I plugged the unit into the wall socket and immediately noticed the light wasn’t going on. This was soon followed by what sounded like a trio of Jimmy Deans sizzling in a greased skillet. Now while this is one of the most magnificent sounds I can think of it’s still not a good thing to hear outside the kitchen. Soon after that, possibly for an encore, I was treated to a puff of smoke blowing out of the input jack. Bravo.
Naturally at this time I began to think about breakfast and if we even had any sausages left since I wasn’t going to be doing any recording anytime soon and what better way to get my mind off of this unfortunate reality and possibly life itself than a nice cardiac inducing breakfast?
Still I had to come up with something so I rigged up a mic to two speakers and ran the organ through a practice amp and hoped for the best.
With Shabby Road completed I headed out for then the next essential ingredient in any rehearsal studio: lots and lots of cold beer. It also occurred to me to replace my fried interface but since the royalty checks aren’t flooding in just yet I figured beer would be a sounder financial investment. After all if everyone was loaded they might not even notice that half of the band was completely inaudible.
I pulled my battered Corolla into the Safeway parking lot and made my way into Felton’s seediest supermarket. Now that’s not to say that I have anything against Safeway or am even making some grandiose political statement about the Safeway chain or it’s fine line of Safeway Select products. It’s just that this particular Safeway seems to have a higher percentage of psychos combing it’s dimly lit aisles than other locations. Again I’m not making any value judgment and would never dissuade anyone from visiting the Felton Safeway. After all it’s the only place I shop.
Right away I could hear an old Rick Springfield hit as I swung a brown plastic basket off a pile and made my way to the beer fridge. Color me nostalgic but there’s nothing like early eighties power pop to get those shopping juices flowing. After my usual scan of the imported and domestic options my eyes zeroed in on a case of Pacifico, a Mexican beer and a favorite of Slade’s. It wasn’t my first choice but being that he drinks it religiously I grabbed it and fit it snugly in my now tiny basket. After my usual crawl by the bread, I passed by Oscar Meyer and then noticed a selection of bananas, stacked far from the produce section in front of the dairy case. Naturally I started thinking about bananas, which I suppose was the point in placing them near their lunchtime companions but instead of grabbing a bunch I just kept thinking about how they seemed like outsiders cornered there between the luncheon meat and the Lucerne dairy case. Then I realized bananas are really loners in the fruit universe and are always destined for a different path then their produce compadres. Perhaps they had actually been put there to teach us all a little something about being different. Safeway can be deep.
Passing by the meat I noticed some guy in torn overalls and an overgrown white beard having a discussion with a package of discounted chicken tenders. I had seen him before but usually near the baked beans. I supposed he was spreading his message throughout the store, possibly organizing the poultry section and the canned goods for some kind of uprising. I laughed and then came to the realization that this man could be me in twenty years. I made a mental note to go back to the bananas and tell them to escape while there was still time.
On my way to checkout I grabbed a couple of cardboard crust pizzas on special in case anybody needed a snack. As I grooved towards the express lane I passed the parade of familiar checkers: the tall chubby twenty-something in glasses who’s always reviewing the latest Xbox first person shooter; the dark-haired thirty-something cherub faced girl I remember from high school but avoid out of awkwardness; the older fifty something Pat Boone look-a-like who seems unnaturally happy to be there and of course the row of baggers who silently pack it all in and pretend to listen to their inane conversations.
When I got to the fifteen items or less line it was being manned by Mike, a quiet guy with a dark side who’s got the kind of seething look that says he’s ready to drop kick anyone’s ass who thinks they can come to the express checkout with anything over fifteen items. A real supermarket badass. I swiped my card and we both grunted as he scanned the box of Pacifico and peered over at the chubby guy on register three with a mildly murderous gaze. “Club card?” he asked. I typed in my phone number remembering the pizzas were on special. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him mouthing the words to some rap song I’d never heard of. It could’ve possibly been metal but since you rarely hear the phrase “bitchface” in hard rock I’m guessing it was a selection from the gangsta era. Either that or he was trying to tell me something. Whatever the case I pressed a few buttons, grunted farewell and headed back to the Corolla.
That evening, as the beer was chilling and the pizzas were cooking I heard a car pull up the dirt drive way. I made out the sound of muffled banter and knew the rhythm section had arrived. It was just after seven pm and Mirian was working late but it was time to get my mountain studio in gear.
I opened the door and felt a wisp of the nearly fall breeze hit my neck. Slade was the first to notice the smell from the oven. “I guess something’s cooking,” he said closing the door behind.
“Got some clearance pizzas. Three bucks each at Safeway.”
“My mouth is already watering.”
Joaquin craned his neck above the doorway and saw a member of my extensive art collection, a large collage piece he had made and given me a while back and gave a smile. Since everybody was in a good mood I felt ready to test out the new space. For some reason Slade wasn’t drinking that night but I had faith the Pacifco would not go to waste.
We all filed into the backroom and started warming up. I sat down at my antique upright grand piano and started plugging away at a series of gospel tinged chord progressions. Right away I could feel this new space was less than a miracle. The sound was muddy and because the piano was facing the front wall I couldn’t see anyone. My makeshift P.A. system had no gain and could barely be heard and to make matters even worse there was no plastic Swordfish to get us all in the mood.
When Mirian came we went through the three songs we’ve been practicing and smoothed out some rough edges but I think everyone agreed that studio Felton was a far cry from our usual digs. All in all it felt like another setback.
The plan now is to go to plan C, which means we return to the old studio with a curfew. I’m hoping that we can find some way of deadening the noise so we wont have to quit so early but if we can all get there by 6:30 that will give us a good three hours. Personally I’m fine with it because it’s a great space and it will be nice to get in my corner again where I can actually see everybody and hear what I’m doing. I’m just not quite sure when that will be.
Thursday’s practice was put on hold so this week we’ve barely played. I know we’ve had setbacks but it’s important to not loose the momentum we’ve built up. Once we loose a week we have to try and remember what we did and then we end up just going over the same parts and pretty soon everyone’s bored and suddenly the idea of resigning my evenings to reality television and microwave popcorn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. I’m not saying that will happen but I know we got a little derailed. The goal for next week is to get everybody on track again.
This week has been hard for both Mirian and me. I’m now addicted to the band and being without that gets me into a funk that’s hard to beat. Usually when I’m in a group I end up playing less at home since it suddenly feels incomplete. Still I can’t over react. Life outside the music is still good and work is going well. Can’t be too selfish and I have to remind myself that at this time last year I was literally picking up dog feces for a living. I’ll have more on that later.
Another plus is that even though last practice was less than stellar I managed to record some on my computer and was impressed by what I heard. It’s actually something I’d want to listen to. Even though that may sound strange one has to realize that while some music may be fun to play it’s not always the masterpiece you’d like it to be. I’ve played in enough stoner jam bands to learn this difficult lesson.
This project just feels different and the songs are getting tighter and more solid. I can hardly wait to perform them and get free beer for my efforts. Just have to be patient and have faith. Not even ABBA was built in a day.
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