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| Scott pointing at the camera. | |||||||
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| Michael refuses to sit. |
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Personnel:
Scott Smith - Lead Vocals, Guitar, Precision
Ho Lin - Bass, Engineer, Chaos
Michael Mullen - Keyboards, Soul
Adam Klein - Backing Vocals, Devastating Sense of Humor, Artistic Angst
Michael Mullen and Adam Klein appear courtesy of Glasstown.
April 1, 2001:
Like most practice spaces in San Francisco, this one is packed. Exotic
percussion equipment caked in dust, a rickety piano, a drum kit gnarly
and menacing in the corner. The calendar on the wall is stuck on 1998.
I set up my eight-track digital workstation on a spare stool while Michael
makes sense of the intertwined power cords and loose plugs — this
is his room, and we are thankful to have it for two hours.
Three days before, we squeezed in a half-hour to play this track together
for the first time. I was dissatisfied with my bass line (but I'm always
dissatisfied by my bass lines). Scott and Michael were optimistic. Adam
was nursing a bad throat which imparted an uncanny Bob Seger quality to
his voice. Today Adam is feeling better, but he's still a bit forlorn
in his charming way — his would-be literary agent (i.e., "the
bitch") has just dismissed his novel after sitting on it for months.
We must give all our love and sympathies to those who wish to be both
writer and musician.
Scott claims he hasn't practiced guitar in months, but his chordings are
smooth. I fiddle with effects processors on my mixer to get the right
chiming feel. Later Scott tells me he wrote the tune years ago in Germany,
and it was a "landmark" in that it was his first stab at a stream-of-consciousness
lyric. Only a ratty tape version of the original recording remains, a
propulsive take featuring his ex-wife on backing vocals. Richard and Linda
Thompson, eat your hearts out.
What we're aiming for today is something a bit grander, more stately.
Since we have no drummer, the guitar must provide the rhythmic flow. I
record two run-throughs of Scott's part — he performs admirably,
especially considering we don't even have a click track to harness him.
Adam sits cross-legged on the floor, browsing through an alt music mag,
but it is clear from his nods that he is listening intently. Michael is
up and crouching over his keyboard, piecing together phrases in his head.
Adam and Michael take a quick break outside — Glasstown is getting
together for a rehearsal tonight, and gear must be collected. Scott clamps
headphones to his ears while recording his vocals. He's initially self-conscious
about me hearing him sing alone and unaccompanied, but soon he's furrowing
his brow in concentration, crooning away. The intimacy of the lyrics strikes
me: With or without help, proud in spite of myself ...
The song has the regulation three chords, but they don't always drop in
when you expect them to, and Scott has also inserted some sneaky time
changes. Michael and I are still trying to figure it all out, and I suggest
Scott scribble out the lyrics. He completes the task within seconds, in
insufferably neat handwriting. Despite my futile efforts to turn up the
keyboard track so Michael can actually hear what he's playing, he makes
do. Silent, focused, intense, Michael is gravitas and magnetism
in a bottle. When Scott and I hear his sweet piano refrain for the first
time, we look at each other with Wow, instant soul looks on our
faces. Adam is deathly hungry, but Michael insists on a few more takes
to get it right. Five takes and a few choice words (Damn! I fucked
it!) later, he has finished to everyone's satisfaction, and after
an extra organ track which is completed in one take, the critical keyboard
component has been fulfilled.
We're running short on time, but I hurriedly ping-pong tracks so that
there's enough room for Adam's backing vocals. It's obvious that I'm dealing
with the front man of a band, as he directs me in crisp tones to balance
out the levels. He only needs two takes to nail his part, although we're
a bit disconcerted by a band practicing some heavy-hitting rock numbers
next door. At one point Adam breaks out into a hot falsetto wail, and
I realize that if Glasstown ever folds, he could always find work in a
70's cover band.
As we pack up, I know there is still much to do — I will later add
my new, improved bass part in the sanctity of my own home, and fiddle
with mix levels, pan effects, all that other technical junk — but
we all feel good about what we've accomplished in this short span of time.
"What is this song called?" I ask Scott, all innocence.
He looks at me as if to say, What, you haven't figured it out by now?
"Standoff," he replies.
Two weeks later, the word standoff bandied about in the news in
reference to the U.S. and China, this song seems almost a portent. Pride
in spite of ourselves.
-- Ho Lin