The calendar section of my beloved New Yorker magazine has a notice above all the show listings that admonishes: "Musicians lead very complicated lives, it's always best to check scheduled performances with the venue on the day of the show", and I've always considered that sage advice. Our job is to make it all look effortless on stage (unless one is playing a very simple blues guitar solo. Then it behooves one to look as if one is in excruciating agony while bending strings, but I digress). Certainly, after all this time, we can agree that the show must in fact, go on, but that should not minimize the Herculean efforts it sometimes to make that happen- especially with an 8 piece soul band (i.e. my day job).

Friday night, Rochester, NY. It's a 6 1/2 hour drive through Friday traffic so we all decided that we must leave by 11 AM on the dot. Everybody rearranges their schedules accordingly and Dan the keyboard player picks up the rental van and we all meet up, ready to go...except the friggin' drummer. Now, said drummer is a very nice fellow and it's almost impossible to get mad at him under most circumstances, but when he's holding up the whole band from leaving, exceptions can be made. He is having major trouble getting a taxi from Mattapan, and what can you do? I explain to him on the phone, somewhere around my 11th call to him, that a good excuse carries absolutely no weight if the entire band is late to a wedding. It's just not valid at all, not one bit, either the band is on time or it's not. Drummer is 26, rest of band is older and there are some very unpleasant rumblings from the back seats of the van. When drummer finally gets there, about 35 minutes late, I say "get in the hole, back there with men who are angry at you". He hangs his head in miserable shame, and we head off.

Dan is really doing a great job of making up for lost time and I've played in Albany and upstate NY on the way to Toronto so many times that I'm calling weird sites: "In a few miles, there's going to be a rusty swimming pool in the middle of a field." So we are zooming along about 84 MPH, trying to not be late for this gig, when we see the lights. Of course, we get pulled over by a New York State Trooper, don't we? Things do not look good when introduces himself as "Officer DK Ruff"- I shit you not- and I'm expecting the full "out of the van" and looking through the equipment cases that usually follows a band getting pulled over- especially as funky looking a bunch as I'm traveling with, we've got Huggy Bear on trumpet for Pete's sake, so I'm slipping the phrase "wedding band" in as much as possible. No need to search us, Officer Ruff, we're just a cheesy old Brick House wedding band. Mercifully, he writes us a ticket for 70 in 65 zone and we're on our way in about 15 minutes. The guys in the back are blasting live Cameo bootlegs and nothing but funk, and I'm going "any of you fellas like Simon and Garfunkel?"

About two hours from Rochester, I get a text message. it's the drummer texting me from the back of the van! It seems that in all the confusion of the morning, he has forgotten his snare drum, but he asks me not to make a big scene and tell the other guys and promises to make it work. I, on the other hand, am Mr. White from Pulp Fiction and have a list of sound companies and instrument rental companies with me and, after getting a few numbers form my wife at home, start to make some calls. It urns out, in Rochester, you can get a guy to have his wife bring a snare to your gig for only $40.

Fast forward, Rochester gig is completely off the hiz-zizzle; sweaty hugs from all the guests, beautiful. Now, the rest of the band is heading back, but I am escorting the funky lead singer (much as DeNiro escorts Charles Grodin in "Midnight Run") to another event on Nantucket, a small island off the cost of Massachusetts. We spend the night in the kind of hotel that has old police tape on the floor and chalk outlines in the lobby, and are up at 6AM to taxi over to Rochester International Airport, where we are to go to Manhattan and catch a flight to nantucket. We get there over an hour before the departure time, have a very thorough small- airport security check with a puffer machine and all sorts of devices, and settle into our terminal about 45 minutes before the flight time. I'm telling lead singer about the old National Lampoon radio skit "Mr. Rogers meets the bass player" (which you can find on Youtube if you don't know it) and we're cracking up at "Cheese pranish" and "Eggamuffin". The TV screen shows two planes in front of our us listed as "boarding" and our flight as "at gate". And, anyway, we're right around the corner and I can see that there's nobody at the desk for terminal A5. Funky lead singer prefers to travel with zero cash or credit cards, so I buy us a couple of egg McMuffins and we wait for an announcement or the screen to change. It gets to be about 10 minutes before the departure time and the screen still says "at gate" and nobody is at the desk for A5, but we figure we better go have a look see.

It turns out that there was a long hallway under the A5 sign that led to the actual departure desk. As we get to the desk, I see them pulling the gate away from the plane and the checker inner says "that plane's gone, there's no way to get you on there." Now, I have never missed a flight in my life, I can scarcely believe this, but I know I have to get to Nantucket. The wedding is with an event company we do a lot of work with and, moreover, one that is run by people I genuinely like and respect and it's going to be a major blow if we lose their business. Also, the bride has requested that I play Duran Duran, Tears For Fears, Smiths, REM songs on acoustic guitar and I have to respect that she wants something a little different. And, as mentioned, I have the Goddamn funky lead singer with me!

There is only one other flight that will make the connecting flight in NYC, and it leaves in 60 minutes from Buffalo. We go downstairs, to the arrivals area, and I quickly suss that even waiting in line to rent a car will kill our chance of making the flight, so we go outside and grab a taxi. It's $180 to Buffalo, but he gets us there about 20 minutes before the departure time. I have called ahead and purchased tickets and we're only disheartened when we see a mammoth line at the counter in Buffalo. I do the very worst thing you can do and walk right to the front of the line and say "I'm truly sorry, but I'm trying to make it to a wedding and the only flight leaves in 20 minutes." Miraculously, a woman at the counter says "Give me your licenses, I'll get you the plane." Funky lead singers, of course, only travel with expired driver's licenses, but she gets us through and says "we're going to have to run through the airport, just like on TV", so off we go! I've got my guitar in one hand, my bag in another and my suit in another and we race through the airport. She gets us to the security line and explains our situation. The security drone says he'll do what he can to help us make the plane, and as soon as the checker inner leaves, he makes us go to the back of the line. Still, it takes us two minutes to get to the front, FLS with expired licensee breezes right through, so tell him "go ahead and tell them I'm right behind you, get on the plane if you have to." I step into the X Ray machine and it starts beeping and then everything goes into slow motion. A 13 year old Homeland Insecurity specialist past me down, feels me up and almost sodomizes me with a wand. After an agonizing amount of time, it is determined that the paper clip on my boarding pass is the issue. I put my shoes back on and turn the corner in time to join the singer, watching our flight leave.

Lesser men would have quit. They would have says "well, we gave it our best shot", but I am not in the business of almost getting there. When I say I will play "Save A Prayer" at your wedding, that's a solemn pact, and I will be there. I've got a credit card and a cell phone and I have asked myself "What would David Lee Roth do?" And that is why 45 minutes later, I am crawling across the wing of a twin prop Cessna that I have charted for $3,000. Luckily, the plane was screaming loud or I might have been deafened from the sound of my two business partners moaning back in Boston. Yes, I have single- handedly wiped out any profit our company might have made this weekend, but as I will later explain to them, there are 51 other weekends this year to make money. As I see it, it was a moment to decide if our word was worth anything. I said I would be there, that has to be worth more than a few thousand bucks, right?

We get to Nantucket about 1/2 hour after our scheduled flight and I even have time to steam my suit before heading off the the festivities. The soundman has brought my acoustic and my amp and we're there in plenty of time to set up at a leisurely pace. Everything is great, the crowd is very receptive (they love the Tears For Fears), the bride is smiling, it's a blast. I play for almost 6 hours straight with just a short break to eat (at which point the venue serves us the patented wedding chicken dinner for the band, but no silverware- very common, for some reason- so I don't have time to eat) and though my left hand is turning into a throbbing paw from playing, I realize that I made the right decision. Funky lead singer says "Man, is there any problem you can't solve?"

And it's not the fucking Princess Leia thing, either- although she just revealed that she was boning Harrison Ford on the set of Empire Strikes Back and that seems a little out of line to me. Anyway, thing is, I LOVE Simon and Garfunkel. They are the sound of being young to me and, unlike the Beatles, I have purposefully avoided over- analyzing their records because I enjoy the period association I get with them. If I hear "At the Zoo" and close my eyes, I can feel 7 all over again. I've got corduroys on a bowl haircut and endless energy from a steady diet of orange soda and Bazooka. I've got my orange Huffy with the banana seat and I'm ready to cruise all the way to the forbidden train tracks. If "The Only Living Boy In New York" doesn't break your frigiin' heart with every listen, it's probably time to call it a day.

In fact, my earliest memory in life is "Cecilia". I have a very clear memory of looking up from my crib and hearing that song playing on a sunshine yellow plastic radio and of someone, a male figure, leaning over the crib and clucking his tongue at me. Maybe that's all bullshit, but I cling to it as deeply meaningful so just play along, OK? Cecelia is the patron Saint of musicians so I'd be shattered if I ever found out this memory isn't real.


The very first song i ever learned on guitar was "Feeling Groovy". That was my entire repertoire for a long time and I used to hammer those chords on a nylon string guitar over and over with my Jr. High Choral Director, Mrs. Weingart, intoning "D....A...G....A..." over and over. Probably my least favorite Simon & Garfunkel song, but it meant a lot to me at the time. Also, I am pretty sure I still owe the Columbia Record and Tape Club for several Simon & Garfunkel albums, including their live in Central park, which was a double and I chose that part of my introductory offer, being a conniving little shit even then.

And "Bookends'? Forget it. One of the best albums ever, that's all. It's in my top 5 no matter what mood I'm in. I've got a vinyl copy from my teenage years with the chords written in blue pen on the lyric sheet. There was no internet then and, believe you me, I worked hard to figure them all out. Any time you want to hear "America", you just come see me. I'll play it for you, no problem.

So, my problems with Paul Simon are many, but often center around the feeling that he can be quite ungracious when discussing his old partnership. He often dismisses S&G as the work of naive kids and goes to great pains to point out how much more sophisticated his later work is. Don't get me wrong, I like "Kodachrome" and a lot of his early solo work, and like every human alive I was enamored of "Graceland" when it was enormous, but none of it has ever touched me the way his work with Artie does. Paul's fine, but Simon And Garfunkel were magic. And I think it's insulting that he dismisses the audience that gave him the opportunity to have such a wonderful long career. Read his interviews, I'm not making this up.

Then there's the jazz thing. OK, I get it, he learned some hip chords over the years. What the fuck, you pick some shit up as you go along, right? That doesn't mean you have to put them all over every song and hire the Brecker Brothers. Mind you, I actually kind of admire how he took jazzer session cats like Steve Gadd, Anthony Jackson and Richard Tee and made them play like a rock band. Those three are fantastic, actually, but the whole thing smells a little like Steely Dan to me (with better lyrics). Now, Joni Mitchell gets a pass because everybody knows she just played all those chords with one finger and it was probably Crosby who put her guitar in that tuning in the first place. Then again, back to Paul Simon, "Loves me Like a Rock" is all G, C & D, so he didn't completely lose the plot. He writes by going to an office and dating the staff paper and working for 8 hours with a lunch break, so it's to be expected he would disappear up his own ass on occasion.

But the real reason I often feel like pinching the little bugger is that he's so damn good. I want to reject the intellectualism of his later work, but there's just such a fine sense of melody driving it. Take, for instance, one of my favorite songs of his; "My little Town". This was truly a Simon And Garfunkel song despite being recorded 5 years after they split. I read in an interview that his intention was to write a nasty song for Artie to sing, since he had been doing a lot of MOR lightweight material, and that he was picturing Worcester, MA when he wrote the tune. The lyrics are devastatingly good narrative- fucking John Updike, OK? What kills me is the insane meandering chord sequence in the verse. It's almost like the harmonies spell out Paul's resistance to re-teaming with Artie. No way in the world is this verse ever going to get played on the radio- even album rock FM- there are augmented chords all over and the root motion seems to defy the listener to fix on a key, and there are odd bars of 2 at the end of phrases, one really never does get one's bearing when, out of nowhere, the heaviest chorus you've ever heard in your life happens.

"Nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town". What kind of chorus is that? But it's huge and it's dark and it's Simon And Garfunkel. Amazing, and it got to 9 according to Wikipedia. I can think of no other writer who could have fought his way out of that verse so successfully.

So that's why he pisses me off, but I take great comfort in knowing that whenever S& G play together, Paul Simon has to sit on the side of the stage and watch Artie sing "Bridge Over Troubled Water". He's also the schmuck who gave away "Red Rubber Ball" to the Cyrkle.

Part 3

Compressor clarification from Charlle :" In fact it was the (UA/Teletronix) LA-2A which I chose for the vocals.. The Altec did bass duty. Fairchild for overhead."

So, you see, I just make things up if I don't know. My only excuse is that the staircase up to the control room is awfully high and I was a bit light on oxygen by the time I got up there to look at compressors. Seriously, I bet those stairs really kept a lot of lippy artists from mucking up the production over the years. You have to really commit to an idea before you start that trek. Anyway, I think the Altec is the secret weapon in the Abbey Road mix. According to my (Roger's) Recording the Beatles book, everybody is always so crazy for the Fairchild that they overlook the Altec compressors that were used just as much. In my youth, I recall there being tons of old Altecs gathering dust in music stores, but of course now you can't find them for less than the cost of a good used car. The ones at Abbey Road were heavily modified by the technical staff in the early 60's and are still in working order.

Anyway, so it was time to do some of them pesky vocals. I had assumed that this would be the most time -consuming aspect of the session. I like my voice now, but I spent many years not really being able to control it and being insecure about it and those moments of self- doubt tend to pop up whenever I'm recording and hearing it back through cans. It's just such a claustrophobic, unnatural way to work and, if at all possible, I prefer to cut vocals without headphones and just use monitors in the control room, but I wasn't going to miss the chance to sing in the same room, on the same mics as the boys with the haircuts. So, as I say, I can get a little intimidated in a friendly casual studio, but imagine the possibilities of freaking out in the scenario I described. I mean, it's John Lennon's mic and I'm going to sing into it? The assistant engineer said that in the case of some of the mics, they could use the serial number to figure out which songs were sung on it. I was clear that I didn't want to know. I mean, don't tell me that it's the mic used on Happiness Is A Warm gun or something or I will be paralyzed. So, anyway, I says to Martin I says "This is no big deal, I'm just going to sing this song for a few friends, no trouble at all." and he agreed that I shouldn't be freaked out and should just do it. As it turned out, it was not a problem. I loved it, it felt fantastic. Charlie was very encouraging from on high and I sang two passes, he asked me to sing two spots over and comp'd a perfectly good vocal take in no time. I mean, what am I, Paula Abdul? I don't need hundreds of takes or anyone to sing my songs for me, I'll sing the fucker, right?

Just then, Ken Stringfellow's head appeared in the glass. I ran up to say hello (huffing and puffing) and thank him for coming down to visit. We spoke for a few minutes while Charlie tidied up the editing and by the time I asked ken if he would sing on the song, he has pretty much worked out a part in his head. He mentioned that he had to catch a train to Paris and only had a little bit of time, but he nailed his vocal in about 15 minutes. He's a real serious singer, sounds just like the guy who sang on all those Posies songs I listened to a million times. He really gets into his singing, waving his arms around and rocking on his heels- but with great mic technique. Total pro, super duper nice guy, made his train with time to spare.


Somewhere around this point, Darcey and Harrison showed up for a visit. they had been to the Museum Of Natural History to look at Dinosaurs and came to see what Daddy was up to. I was very happy to see them both and told Charlie that I'd like to wheel a bed into the studio for Darcey and mic it up in case she had any ideas or comments for the songs. The studio walls groaned at the memory.

Preposterous as it seems, my little monkey man got his chocolate fingers on every piece of gear he could reach. Martin was taking tons of photos the whole day (it will be a miracle if you can't hear his shutter on the vocal tracks, but let's just call that an homage to "Girls On Film") and he's got shots of Harrison moving faders on the Neve board (and at one point while I sang, Charlie stopped me to say "someone, someone very small, has just put your tracks in solo and I lost my place.") He had quite a good bash at the drums, too. Yes, it's an incredibly expensive studio, but if the wee man wants to play drums, what better place than Abbey Road? He also had a fine time pushing our effects pedals around and making car sounds. Martin's vintage Couloursound tone bender? Yellow car, according to my little friend. He gave me a good talking to for playing the guitar so loud, too. One of his shows, Pinky Dinky Doo, has a character named Bobby Boo, so I was happy for him to meet the real Bobby Boo. When it was time for Darcey to take H back to the hotel, I asked the front desk to call a car for them and a black Mercedes sedan showed up. Well, if you're gonna ride..

Earlier in the evening, we had turned off the white lights and put on the colored lights in the studio for more of a vibe. The old mics and the other gear really looked beautiful with purple backlighting. Also getting lit was dear Martin who had returned to the canteen for beers. I coaxed him out to sing some backgrounds and took some photos of him for a switch. Nobody makes me laugh as hard as him, I was howling at the one- sided commentary while tracking his vocal. He would sing a line and then yell "Should I sack it? Sack the vocal?" It's a Liverpool thing, he's explained to me that if you're walking down the street In L'Pool wearing a hat, rotten kids will yell "Sack the hat, mate" at you- or whatever it is about your appearance they can mock. Anyway, he's funny, trust me. He always has this thing that he's just an instinctual musician and not technically proficient, but I've seen him be very skilled and I call shenanigans on that idea. He laid down his backing vocal and doubled it in about 20 minutes and then we got Ed to sing his before he had to run off back to his lair near Primrose Hill. Trust me children, it's 1967 in Ed's trousers. I love him. In fact, I said to Martin "I love Ed. let's take him somewhere and just be with him."

By this point, we had two songs 90% finished with just a few instruments I'd like to add at home. There was about 40 minutes left, so I asked drummer Rob to track another song, "Sgt. Sunshine", a short XTC-ish number. We had a couple of bashes at it and once I said the magic phrase: "Teenage Fanclub", we were able to track basics for it and decided to call it a night. We all had one last stare at the studio and I thanked everyone profusely. It was a magical day for me, totally ruined me for recording anywhere else. I just want to record there every day forever. Martin and I had a wee cuddle on the front steps- I couldn't even find the proper words to thank him for putting it all together for me- and took a photo under the Abbey Road sign on the door. Then I clicked my heels together 3 times and woke up in Kansas. The band, not the state.

..">

When I recorded my last album, I really hit upon a recording method that works for me. It's very simple; I play acoustic guitar while facing the drummer and we keep it to to 2 or 3 takes of each song. I don't worry about bleed- the drums in the acoustic mic sound lovely- I don't sweat about a headphone mix (I try to avoid using them if possible) and I don't do 60 takes looking for the perfect one. I'd rather have a few small mistakes, but have the drummer sound awake and interested. Of course, this method requires some simpatico with the drummer. Drummer Rob was fabulous. I knew his playing by virtue of having listened to the Boos millions of times, but I was still surprised at how easy it was for us to lock in and get the tracks done. 45 minutes and we had suitable takes of two songs. We got "badfinger bridge" and then another one called "Second Hand Halo".

Then I jumped on bass, again getting a very good tone quickly by micing up the amp with a U-47 and combining it with a DI track. The nice thing is taht we didn't move mics around at all. the assistants had everything mic'd up beforehand so you could just move from instrument to instrument with no wait. Luckily, at that point I asked Charlie to turn up the kick drum a bit in my headphones, and he replied "How can I do that when the drums are all on one track?" The penny dropped. I had been nattering on about the power of mono drums and he took me at my word and recorded them in mono on the same track. What I actually meant was no stereo spread; 3 mics onto 3 tracks- so it was my fault for not being clearer. The single drum track sounded amazing, but I had to make a fast decision as to what we should do. 3 drum tracks is incredibly minimal by modern standards, let alone just one. I just couldn't see not having the flexibility to tweak the drums when mixing, so I called Rob back in and we re-did the basics. In another setting, I might have allowed this to cause me stress, but I just felt very calm and focused throughout the session and we nailed suitable takes for both songs in about a half hour. I think Rob preferred his performances on the original takes a little, but I reassured him that the re-takes were just as strong. Anyway, it was a very good thing that we figured this out when we did before we added any other instruments.

Charlie is a bass player, so I wanted to give him some nice bass tracks. I could see him watching me from that window way up at the top of the stairs. He made a funny face whenever I got too busy on the bass (which is usually from the word go, I'm afraid), but we got both tunes sorted fairly quickly. And then we had Ed Ball on the Lady Madonna piano, again with the U-47 and U-48s. The studio refers to this piano as the Mrs Mills piano if you'd like to google it, but essentially it's a Steinway upright with hard lacquer on the hammers so it's got it's own sound. Not like a tack piano, but in that general direction. I believe it's also the piano used on "Hey Bulldog" and Paul McCartney used it on his last album, so it's no joke. Ed played some beautiful piano, very minimal in the verses and much more ornate in the bridge.

At this point we decided to take a little lunch break and we all trooped off the canteen. While signing in earlier, I had noticed Ken Stringfellow's name in the guest book and Charlie knew him from working with REM. I am merely a fan, really loved his last album "Soft Commands" as well as his work with the Posies and Big Star. Charlie and I went sniffing around and found Ken in one of the mastering suites on the top floor (where they actually have a cutting lathe, you don't see that in your average mastering room). Abbey Road is a very busy place with three recording rooms and about a half dozen mastering suites, so the hallways are bustling. Anyway, Charlie introduced me to Ken and of course we invited him to stop by after his mastering session. Charlie reassured him that I was a relatively decent songwriter and that it wouldn't be just embarrassing for everyone if he stopped by.

After lunch- during which time I asked Ed if he had a job and he looked absolutely horrified- we all trooped back in and I was showing Ed the piano part for "2nd Hand Halo" when he suggested that I should just play it myself. I have such awful piano technique that I avoid playing in front of other people, but he was most encouraging and I got it in 2 takes. We had moved over to the Challen piano for that song- that's the piano Paul used for the famous David Frost clip of "Hey Jude" and I believe he played it on "Fool On The Hill". I wish I had a copy of that "Recording The Beatles" book here, I could be more accurate. I'll double check what I'm nattering on about and correct any mis-statements.

Next up: guitars. Martin had brought his beautiful Gibson Chet Atkins- his main guitar from his Boo Radleys days- and I brought a tuner (I know my British indie musicians, they always show up without a tuner) and my new janglebox. The janglebox is a little compressor with a treble boost that sounds like instant Roger McGuinn on a Ric 12 string. I've found it to be more interesting on other guitars, actually. Anyway, plugged the guitar into the janglebox and into a Fender amp Martin had borrowed. By this time, he and Rob had retired to the canteen to watch the Liverpool/Arsenal match so I went down to see if he fancied playing some guitar. He was very generous and said "You should just do it. You know the part, I would only be copying what you do or it would take me hours to come up with something." He had shown me a different voicing for the F- chord in Badfinger Bridge earlier, so I felt like his input was there and I decided to just play the guitar parts. I kept the parts nice and simple and we got them down fairly quickly and at that point our 8 tracks of tape were full. Time to transfer to digical so we could carry on.

I was so excited about recording at Abbey Road, I can’t even begin to tell you. I really expected someone to put the kibosh on the whole thing at some point, like someone from the studio would just call and say "Are you crazy? You’re not allowed to spend all day in studio 2." The whole thing was really tweaked and finessed by my friend Martin. Not only did he handle the communication with the studio (translating all my bullshit and gibberish into proper English for them), but he assembled a crack band for me, got his producer (Charlie Francis who has worked with REM, Robyn Hitchcock, High Llamas, many other cool bands) to volunteer his services and arranged for instruments. Abbey Road, surprisingly enough, has no instruments available. They don’t own a drum set, a guitar, an amp, nothing, you have to rent it all and it’s very expensive. Martin borrowed some gear and had Charlie bring his guitars from Cardiff so we wouldn’t have to rent everything.

I met up with martin the night before the session and it turned out that the drum set he thought he had in a rehearsal room was actually in another city for some reason. I had arranged to rent a Hofner bass and Ampeg B-15 from a rental place and they said no problem if you need drums as well, so we figured we’d just do that for another 60 pounds ($120 to you and me).

Next morning, the Hilton in Holland Park, a full- service world- class hotel, just blows my wakeup call. No hugey as I was up just a half hour after it was supposed to have come, but what the hell? jump in a cab and I’m off to this rental place in Swiss Cottage, not far from Abbey Road. I found smiling Martin and the ever-wonderful Sweary Mary already chatting with the older rocker types who have this rental company. Two small speed bumps: I gad e-mailed AND phoned to make sure the Hofner would have flatwound strings, but when I got there, there was a bit of beard- scratching and "We weren’t sure if you, uh, wanted the flat strings. Not sure if you realize, but those are quite old fashioned, people don’t really use them anymore." Mmmmm, uh, yeah, session at Abbey Road starting in 30 minutes, not really into changing strings right now. They had an old Gretsch Monkees bass with flats, so I took that instead. Secondly; "Oh yeah, drums...drums, right. No problem at all. Of course, they’re not kept here. They are at our ware house ON THE OTHER SIDE OF LONDON". Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. That last line was mine. Sweary Mary was angelically willing to go fetch the trap kit, but I decided that the wisest thing was to pay them another $40 to deliver them. One normally starts a recording session with micing up the drums, but I figured we’d just start with the lead vocal and work our way backwards while waiting for the drums.

Anyway, zoom over to St. John’s Wood, sign in at the reception desk and they show us where to load in down a little alley way (Martin & I joking about about a blue plaque for Mal Evans thousand load ins there). They won’t actually let us back the van down to the door, but the promise to send out a helper to hump the gear. Of course, by the time someone actually shows up, wiping crumbs off their chin, the gear is already humped. Anyway, a short hallway past the canteen and we’re...in.

Studio 2, where it all went down. I got a bit light headed for a second, just taking it all in. First off, it’s huge. 30 foot high ceilings. I had seen it in photos so many times that I knew the layout already. I felt like I had been there a hundred times before, knew exactly where everything would be. Martin and I kept smiling at each other. Drummer Bobby Boo was there (he used to be in the Boo Radleys with Martin and it was nice to see them in a studio together for the first time in years). He had taken the train down from Manchester and was surprised that we turned up with no drums. he had his cymbals and pedal all ready to go. Producer Charlie was up the famous stairs and came down with a couple of assistants from Abbey Road to say hello. And then, in all his splendor and magnificence, I finally met the Ed Ball.

Ed Ball is in Television Personalities, was a major fixture at Creation Records and has released 7 million albums as the Times, all of which I have purchased in multiple formats. He was the Boo’s touring keyboardist and Martin is always amused at the awe with which I regard Ed. He’s also a major, major Beatles geek and there was some concern that if the three of us (Martin, Ed and myself) got together at Abbey Road that our heads might actually explode. Anyway, Ed is a most charming fellow, very nattily attired for the occasion, and he immediately sits down at the Steinway Baby grand, the one used on "A Day In The Life" and starts playing my song. While setting up, Ed regales us with an entire history of British pop in a cocktail lounge piano style. I have a half hour of it on video (which Ed has probably already released somehow), but it was all Kinks, Bowie, Mott and Beatle songs.

Anyway, we troop up the stairs to the control room, which is small but comfy. There’s a ginormous Neve desk and, on the side, looking out the window a gorgeous old EMI TG mixing desk from around the Dark Side Of the Moon session. It was actually the desk George Martin used when he worked on the Anthology series. Guy from Abbey Road says" You can use that one if you want" Oh yes, my friend, we’re having that. We had arranged to record to a Studer 1" 8 track machine, but the assistant said that, although available, they are notoriously tricky to use for overdubs. There’s an audible gap between the play and record head that makes it very hard to monitor when overdubbing. He has taken the precaution of setting up a Studer 2" with a custom 8 track head-stack. How could I resist that? I mean, that is fidelity.

I had gone into the session with merely the expectation that we will record something by the end. I didn’t want to walk away disappointed if we didn’t get a lot done because it was such untested water. Mostly, I was just trying to remember to breathe on occasion. Anyway, we gather around the piano and work out the changes for the first song, "badfinger bridge". Martin is on his beautiful Gibson acoustic and we’re having a fine old sing along when the drums arrive. Bobby Boo sets them up and Charlie mics them just like I asked: like the Beatles. AKG D20 on bass drum, A D19 between the snare and hi hat and the Coles ribbon mic that looks like a shower head right over the drummer’s head. Mind you, these are the actual microphones used on Ringo’s drums. There are also dozens of old German mics on boom stands throughout the stdio. Go google Telefunken U-47 if you don’t know what one is. Twenty of them. All used by the Beatles at various points, plus a bunch of Neuman 087s, and u-67s. Being British musicians, nobody laughed at my "Hello Neuman" joke. A half hour later, Martin said "Was that Seinfeld, that thing you were saying earlier?" Charlie puts the Coles through the Fairchild limiter, brings up the faders on the EMI desk and the drums sound....absolutely perfect. Zero tweaking required, they sound just great. Every other recording session in my life has featured an hour of someone hitting a snare while the rest of the band gets suicidal. This was easy and painless instant gratification. I run down and step up to the U-47 about 8 feet in front of the drums, put on the cans, they guitar sounds genius as well. 15 minutes later, Bobby and I are starting our first take.

On this historic day in 1968...not very much happened. In fact, I don’t even share my birthday with anybody particularly interesting- Diane Wiest, and I’ve always kind of liked her in "Hannah And Her Sisters", although "Manhattan" is my favorite Woody Allen film. Also, Pepa from Salt ’N Pepa, and they sang "Push It" and I really like that Comcast DSL commercial where the turtle tells his wife "You push it. You push it real good". Darcey says that’s a bit of a stretch, I reply that she should read Jung.

So, you kids (get off my lawn!), what does 40 feel like? Today feels exactly like "Bookends" by Simon and Garfunkel. I just drove out to the airport in the rain and that was the perfect soundtrack. I’m melancholy and reflective (stick me on the back of your bike so drivers can see you at night), feeling all poignant, vaguely thankful... carefully hopeful? My life has really turned out quite alright. I have some great friends, a lovely family, own a house, partner in a successful business, play music for a living. All I wanted to do from the age of 6 was play music- it’s really a good thing that my parallel obsession with Evel Knieval wasn’t the path that I pursued. I guess one could blame it on the Monkees and Kiss, those were the two major bands that had the initial impact and it was mostly visual. Then, of course, came the Beatles and that just ruined me for any other kind of life. My Mom had the Hey Jude album- which isn’t even a proper Beatles album, it’s one of the U.S. only releases of singles and tracks skimmed form the British releases, but it has some of my favorite fab tracks. This was me, every day:


Can’t Buy Me Love
I Should Have Known Better
Paperback Writer
Rain
Lady Madonna
Revolution
Hey Jude
Old Brown Shoe
Don’t Let Me Down
The Ballad of John and Yoko

What more could one ask for? She also had Abbey Road, so this was high quality audio input for the wee ginger boy. Old Brown Shoe? This was a subject matter I could relate to. It was a song about a shoe that was old and brown, perfect.

I always planned to go skydiving on my 40th birthday. I’ve never gone (traumatized by a local Philadelphia weather man, Jim O’Brien, who died in a skydiving accident near when I was a boy), and I always thought it would be the perfect terrifying, life- affirming, shit-your-pants experience for a 40th birthday. Well, then we had Harrison, the son king, the super bee. I now spend all my waking moments trying to stick around for a long time so I don’t miss anything he does, so skydiving is right off the agenda.

And so, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I am going to London on Monday and my dear friend Martin and I are going to spend the day in studio 2 at Abbey Road. He has very kindly taken care of most of the details with an engineer and sympathetic musicians (including the very wonderful Ed Ball whose music I hold dear to my heart. What ? You don’t know the Times? We have to get you sorted out). I have a couple, 2, 3 songs I’d like to work on. We’ve got a lovely Studer 8 track machine reserved and I am absolutely buzzing with anticipation. Just to be in that room, it means a lot to me.

Beyond that, Harrison is looking forward to going to the zoo to see if the monkeys really do stand for honesty, and we may take the train up to Liverpool for a day. He loves trains and I love Liverpool and Darcey has never been.

Now, what have I learned by being on this planet for 40 years? Quite honestly, I ’m certain that I’m not any smarter now than I was when I was 20. In fact, I’ve forgotten a lot of stuff that was vitally important at the time. I sat on a couch next to Al Kooper last week and he played me a new version of "It Takes A lot To Laugh, It Takes a Train To Cry"- a Dylan song I’ve heard 10 million times, and I didn’t recognize it. I was saying "This is a good song, Al, this one’s a keeper" and he just let me blather on like the idiot I am. So, don’t count on me to even know the things I think I know. BUT, if you’re in traffic and you need to get in front of me to make an exit, I’ll back off and let you do it. If you need someone to learn a special song that will make your wedding more special, I’ll learn the song for you. I don’t get jealous of other peoples’ success anymore, that has to count as some sort of progress. Like, I don’t get jealous of bands that are doing well, I get jealous of Mike Viola’s chord changes or how good Kelley Stoltz’ new album sounds. I’m not saying I’m an evolved guy, I still fear sharks while on dry land, it’s just that I’ve maybe figured out a little tiny bit about how insignificant we all are so why not at least just try to be kind to the other small critters scampering around this planet? That is my message, with all my advanced wisdom. Also, wear comfortable shoes.

The lead singer of my wedding band, Mark, this is his daughter who died Thursday night. I spent yesterday afternoon with him while he cried his eyes out- it was like being in a movie, but it was real. VERY intense and just ripped me up inside. You don’t want to look into the eyes of a friend who just lost his only child while he makes funeral plans, it hurts deep inside to be around that much pain. I’ve had people who I really care about die, but when it’s someone’s kid it’s a whole other thing. One could get into the effects of poverty, how pop culture sends the wrong messages to kids, and why this happens in a poor neighborhood to kids who listen to nothing but hip hop, but mostly it’s just an awful waste. The girl who stabbed her has a 2 year old just like me, but now she’s going away for 25 years so the cycle can continue. You can bet I hugged Harrison for a long time when I got home.

Now, I have to go do a gig with the band who are all just wrecked and some poor substitute singer who has to somehow lift everybody’s mood so we can entertain. That’s our job. At least it’s a birthday party, I don’t think I could handle a wedding right now.

March 21, 2008

Teenage woman charged with killing another teen

WEST WARWICK -- An 18-year-old West Warwick woman pulled a knife from her waistband and stabbed to death another 18-year-old woman during a confrontation last night, the West Warwick police say.

The stabbing may be linked to an ongoing argument over a man, police said, although not a man that the victim was involved with.

In a statement released by the West Warwick Police Department, detectives say the victim, who has been identified in court records as Natasha Gonsalves, was with two friends yesterday evening who followed Abimbola O. Johnson home from work.

According to Det. Mark Bennett, Gonsalves, a friend of the girl who had been involved in the ongoing dispute with Johnson, got out of a car and began arguing with Johnson.

Johnson went into her house, at 114 Pepin St., according to the police, and came back outside with a kitchen knife in her waistband.

After she returned, according to police, the two women argued, and Gonsalves charged Johnson. Johnson allegedly pulled the knife from the back of her waistband, stabbing Gonsalves.

Officers received two calls in connection with the incident – one reporting a disturbance and another reporting a stabbing. The police arrived to find neighbors tending to Gonsalves, who was on the ground in front of Johnson’s house.

Rescue crews brought her to Kent County Memorial Hospital, where she was pronounced dead.

Johnson was ordered held without bail following arraignment this morning in Kent County District Court. The case was referred to a grand jury, and a bail hearing was scheduled for April 7, according to court records.

Well, well, well, if it isn't faithful reader. I've been missing you. What's been going on, kids? Lettuce see;

The bee (the wee man, miracle child of the universe) is doing great and is just magnificent. I can't think of anyone whose Daddy i'd rather be. He had his 2 year checkup today and everything is perfect. In fact, his pediatrician says he's very verbally advanced. Well, naturally. Still, that's a great thing to hear. He is learning so many new words and he'll get a riff going for a few days. he said tur-tul 6,000 times 2 weeks ago. He's way obsessed with Curious George and that's A-OK with me. And, oh yeah, he's a normal 2 year old who flushed a whole roll of TP down the toilet the other day and breaks whatever he can, and throws my CDs all over the place, but that's all just part of the deal. AND his hair looks like Robert Plant and we ain't cutting it any time soon.

Work is good. I know all the chicken littles say the economy is right down the shitter, but it hasn't dramatically impacted our little entertainment agency. Tons of people are still booking events, we had the busiest January ever for fresh clients, and I've got 65 gigs booked personally for 2008 so far, so I've got a good head start if things are going to go south. Also, i was at the Apple store a few weeks ago to buy the sexybeast new iMac with 20" screen that's like 7 zillion times faster than my G4- and those cats are doing a brisk trade. They'll sell you a lifestyle in about 6 seconds and still have a line out the door.

I've been writing some new songs for the first time in months. I wouldn't call it writers block (because I never say that phrase out loud anyway), just a long, long period of gathering ideas and not being able to mold them into anything cohesive. I've had the first verse and a chorus of about 7 songs in my red book for 8 months and finally finished 5 songs in the last few months. Lots of trouble with lyrics- which I blame on me not reading anything decent in ages. Guitar magazines really don't count as literature. I haven't been to the movies in about a year (except Harrison and I saw half of the Bee Movie in an otherwise empty theatre- he spent most of the time watching it upside down and running up by the projector)- so, I've got a lot of inspiration and emotions, but have been unable to get things out.

it's such a wonderful feeling when you finally get something written. I just can't tell you, it's like you're all backed up and there's pressure and tension inside you and you just burst and finally break through to what you've been trying to get at. And then it's as if the song is already written and you just have to find the clues and put it together. Anyway, I've been working hard because I think that for my upcoming 40th birthday (shudder), I may be doing some recording in a well known recording studio in St. John's Wood in London. I'm not gonna jinx it by saying it, but it's well known as the place where Freddy & the Dreamers laid down their most significant tracks. And I've got a wonderful new sample collection of Beatle instruments- all the best ones- called Fab 4. I've got, like, 10 Ringo kits with the right mics and right compressors that I can trigger from a keyboard. It's been a lot of fun (though I've been spending a bit too much time messing with the sitar samples). So, if anyone needs any really good harmonium tracks, I'm yer man.

I've also been getting back into going to the gym for the first time in almost 3 years. When the wife and I were trying to get preggers, the futility DR. advised that it might help if i lost some weight (you know, so as to be able to catch wife when chasing her around the bedroom- that's how we get it done in Pennsylvania where I'm from, you see). Anyway, I did this super restrictive diet, stopped drinking completely and really went mental at the gym and lost 75 pounds. It took a lot of effort but it worked and we had the wee one. Of course, I haven't been to the gym since he came (in his little space craft) and have gained all that back. Other parents will understand how incredibly hard it is to go to the gym with a baby in the house- it's so wonderful but it completely turns your whole tweak upside down.

Vanity aside, I either need to lose some weight or get some bigger guitars. So I've been going and, let me assure you, I am really paying for not attending to this part of my life for so long. I feel like I'm in a boxing match with myself. Rough stuff, but only 3 weeks into it and I'm starting to feel the familiar buzz when I get cranking on the cardio machines. There's a tremendous amount of huffing and puffing going on, but I'm surprised at how strong i still am. Also sore, very sore.

I even had to reprogram my workout mix on the iPoop. I find that what works for me is total hesher rock such as was playing on my stereo when I was 14 (coincidentally, the last time I recall my jeans staying up on their own accord- one of the major curses of my life, my jeans slipping down). I've got all the major food groups: Van Halen, Zeppelin,Cheap Trick, Rush, AC/DC, Rainbow- friggin' Deep Purple, bro. Give me "Space Trucking" and an elliptical machine and I'm quite something to behold. I've also got a penchant for "Rosalita" when I'm really hitting my stride. And there is simply no better song than "Fox On the Run" by Sweet.

What else? Ummm, put up a new birdfeeder yesterday- a great victory as far as I'm concerned. Listening to Kelley Stoltz (awesome songwriter from San Francisco), new Martin Carr songs that are very different for the Boos or Brave Captain, Spoon, Panda Bear, Parthenon Huxley, Ed Harcourt, Mike Viola's new album (that talented bastard) and a bootleg of Neil Finn, Roddy Frame and Graham Gouldman playing each other's songs.

Certainly, any reasonable humans stopped reading several paragraphs ago, so i sign off with the optimism that the next election may actually not turn my stomach.

God, I love both those guys. Mississippi Burning was on last night- it's always on, though, isn't it? Whenever I find that movie on my screen, I just can't sop watching it. Gene Hackman was so intense in his younger days (The French Connection being another film I can't not watch), but this is more subtle burn. It's all under the surface and then when he loses it- like the scene in the barber shop with the straight razor where you really believe he might cut that deputy's nose off), it's just on, baby. And, man, when he grabs that one guy by the cotch and lets him have it, you can feel it just sitting on your couch.

Mike Campbell is just such an unassuming guitar hero. I was watching that Tom Petty DVD that just came out, where they tell their story of the last 30 years. How many American rock bands have stayed together for 30 years like that? Everybody just gets in, has a hit, buys the house in Hollywood and bails. REM, I suppose, but I'm not convinced they'll ever make another make another great album (and they all live in different cities, so that somehow makes it a little phony).

But, yeah, Mike comes up with the most deceptively simple guitar hooks that stick in your head forever. And tone? Forget about it. But do a google search for him and you'll come up with more hits for unknown singers with the same name. I have more of a web presence than Mike Campbell. Why isn't he getting constant acclaim? Why isn't he being written about in all those guitar magazines? Just think of the guitar at the beginning of "Boys Of Summer"- that's Mike Campbell, he wrote it. Mind you, Don Henley has always needed a rabbit punch to the taint- I'm with the Dude in the Big Lebowski when it comes to the Eagles. I'll gladly get kicked out of a taxi on that subject. But there are two things in the wide world that make it OK for Henley to live: Mike Campbell on "Boys Of Summer" and the fact that you just know Joe Walsh annoys the shit out of him. Oh yeah, and the Langley Music School version of Desperado. Have you not heard that? It's on iTunes, go check it out, it'll rip your heart right out of your chest. No, seriously, stop reading, go download that.

The Petty DVD is pretty great, actually. Tom Petty is very funny and sly and a born raconteur. I've been on that kick for a few weeks and had to go out and buy a red Gibson SG to show my appreciation of Mike Campbell (it was either that or start hanging out with Stevie Nicks). I have never owned a Gibson electric guitar with humbuckers before. Yeah, I know. The totaly standard tool of rock and roll and I've never had one in my life. I've got a closet full of guitars with single coils. Anyway, this thing unleashes a little demon in your fingers. So much fun, so much wankery. There's been a lof AC/DC being played at Ashley towers, I can assure you.

My old pal Richie Kotzen has a new album coming out and in the promo video for it, they pan down one of the halls in his house and there's a photo on the wall of us at 15 years old. I'm playing a P Bass and he's wearing leopard skin boots and seeing the photo just made me flash back completely. It was a school dance at Mount Penn High School and I vividly recall playing "Don't You Forget About Me" and Richie playing guitar and keys at the same time. I'm quite certain we played some Billy Squier as well. It was a nice feeling to think back. We spent every waking moment together back then.

Also great this week: Steve Winwood's voice, Baseball as a concept and an allegory for the American ideal, My little boy who is obessed with the movie "Cars" and keeps trying to say "Kachow", The weather, riding my bike with Harrison on the back, my sister just had a baby boy, The Sarah Silverman show, my old friend Toby is moving back to town after many years away.

Crusing the tiles of the Johnny Foodmaster with my cart with 3 good wheels- those of you in other parts of the world may have very nice super markets, but we've got the friggin' MASTER OF ALL FOOD here- and I was picking out a nice pineapple for my best little pal. Funny thing about him is that when you change his diaper, you have to put a toy in his hand or otherwise occupy him because he's like the champion squirmer of all time and if his hands get free, we may have to sell the house and move. The other night, the wife was changing him and none of his toys were nearby (you know, other than the fact that they are everywhere at all times), so I put a pineapple in his hands and it really seemed to confound him. He got a very perplexed look on his face as if I had just invented the thing on the spot.

Anyway, so I'm checking out various pineapples, looking for the perfect one when I find my toe inexplicably tapping to a familiar sound- a wailing voice over a clanging, chugging guitar part- and I realize that the supermarket is playing "Sgt. Rock" over their stereo and I have a complete and total realization of exactly how old I really am and laugh uncontrollably- so much so that I have to bury my face in the pineapple lest other shoppers think me insane (of course, laughing into a pineapple will get you instantly committed in several countries and Alabama). Not even Mayor Of Simpleton or Making Plans For Nigel. Sgt. Rock- perhaps the silliest of XTC singles. What's next? Some Gang Of Four anti- shopping diatribe?

The Foodmaster is noted for it's scintillating soundtrack, mind you. I've heard quite a bit of Todd Rondgren while perusing the pretzels. I once got busted in the soup aisle dancing to Bits & Piecs by the Dave Clark 5 (OHMYGOD, the fucking drums on that record are so-ooo awesome). Still, for those of you a bit younger, I'm here to tell you that shopping music has come a long, long way since my youth. Back in the day, buying one's frosted flakes at the A&P, one might luck out and get "Don't Give Up On Us Baby" or something by Melissa Manchester, but mostly it was treacly Muzak covers designed to lull you into a somnambulist impulse-buying stupor. I remember hearing a Hall & Oates ballad some time in the late 80s and thinking the store was getting a bit edgy.

I predict. By Sparks, amazing record. No, wait, what I mean is I predict cleaned up Snoop Dog tunes in your local grocery within 5 years.

Oh yeah, so the little boy? He's doing great. We've got Bam Bam from the Fllntstones in our house, no joke. He owns 72 little plastic cars and the one he wants is always under the couch. By the time he's my age, they'll be playing Metal Machine Music by Lou Reed in the ubermarket while he shops for soilent green.