noted the differences on his charts.

There were a couple of folks in the studio: Steve Nall engineered and a young fellow named Byron was sitting in, as he was interested in how bluegrass was recorded. There was a job in Hyden he was trying to get which required that he have some knowledge of bluegrass. I told him that I only played a little bluegrass, though I knew a fair amount about it.

Because my Taylor guitar has a pretty good onboard pickup, we just plugged it into the board and did the recording without me getting into isolation. That meant that I could listen to the click track (actually drums) without headphones, which made the task a bit easier. Even so, it took four or five passes before I got two satisfactory recordings (left and right) and even then, I had to re-record just the chorus, which uses an Am chord at the fifth position, so it could be punched in. The jump from open position to the closed fifth just didn’t happen smoothly enough. Bless Pro Tools, though, for making that much easier than in the old days, when an artist had to play along with the prior recording and the engineer had to literally punch the ‘record’ button at the right moment to add the new section.

After getting the tracks down, I got in the isolation booth and sang a ’scratch’ vocal track. Nall burned the quick mix to a CD and the session was over. Total time: slightly less than two hours.

Here’s a tutorial on the Nashville Number System, in case you are not familiar with it: http://www.alanhorvath.com/LSN5.php

Bassist Michael P. had arranged for us to play outside the Alameda restaurant on May 19 as part of a promotional event called “Bardstown Bound,” referring to a street. The two of us schlepped a scraped-together PA over on Friday and set it up. About the time we got that done, Brian White, a guitarist recently moved to Louisville from L.A., showed up and offered to sit in, with which we happily agreed.

The evening was very pleasant, no rain, so the crowds along the street grew steadily from 6 p.m. until we knocked off at about 8:45 p.m. Response from the folks sitting and standing around was positive; we introduced ourselves as “Tingo,” an Easter Island word that means “to borrow objects one at a time from a neighbor’s house until he has nothing left.”

What was most encouraging was that the audience responded to original tunes very well as the evening went along: they sound like “Real Songs.”

The restaurant owner, Rick, and his significant other Sandy (Michael P.’s neighbor as well) were happy about the crowd and said they would have a talk about us coming back, so the free show might well have led to a paying gig. Yea!

Of course, now we have to get some graphic stuff together: business cards, songlists, etc. Since Brian is a graphic designer with national-level customers, this should not be a problem. In any case, it’s all about leading to the final recording as a product.

I scooted down to Lexington on Tuesday, May 23 for a quick session before Michael T. goes out of town for a while. We had decided that we needed to lay down more than one tune per session or it would take a couple of years to get this project done.

Michael T. had been listening to the two tunes that I had picked and when I arrived at noon, he said that he thought it better to leave the charting until after the initial track was laid down, as I am not completely consistent in performing the tunes. He had brought along Byron, the young man who had been at the first session, and set him to doing an initial rough chart. Steve Nall was the session engineer.

I thought it best to begin with the re-recording of “Somebody’s Walking On My Grave,” using a click track this time, of course. It went fairly smoothly - the first track took a couple of passes, then Michael suggested that I play just the bass notes. That took a bit of rethinking, as I normally don’t play it that way, but after two or three false starts, I was able to get an acceptable recording. Then we did the scratch vocal, which went down easily, with a second track for the ‘response’ portion of the verses. (I generally sing more reliably than I pick.)

Then we went at “Big Fire In Bardstown,” the tune that Gary Brewer had recorded in 1997 and released. I play that a bit differently than he does and, since it’s a five-verse tune, we omitted a section of solos. That took several passes as well, as I have been playing it in performance for years, but hadn’t really worked on getting it solidly rhythmic.

Michael wanted me to had a bit of hammering-on to a chord change, which I usually just slop in when I’m performing the song. So, of course, I had all manner of trouble getting the timing right. He finally decided to do it himself, which went down in one take. He was in a bit of a hurry, as he had a seminar to teach as soon as we got done.

The vocals went down quickly as well and we were finished at ten til two. Having stated just after noon, the whole session was less than two hours. Steve made a quick, rough mix and burned me a CDR to take and I was on the road by two-ten.

The two tunes will be posted shortly.

I’ve been playing at a regular Wednesday night jam session at the Bluegrass Brewing Company Theatre Square in downtown Louisville for about two months, from 7 p.m. until 11 p.m. or so. It’s a pretty good room to play acoustically (sans amplification), as the structure is L-shaped; we get in the short leg, where we are against two walls, which provides some sonic reflection.

As is the case with jam sessions, we never are sure who’ll be there (or won’t). Sometimes (or maybe even usually), there are far too many guitarists, so that taking turns for solos gets a tad tedious. Other nights, the mix of instruments is varied and solos can be fun. Usually, we have one or two mandolinists (Jon K. or Ray R.). On June 7, there was a one fiddler (Alan B.) and a mandolinist, Larry, who also plays at the Wednesday Bluegrass Jam at the BBC in St. Matthews. In addition, Paul C. brought his percussion instrument (I am not certain of its name) and his wife, Diana, a Flamenco dancer and instructor, who brought along castanets. At one point in the evening, we were treated to a bit of flamenco dancing (though without the dresses, darn it), which went over very well with the audience.

Diana also played the castanets on a tune of mine, “Madman On the Corner,” which I have always thought of as needing a Latin flavor. Boy, did it ever: Diana’s castanets really drove the tune. I’ll have to keep that in mind whenever we get to that part of the recording.

Steve R. was playing an amplified acoustic bass guitar, as bassist Michael P. was home with company. With Paul’s percussion and Steve’s bass-playing, the tunes all got up and moved along much better than they do without a rhythm section.

All together, the June 7 jam was a great deal of fun and the usual learning: Dan R. usually whips out some old country tune that he only vaguely remembers and we all try to fill in the holes. Steve’s wife Debbie also stepped up vocally; the two of them sang several tunes they had either written or worked up, to much applause. Debbie has a very good voice, though she’s a bit shy about singing in public. We’ll cure that.

Jam sessions are really splendid ways to both measure and improve chops; I seldom come away from a jam session without a strong sense of what I need to work on. Fortunately, it’s all fun homework.

Michael T., LIR’s producer, got back to Lexington on June 12 and emailed me, requesting the next opportunity to record. We settled on June 16. I put “Railroad Man” and “Year Of The Comet” on the docket.

In between scheduling a recording, I got in a couple of jam/practices, which helped keep my fingers working. The slightest layoff, I have discovered, results in an immediate, noticeable deterioration of finger strength and dexterity. I had definitely not kept up any regular practice since the first part of June, when my mother-in-law, 87, died. The next ten days became a bit of a blur. Lots of changes but notably, both my spouse’s and my schedule opened up.

On Friday, I drove to Lexington, arriving for an eleven o’clock session. Steve N. was at the board; Byron was there to observe and make charts. I decided that we would do “Year of The Comet” first, since it was one I could do more readily in the style I wanted it in (bluegrass). A simple three-chord tune (dm C G), I generally introduce it as my “End of the World” song. It’s tempo is fairly quick (108 bpm) and it’s easy to follow, so banjo players tend to find it interesting, if they can manage the tuning.

Michael T. took the tune apart (of course), beginning with just laying down a rough guitar/vocal against a click track, then recording a track with just the bass notes, then a track with the chords and finally, back to patch a couple of spots where I missed a lick or two. That takes the most time, since suddenly I find myself playing a tune I know very well in an entirely new way, requiring that I think about it in an entirely different way. Mostly, I discover that my sense of timing is not quite as good as I would like it to be. (Sigh). It’s the intro/pickup notes that are the problem. When counting off (in 4/4), these pickup licks began on the 3 beat, but since I never count off this song, that gave me fits. It took about five tries to get it right. Fortunately, I got the rough vocal first crack.

“Railroad Man,” which is undergoing a retreading to make it into a bluegrass tune, was a bit more difficult, even though it has a very straightforward chord progression and verse/chorus style. The problem was simply a result of speeding it up and playing a straight bass/chord pattern under the vocal line. Finally, though, I got it pretty much it place and a (very) rough vocal to go with it.

Total time: 2 hours, 10 minutes.

Wednesday’s jam took an entirely new turn: electric. When I arrived at the BBC, a country band, complete with drum kit, was setting up. A query to Dan indicated that he knew the group was coming and that he had told them it was an acoustic jam. Fat chance. By the time things got rolling, the house PA had been set up (necessary, unfortunately), so the evening turned into a relatively sloppy amplified jam, with only two mics and four instrument inputs.

The country band was four guys, including an excellent African-American blues drummer (a pro) who had previously worked with Mark Stein and the Steamrollers and Ricky Mason’s Saints. He also claimed to have played with Pinetop Perkins as a very young man. He was a tasteful, rock-solid drummer. The other three were from the South End (self-described). Dan had them go first, of course, so we all sat out until they had done a few tunes. After they knocked down, the PA was still up and, as is usual with amplification, distorted the jam into a series of pretty ragged performance, since some of the instruments were unamplified and others over-amplified. Forget the harmonies. However, Steve’s wife Debbie got into it and was wailing. Clearly, the lure of the stage is working on her.

A bit later in the evening, a rock guitarist showed up, toting his own little amp. He sat in for a while, though the music was mostly not in his style. Fortunately, he was constrained in his playing and didn’t walk on anybody.

I’ve been figuring on this turn of events for a while, if for no other reason than we are certain to begin drawing additional players and fans (I hope, that is.), so the need for volume to be heard will be an increasing demand. It’ll shape the event into something more like an unpaid gig than a jam session and at some point, the matter of getting something from the bar besides a check for our beer will crop up. We’ll see how it goes.