Thursday, March 7, 2013

Find the Right Producers

This is a new venture for me. I've been friends with people in the  music industry for as long as I have been breathing, (although I'm sure I wasn't aware of it at the time), (mostly). When I was small, er, young, that means, not when I was skinny.. that was a later time in life... when I was a youthling, I was part of Boston's Summerthing. Boston Parks and Recreation, (MDC is actually what they called it), had a program that gave inner-city kids a full-on, head spinning always interactive, always "groovy", (it was the 60's, and no I'm not old), taste of what life in the arts was.

Because of it, I got to meet Buffy Saint-Marie, right around the time she was doing Sesame Street. There was the woman who sang, "My Street Begins at My House". I was even taken to a musicians home in Nantasket Beach that was both an experience with swimming, and an experience with learning world instruments, from three musicians who I later learned were part of Ravi Shankir's bands. I read Bob Dylan's Tarantula when other kids were reading Little House on the Prairie. My friend Johnny had an older brother named Paul in a band called Ma, Pa, and Joe, (Mark, Paul and Joseph were in the band- the wit was something I liked), and he would show me guitar chords that I never knew before- like G and C.

When I was in 5th grade and learning guitar for "reals", I picked up Neil Young song books, as well as Queen's books-- knowing full well that Brian May was in his own astrophysical plane, and if I could get all of Neil's songs down, then I could someday sing back-up for James Taylor or play with, (ready?), Three Dog Night. Later I would work with and hang out with Harry and Tom Chapin when Harry was doing The Cotton Patch Gospel, (named Something's Brewin' In Gainsville, then later renamed), and Livingston Taylor also was kind enough to teach  me a few chords I didn't know when I had my guitar in the guard box at the TV station I did security for... back then security meant, wearing a uniform and keeping the drunks at their desks, rather than in their cars. Okay, so the point is, I was around a lot of recording artists, all encouraging me to sing and write, and several who I actually let HEAR my songs, including an un prepared Geraldine Fitzgerald when I auditioned as a replacement for Andrea McArdle in Three Penny Opera. ("How did you think to write a song that sounded like it was from the 1920's?" she asked. I told her that I had sung many songs like "Three Little Fishies", "K-k-k-katy", and a few other ditties with my 'big sister', she smiled and screamed "Next!" I'm fairly certain she thought I was from some cult family that had bred children for decades.) (I did get a call back, and the amazing Maryann Plunkett got the role, easily.)

In college, Bryan Carey was the first producer I worked with. He had me sing his songs in a portastudio, in a small closet, on a rainy day, and it made me so happy. Later I got to work with Doug Wray, who was in a very 80's band, and we did some tunes on the brand new Apple 2G's in the comp lab. This guy Zig, somehow didn't believe I had a four octave range, called me from a hallway, handed me sheet music, and told me, "Okay Sing!", with this other girl who had already heard the music, already had rehearsed it, and had been in the studio with him for hours before she even met me. What was I supposed to sing? He tells me harmony, which wasn't even on the sheet of music I had.. I had no idea what he wanted from me, felt very bushwacked, and to this day think he was a prick for being so unprofessional in order to prove me wrong. (Well, Zig, turns out that I have a five octave range, and the professors at San Francisco State always admired me for it... so up yours, twat.) Even the recording engineer told me it was a prick move. I realized from that moment on, a producer needed to be a partner with the singer/band and not a hired hand to hopefully get what you want.

So this decade is the one that puts me in the professional recording world again. I am writing more, and better than ever, and even though I am unable to hold instruments well anymore, I can still sing. I'm using vocal coaches, and they're even surprised at how well things are going there. (Menopause my ass.) Music doesn't die, and no reason why I should stop because I have reached an over 40 age. One time around, one chance at living, so I got to live. And, to live well, you have to work well, and to work well, you need a producer who gets who you are. FINALLY I found one.

I took part of an independent music festival online, through IndieConnect.com. It's worth it. I learned so  much. I discovered a production company through the event, and they are run by one terrific person who I met via email. We chatted back and forth about previous recordings I did, and he picked out the EXACT issues I wanted fixed without me telling him what they were in advance. THIS is a good producer. He or she would need to know how to read me as a person, how to read my music as I want it heard, and hear how I've done things in the past and know what I was happy or not happy with. He passed the test with flying colors, and they aren't bruises.

There have been others, some who have wanted to sound like Rush, like the bass player/recording engineer I knew in New Mexico. But what I like about Watt's Audio, is that Zach is already listening to me, without trying to change or veer what I want to do into any direction other than what the music itself is leading the sound towards. I hope that makes sense to some of you. I  had some great producers when I did voice over work who were like this. They could hear in my tone when I wasn't feeling that well, or if I had some mood that needed to change.. ("Say grouch, could you pretend the chocolate is in the coffee?" one of my favorites.) So far, in just a few conversations, he knows what I really am trying to accomplish. And it's a comfortable feeling talking to someone who gets what you want.

My suggestions if you are thinking of using a producer, is first of all, think of the relationship as a partnership--  you're both leading towards of the goal of making great music for great reasons, whatever those reasons are.

Then make sure you both have a clear idea what the goals are to be. Do you want to sing for a demo? Are you looking to sell your songs to TV? Are you writing music for web videos?

Are you prepared to work together on a contract that states, how much s/he will be paid for studio work or will there be a partnership in songwriting/publishing or both? If you find a company that says something like, "We'll record your demo for $800!" or "Get your EP done for $1200!" That ends up being the 'starting ' price.. they're never like that in real life. If you get a car, and you are told "ONLY $450 a month!" you know that won't be true.. why would you think that it's true on a strange ad for a recording studio session with someone you  haven't even met yet? Contracts matter, and YES get it in writing, or prepare to be able to offer compensation somehow for the actual use of studio, and to learn from each other. Get a clue from an entertainment law sight as to why this is important.

Before you hire a producer, listen to the music he or she has done in the past, or listen to the bands they work with. If the bands sound good.. even if it's music you're not into- if the quality of the recordings are good, you'll have a better chance of sounding good, as well. Make sure it's more than one recording. Sometimes a band can do their own recordings and use a producer to just punch up sound. That's great, but if you want to make the recordings from scratch- ensure you're listening to another band who started from scratch so you get the full idea of the work done.

Get references. When I was checking out Watt's Audio, I read what others wrote about the producer, and I read about what other production companies, other recording artists, and what other peers have said about the company. In my case, the one thing that sent up the happy fireworks was "he really cared about our sound". To me, that was the most important thing to hear. For you, it may be about how the producer works with brass, or how they work with multitracking or how they work with singers. Be sure what you read is what you know will bring YOU the best recordings you can have. I talked with people at the conference who had spoken with Zach and people he had worked with, and they all had the same thing to say, "He's a nice guy who won't screw you over." And that also was a key thing I'm looking for in a production house.

Looking forward to sharing more tracks with you, and hopefully a new album in a while. Let's see where this Waste Band goes with Watt's.





 

Saturday, February 9, 2013

the pen is mightier than the spork: My new hobby

the pen is mightier than the spork: My new hobby

I love James Moran. I do. He's me, with a penis, and a wife. I have an amazing musician husband, and he has an amazing singing bride. I write nonstop all of the time, comics, books, blogs, etc... and he does the same, and gets paid well for doing so.. His Dr. Who eps alone are worth searching for, but if you catch Severance or his films. DO It! he's a genius. Here is a picture of our friend Irene Adler, (the woman), and in the center, James, along with the gorgeous lovely and ever so exhausted, Jodie, after we had a tour through Comic-Con.

James has a recent blog of playing Ukulele, (pronounced ook-ooh-laylay, please white folk). I bought a Mitchell one for myself and another Lanakai for a friend for Giftmas, and I've been playing it nearly every night for about an hour each time, enjoying the hell out of it. Why? I saw Eddie Vedder's show in October and thought it was the prettiest sounding rock toy ever played. (Eddie could play with a yo-yo and make it musical, but that's another story for another time.) I'm also a huge fan of Arlo Guthrie and his Ukulele Lady is in my head nearly every day for random reasons. I love the idea of playing four strings and having a melody come out. I play my bass that way, too, but that's a Primus influence more than anything else.

James visits a website he quotes on the blog pointed out above. I use that site, pluse several others that also hang out on my "Droid" as well, and  my Kindle hosts several Uke tabs from Led Zeppelin, to Frank Zappa, to aforementioned Vedder via Ukulele Scales • UkuTabs

If you want to annoy a bunch of people in a coffee shop, I highly recommend using this page: Oasis uke tablatures and chords . "Bitter Sweet Symphony" is also a great one to get people to leave you with comfy chairs in your local cafe. I've also been using video lessons via Ukulele Lessons – Learn How To Play .  

Unlike James, I went to music school, and as a kid, like he did, I studied the stringed instruments, although mine was a viola. I also studied flute, which I now consider a personal tool of torment. (Sorry Tull, I can't handle you.) In music school, my focus was jazz vocals, and I had a great time singing with some brilliant people in an A Capella jazz "choir", and with Ben Flint playing piano in another. I sort of play piano, keys, guitar, bass, and now Uke. Like I do with the other instruments, I also found that I enjoy writing music directly with the Mitchell, and have a few really fun recordings of stuff I'm working on for an album I'm doing.  Like James, it's a great way for me to turn off my brain from all the things that used to be fun, but now are work. the difference, my work is now music, and my fun is also music. Quandry.

Whilst James is in London, writing and ensuring Sci-fi, mystery, and horror fans are happy, I'm still in Las Vegas, ensuring my rats, cats, chinchillas (chinchillae?) and husband is happy. We both are giddy over the Uke now and hopefully when we see each other, sooner or later, an impromptu jam session likely will last for as long as the beer pours. (or ale, whatever those little irish chaps drink...) Maybe I'll write a song about a sci-fi uke player, and maybe some zombie instrumentalist with rats will end up in his tales. The world will have to wait and see... and hear.


roar.

Friday, January 4, 2013

lyrics this week. Still Worx and

This song was written after having a weird dream about my first "real" boyfriend, Tom, who I met at a summer camp in New Hampshire. I'm sure he grew up to be a golden boy, with all the right things that a golden  boy should have, but for a few months when I was 17, he was everything to me.

Still Worx
(c) 2013 Cathe B. Jones, (ratmando band)


head still above my shoulders, shoulders drowned in inner depth
heart placed near the couch on sundays, or on the sundae in the bed
the taste of warmed grass mowed summer smoothly drinking in the night
the taste of sweat and curled lips pursing, piercing time, timed right.
mountain ranges shaped so strangely curled this away and that.
two hands held one finger pressed so tightly through the fat

Memory of youth when pressed leg higher than the walls reach
being still with cycles rooting through the click tracks of the beach
molted sun, earth will be done, bedsheets now are flattened skies.
heart beats as alarming, stars beguiling, and under it all, lies.
everything still works, still needs still hurts, still feeds a lowing ache.
touch just there, just below near and watch the hunger fade.

You couldn’t fit this find in another’s mind.
You couldn’t walk this path on any back.
You couldn’t taste this life, with the dullest knife.
And it seems to be the same again. It seems to be the same.

Still works through the history and the mysterious past refined.
still works though the mystery’s gone, and then only in the mind.
tickticktick and licklicklick and kickkickkick it out of the sky
beatbeatbeat and eateateat and flower fountains up just to try.
It still works brother, won’t you taste what I’ve made?
It still works brother, won’t you face it when laid?
That rumbling calling and breath that’s cowled in blue.
Racing blood, when it done, a little bit of life has died.
racing blood when the fun has ended it’s all inside.

head still above my shoulders, shoulders drowned in inner depth
heart placed near the couch on sundays, or on the sundae in the bed
the taste of warmed grass mowed summer smoothly drinking in the night
the taste of sweat and curled lips pursing, piercing time, timed right.
mountain ranges shaped so strangely curled this away and that.
two hands held one finger pressed so tightly through the fat

You couldn’t fit this find in another’s mind.
You couldn’t walk this path on any back.
You couldn’t taste this life, with the dullest knife.
And it seems to be the same again. It seems to be the same.

Still works through the history and the mysterious past refined.
still works though the mystery’s gone, and then only in the mind.
tickticktick and licklicklick and kickkickkick it out of the sky
beatbeatbeat and eateateat and flower fountains up just to try.
It still works brother, won’t you taste what I’ve made?
It still works brother, won’t you face it when laid?
That rumbling calling and breath that’s cowled in blue.
Racing blood, when it done, a little bit of life has died.
racing blood when the fun has ended it’s all inside.


Second lyric today- I spend a lot of time with my music and art in my house, and I live nearby Red Rock Canyon. The opportunities to create in this environment are great, but it seems like no matter how much freedome I have, or how much I am given, there's always rules to follow. In the desert, you aren't supposed to play music in the public parks as it's too loud, however, you can, apparently, scream at your family, call people names, get wasted and leave trash everywhere. Or you can't and some people  have more self-freedom than others. So that's Freedom, a tale of conditions.

Freedom is a misnomer, it seems to be only structured at best,
Cages are bigger, and the air is bigger, but we’re just caged, like the rest
The activities are far more covert, and the undercover is deeper than that.
The smiles are so much bigger when the cage keepers hold the keys back.
The names are crossed out but the punishments the same again,
You can’t do what you want, or think how you think again.
The only real freedom is the moment you take your first or last breath.
The only real freedom is the moment you take that first our your last breath.

There are glimpses of self possession riding on the waves, or high above
Flying out the clouds on hanging on the kites, or in the trails, or in the sighs of laughter
But fleeting moments, fleeting moments
There are moments when you can see it, but you can’t feel it, can you? Not really.
You can try to touch liberty, you can try to see what freedom means, not knowing, really.
No one knows for real, not really. But I know jail keepers when I see them,
they’ll try to be well mannered, and they’ll try to be well statured
They’ll try to waltz with you into their prison walls.

Freedom’s not part of this world, it seems to be structured at best
Those who wish to speak their minds must pay the prices to the rest.
Presumed protectors of our rights are stabbers with pens in the night and
The blood runs deeper when they cage keepers try to push away the plans and
The names crossed out from freedom front sighing history at best.
No one can say how they feel, or how they think again, again.
None of the freedoms that we’re supposed to have exist for you and me.
None of the freedoms we’re supposed to live ever exist for you or for me.

You could imagine there’s some place where anyone can breathe and scream
You can imagine there’s some places where we can breathe or scream
You can’t imagine there’s a place where you can bleed and scream in freedom,
In freedom the only place free is in birth, death or in dreams.

Then there are moments when you can see it, but you can’t feel it.. not really.
Can’t touch it, maybe moments, in micro minutes, and moments, not really.
You can try to touch the liberty you can try to see what freedom means,not knowing, not really.
No one knows for real, not really. But I know jail keepers when I see them,
they’ll try to be well mannered, and they’ll try to be well statured
They’ll try to waltz with you into their prison walls.

Fly with me and ride the waves and fly with me and ride a wave and fly and ride. and fly...
(c) cathe b jones (words and music, just like all songs)