Record Record 8
I’m working on my first album of new songs since 1992. Things have changed. This is an ongoing diary of observations from this project.
05/28/24: But, I NEED This!
FIGHTING MAN FROM HEAD TO TOE
In 1965, while the US was in Viet Nam, Thunderball was in movie theaters. Sean Connery was fighting evil in a wet suit. Hasbro was selling Frogman GI Joe. I was seven.
I needed Frogman GI Joe.
I already had one Joe, and one Joe was good. My Joe was in the US Army. He came with his standard issue fatigues, boots, and a dog tag the size of a serving tray.
In real life combat, Joe’s dog tag would’ve either prevented a chest wound or smacked him in the face while running, making him easy pickings for the enemy.
GI Joe was, as Hasbro made loudly clear, not a doll. Joe was an action figure, specifically “America’s Movable Fighting Man”. NOT A DOLL.
America’s Movable Fighting Man sure enough had some fundamental features in common with dolls, though. For instance, beneath those fatigues, Joe was naked. To be sure, where there could’ve been reproductive organs, GI Joe’s naughty place was smooth, so any potential lawsuits for Hasbro were averted.
Not-a-doll-Joe could be dressed in other gear. Hasbro had other gear. Frogman GI Joe was the one I wanted.
I didn’t just want the Frogman. I NEEDED THE FROGMAN.
SIGNATURE MODEL
I love guitars. I have loved guitars for a very long time. I’ve owned a lot of different ones in my life, but there are a few that I’ve had for decades and expect to have for the duration.
No one would ever mistake me for a “great” or even particularly good guitarist. I use guitars to write music and I was Guadalcanal Diary’s rhythm guitarist.
A rhythm guitar player, at least in my case, is a person in a group who doesn’t know a lot of fancy licks or leads, but can bang away at chords in some relation to the beat.
In the best situations in rock bands like Guadal, you’d want another guitar player who knew all the fancy stuff, and we had a weapon named Jeff Walls. Besides being a gifted songwriter and everything else, Jeff was without question the best guitarist I’ve ever played with and one of the best I’ve ever heard.
I’ll expand on my absent and beloved friend in a future piece, but for now I’ll just say Jeff did all the cool guitar stuff in Guadalcanal and I did not.
Guitar manufacturers like to sell guitars with artist’s names on them. I suppose the marketing is simple: buy a Fender Telecaster Jimmy Page model with mirrors stuck all over the finish and you’ll be arguing with someone who looks like Robert Plant in no time.
If there was ever a Jeff Walls commemorative guitar, it would have to have a Danelectro neck, a Stratocaster body and some way to switch between six and twelve strings with a toggle switch. Some luthier should take this as a challenge.
I’m not attracted to artists model guitars when shopping, but I could be. If I thought a guitar would make me sound like Richard Thompson without putting in the actual work, I might buy it.
I confess to brand loyalty. I’ve usually owned Gibsons and I still do. I bought my very first Fender Telecaster just this year, mainly because when I started shuffling toward this current record project, I decided to learn to play guitar a little better.
Playing better, for me, included trying out different styles. This was easy because the only guitar style I had was chord-bangery.
I love Bakersfield-style playing like Don Rich and Nashville-style like Brent Mason. Those flavors of playing are very far from anything I’ve ever done, so that was appealling.
I decided to learn what I could in those styles. To do that, you want a Telecaster. Boy, are there a lot of Telecasters. Look at Reverb.com some time.
I got a 2003 Fender “Highway One” Tele. It’s perfect for me. No frills, just a Tele. And, surprise, I actually started to get the hang of the Bakersfield style. Buck Owens is not going to rise from the grave and anoint me a Buckaroo, but I can do some Don Rich licks.
See, I didn’t just want a Telecaster. I NEEDED ONE.
DO RE ME
I can sing reasonably well. I have sung before large audiences, tiny audiences, and no audience except for a mirror. I’ve sung into old cassette recorders, in home studios, project studios, and famous studios.
One might imagine me just wandering around bursting into song, perhaps in line at CVS. I don’t, but I could. Maybe I’ll start.
When sound recording began, sounds were directed at a metal horn which magically turned the vibrations into inscriptions on a wax cylinder, and later, a disc.
Modern microphone technology dates back to the 1850s. In the 1870s David Edward Hughes invented the first carbon microphone, which eventually replaced the earlier transmittors used in telephones.
Hughes demonstrated his working device in the mid 1870s, but of course this didn’t deter busy criminal Thomas Edison from patenting it himself in 1877.
Microphones really didn’t make the scene in recording until the twenties, and record companies who used the technology wove it into their marketing. Lots of old 78’s have some charming variation of “electrically recorded” on the labels and the sleeves. People who collect them love this. (Not me. Ok, hell yes, me.)
CHECKPOINT CHARLIE
Consider this a cautionary tale. If you are undertaking a project like mine, i.e., recording music with microphones for public consumption in a space not intended for the purpose, there are snares you should be aware of.
In my previous project studio, I used an Audio Technica AT4033 to record vocals. I don’t recall who recommended it, but it’s a good and inexpensive all-purpose mic. I still have it and I did most of the Dazzle Dudes podcast with it.
When I started this new album, I solicited recommendations from the most knowledgeable source I know, the tireless Mark Williams who my gentle readers may recognize as the mixer and co-producer of this project.
Mark: “The 4033 is a perfectly good mic.”
Me: “Yeah, but I feel that I should up my game a bit.”
Mark: “Well of course there’s a wide range once you consider the specifications…”
I stop listening after “specifications” so I miss all the stuff about SPL, capsules, and cardioid.
With all the years I spent in fancy studios, I never paid attention to sound engineering. I didn’t care then. I do now, but I’ve missed too much and have no context.
I realize that I do remember some terminology, so I try one out:
Me: “Well, I’m thinking about headroom.”
Mark: “Ok, what about headroom?”
Me: “Well obviously I’m going to need to get some.”
Mark finally decides that he’s sharing precious information with a cinderblock, and he starts suggesting specific mics.
Mark: “Most of the mics you’ve sung into were probably Neumann U 87s.”
Me: “So I need to get one then?”
Mark: “Sure, but they’re pretty expensive. Around $3700 retail for a new one.”
Murray: “The fu-”
Mark: “Luckily, 87s are so iconic that lots of companies try to duplicate them with varying degrees of success. One that I’ve heard that sounds really good is an sE2200. I think they go for around $400.”
Me: “That’s more like it.”
I buy an sE2200. Mark is right, at least to the point that my primitive ears can detect.
The End.
Haha, just kidding. I start reading way, way too much about mics. Neumann, Gefell, Telefunken. All those mics are highly respected German precision instruments and, to quote every review on the internet “are essentials in any pro mic closet.”
Mic closet. Mic drawer around here.
Neumann U 47, U 67, U 87; Telefunken 259, TF51; Gefell UM92S. Tube or not? Tubes add warmth, don’t they? What, you don’t want warmth?
Most of these mics start in the $3,000s and top off somewhere around $12,000, except the ones that have a provenance.
“Stevie Nicks recorded “Rhiannon” on this very mic. $35,000.00, shipping $100.”
That’s an affordable car price. I’m not paying that for a mic with spit from the 70s in it.
But- a Neumann U 87? $3750, plus tax? Hmmm. Still “no.”
Something happens, though. It’s sinister, nefarious. It creeps in when you spend all night comparing Reverb listings or Sweetwater prices.
YOU NEED IT.
Never mind that the real reason you don’t sound so great in the headphones is because you haven’t sung daily for 30 years and you’re as rusty as an abandoned tractor.
Nope. It’s the mic.
This, dear reader, is G.A.S: Gear Acquisition Syndrome.
It’s real, it’s coming for you, and it won’t stop until you’ve mortgaged your home.
You have been warned.
NEXT TIME: People, people who need people…
