Road Rash (27 page)

“Even if it’s a bad deal?”

He didn’t say anything, and I felt stupid for prying. The whole idea was to relieve some stress, not add to it.

“Okay,” I suddenly said, “
Celebrity Deathmatch, Portlandia
edition! The Shins versus the Decemberists. Who wins …?”

“Hmm …”

And on we went. As we talked, we played Around the World and H-O-R-S-E and a little one-on-one. We didn’t even really
keep score—we just played until we were both soaked in sweat, then we started back.

The day was warm and sunny, and it just felt great to be outside. Like some of our troubles had come out of our pores along with our sweat and evaporated on the breeze. Magic …

“Here, check it out.…” I clicked
play
on my computer, and my rough demo of “Pray for Rain” came over my little speakers. I let it run for a minute, then stopped it. “See what I mean? I’m okay with the chorus, but the verses just aren’t happening.”

“They’re not bad …,” he began.

“Time-out. You’ve gotta be honest, or this ain’t gonna work. If you’ve got a better way, I want to hear it.”

“Okay, here’s what I think … I think you have a great concept, with a killer groove. Really strong chorus—I love the way it drones along. And I happen to think the verses aren’t bad.” He held up his hand to stop me. “
But
I’d like to hear those lyrics sung over a different section. The changes under the verse vocals are a little generic.”

“Yeah, I hear ya. You got some chord ideas?”

“No, but you do. Can you take the chorus groove and loop it? Nothing fancy.”

“Sure, gimme a second.” I grabbed four bars and looped them, making a quick track a couple of minutes long … just bass, drums, scratch guitar, and the line
pray for rain
, over and over.

“Cool. Now pull the original chorus vocals way down, and try this—let it run four times, then sing the verse over that.”

I wasn’t sure I understood. “Sing the verse over the chorus?”

“Yeah, except it won’t actually be the chorus during that part. It’s just backing vocals under the verse, and we’ll differentiate it with another guitar part.”

“All right, let me try it.” I played the chorus loop and tried to sing the verse over it. I had to change the melody slightly and it took me a few times to get it right, but I had to admit it worked pretty well.

“You know, I think it’s got potential.”

He grinned. “Like this young smart-ass once told me, you’ve gotta learn to trust my judgment. Now let me put down a guitar part over that.”

I nodded. “Okay, it’ll take a minute to rig up a mic.”

“Cool. I’ll grab my gear.”

So I set up a microphone while he got his Strat and his little Fender practice amp. He dialed up the perfect tone—dark, dirty-sweet, drenched in spring reverb, with a little tremolo added, set to pulse in time with the eighth notes. He played a simple riff on the lower strings that said
desert … hot … dry …
Like the soundtrack to some dusty old western.

He had me start recording the overdub from the top. He came in with full chords during the actual chorus riff at the top, then he dropped back to that pulsing single-string thing during what would become the verse. Then he hammered it back up again after eight bars of verse to make the chorus pop out. Hearing this gave me a better idea of what he’d had in mind.

“That sounds great,” I said. “Let me try a verse over it.”

I put on headphones so the instrumentals wouldn’t bleed into the vocals, then I routed the mic to a new track and hit
record
. I let the loop go for four bars, then I sang the first verse over the chorus groove.…

Then I went into the actual chorus.

That sounded good, so I shrugged and kept going into the second verse.…

Then back to the chorus …

“Let me try some backing vocals on that,” Glenn said.

I handed him the phones and moved so he could stand in front of the mic, then I started recording. On the verses he doubled the phrases
if she’s coming back
and
already down the track
, then on the chorus he harmonized on the
pray for rain
parts.

We listened back as I did a rough on-the-fly mix. Very cool, in my opinion. Very, very cool.

“Man, that sounds great,” I said. “Thanks.”

“It was all there. Do me a favor and send me a mix so I can learn the whole song.”

“Sure.”

“You got anything else?”

“Yeah …” I scrolled through my files. “Here’s one I’d like to hear finished.” I double-clicked on it and played his original demo of the minor-key acoustic thing he’d played for me back on that first day in Bozeman. “I’d love to hear this with a full band arrangement. I can totally see it as a slow, grinding, halftime-type thing.”

He thought about it for a while. Finally, he nodded, then he pulled some pages out of his case and cleared a spot on the bed.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s see what we can come up with.…”

The Bad-Mobile was still gone when I crashed, but I didn’t worry about it—why was
I
the designated den mother?

Besides, I was stoked from the progress Glenn and I had made. Yeah, it’s cool to write something by yourself, but there’s nothing like bouncing ideas back and forth with someone else and getting something way better than either of you could have come up with on your own. When it works, it’s magic.

After we’d worked in the room on my tune and his ballad, he brought out three or four other things he’d been working on, in various stages of completion. Some were just rough sketches, but I thought two of them were almost good to go. So we went to the club to try them out—Donna said it was okay for an hour or so, until they opened for the evening.

While Glenn got the PA up and running, I put up a couple of mics out in front and hooked them up to my little laptop studio setup to make a basic live recording. Then we ran through each of the tunes a couple of times, and they actually sounded
pretty good. I mean, they weren’t complete by any means, but it was enough to give you the feeling that they could fly.

“Man, that wasn’t a bad day,” Glenn said when we were finished. “We’ve got half a dozen originals whipped into semidecent shape.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I can’t wait to hear how they sound with the whole band playing them, and Brad singing—” I stopped. “Hey, is that okay? I mean, if Brad sings them? After all, most of them are
your
tunes, and—”

He held up a hand. “Not a problem. I’m the one who always says play to your strengths, and that guy can sing. I’m with you—they’re going to kick ass.”

Hey, Zach, I got your message yesterday. I don’t know what’s goin’ on with Kimber, but she’s pretty upset. Something about that dickhead Kevin …
I couldn’t help it—I laughed.
But you don’t have to apologize to me, man. I don’t care why you decked him … I’m sure you had a good reason. Hell, him lookin’ like Toby is good enough for me.…
There was a long silence.

But you don’t need to apologize, man. That’s all I wanted to say
.

Beeeeep …

When I woke up, the Bad-Mobile was in the parking lot, safe and sound.

I wanted to listen to the stuff we’d done but Glenn was still asleep, so I got dressed and grabbed my computer and headed
out to the breakfast room. There were people around when I arrived, so I set the music aside and read a little while I ate.

By the time I was finished, the place was empty, so I fired up my laptop to recheck yesterday’s work. You wouldn’t believe how many times something that seems great at the end of a long day turns out to be embarrassing the next morning. But what do you know … it still sounded pretty good. After that, I began working on some lyrics ideas I had.

Anyway, I was still sitting there when Danny and Brad showed up.

“Hey, guys,” I said. “How was the park?”

“Man, it was amazing,” Danny said. “How’s about you—good day yesterday?”

“Yeah. Glenn and I got a few tunes hammered into shape.”

“Cool. Care to share?”

Well, I was supposedly all about full disclosure now, right? “Um, sure, I guess so. They’re still pretty rough, though.”

“That’s okay. Let’s hear ’em.”

I played the live mix of Glenn’s ballad, followed by a little of the “Pray for Rain” remix. Then I stopped—I just wanted to give them a taste.

“That was awesome, bro. Seriously. I can’t wait to try them.”

“Thanks. They really need the whole band’s help, but it’s a good start.”

Brad had been quiet the whole time. Not that there was a law that said he had to comment, but still … I raised my eyebrows a little, doing that well-what-do
-you
-think thing, in a low-key way.

“Uh, sorry, I’m not quite awake yet,” he finally mumbled. “But yeah, it sounds cool.”

“Thanks. They’ll be much cooler with you singing and everyone playing on them.” That reminded me … “Speaking of—are we gonna sound check sometime today?”

He yawned. “Sorry, it’s still early for me. Uh, I’ll think about it and let you know.”

“Okay. Donna says we can play in there anytime before noon, and then maybe a little window somewhere between three and five. And that’s it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Like I said, I’ll let you know.” He grabbed a pastry and some coffee and left.

I looked at Danny like,
WTF?
but he just shrugged.

God, was I ever going to break the code on these guys?

“Let’s try it again—that intro sounded a little rushed.” Brad turned and looked back at yours truly.

Rushed? It sure didn’t feel that way to me. In fact, I thought it was right in the pocket. But whatever. “Okay,” I said.

We’d done a quick sound check and were taking advantage of the stage time to work up a couple of new songs. Not the originals—no one had mentioned those and I sure wasn’t going to push that button again. Instead, Brad had a Papa Roach tune he wanted to do, and something by the Killers.

We went through the tune again, and it felt great to me.
Danny dug it, too. I could tell because he had that in-the-groove posture going on and a big grin on his face.

“That was better,” Brad said after we’d finished. “But it still seemed a little uneven in parts.” He looked at me. “Hmm. Have you ever played to a click before?”

Where was he going with this? “Uh, yeah,” I said. “We used one in the Sock Monkeys once in a while when we recorded. Why …?”