Last night was the gig. It was super fun and satisfying.

The band was supposed to rehearse at two; we didn’t actually start until ten of five. But we managed to get through the set for the first and only time as a band entire, and then we broke for dinner at seven.

I had a sandwich from Subway, then sat in the Broadway Building parking lot in the Jeep, listening to an audiobook off my iPod and working on my dad’s Fuzzyfeet. (Turns out he’s leaving on Tuesday now, so these gray wool slippers are suddenly a rush job. I thought I had another week or two to finish them!)

Since downbeat was at eight, I went back inside at 7:45 and loitered for a bit. The coffee shop was filling up nicely. Tahmi came, Christina came. Aimee was there. I sat on the stage step in front of the coffee roaster – which reeked of stale beans, but looked cool – and chatted with Tahmi and Christina. When I told them I was still suffering my three-day bitch of a never-ending panic attack, Tahmi gave me such a scowl of sympathy and understanding I nearly burst into tears on the very spot; Christina squeezed my hand. I love those women, damn it. Finally the place filled up and the musicians drifted to their places on the little stage.

Jonas – who does benefit concerts every year for the holidays – surprized me with his audience patter. I guess I should have known he was a comfortable performer but I’d never seen him in front of people before, having never worked with him nor seen his shows. He’s bright and funny and earnest. He’s really easy to be on stage with.

The stage was so tiny that Tim didn’t even fit on it, and stood instead on the floor with the audience. I was wedged between my mic stand, Jonas’ vocal monitor, and Greg’s music stand: I had literally one square foot of space to stand in. When I needed to sing out (and therefore back off the mic) I had to arch back very carefully to avoid toppling Greg’s music stand. (He and his keyboard were directly behind me; I doubt half the audience could even see him.)

Cafe Paradiso is an adorable little venue; they’d pushed all the tables and couches into the back and set up rows of seating. I think we probably had about 90 people in there. The audience was appreciative, polite, receptive, and responsive. It was a little weird; I hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t the nicest audience of all time. They were actually more like a theatre audience than a music audience, as far as my experience goes. (I have rarely done ‘legit’ musical performances. I’m used to singing for drunk people, unless I’m doing musical theatre.) They all sang in tune on the bhajan responses, they laughed at every joke, they were silent at the end of each song until the band broke and moved, and I was madly in love with them. Half of them even gave me a standing O after the Amazing Grace song (in which I wailed a whole entire verse by myself!), which pretty much made me want to have their baby.

Musically, there was one rough area – I don’t remember which song – where Jonas, in his enthusiasm, turned the beat around with his guitar. And I sang a particularly crappy decending line during an ad lib section of another song – I actually glanced at Tim to see if he’d wince, but of course he wouldn’t wince on stage! LOL! George forgot what key we were in for a few bars on another song. I didn’t notice any mistakes made by Tim, Kevin, or Greg, so if they made any they were miniscule. Apart from those slight and forgetable issues, the gig went really well. Considering we’d literally NEVER reahearsed together before that very day, we were fucking brilliant. The band sounded great, and with Tim Britton doing sound you know you’re clear as a bell.

As I said, I was still suffering my three-day bitch of a never-ending panic attack, so I had two or three oh-shit-this-is-it-I’m-gonna-fucking-DIE-RIGHT-HERE waves while on stage, and I know it showed in the amount of fidgeting I did. (I spent most of the gig fucking with my clothes, rings, mic, hair, etc. I couldn’t help it.) My heart was roaring along probably at about 120 BPM for most of the evening. My palms were sweating.

And you wanna know what pissed me off the most about it? Besides being physically uncomfortable, I mean? What pissed me off the most about having a panic attack on stage was that people might have interpreted it as NERVOUSNESS. Good God, I am so comfortable in front of a crowd I can’t even EXPRESS how comfortable I am, but I was fidgeting like a gradeschooler at a talent show and it bugged me some of them might misinterpret it. (Oh, hi there, ego! Howzitgoin’?)

Half-way through the song before my favorite song of the set, I saw Brett and my dad come in. (They’d said they weren’t coming. “Too religious,” they’d said. They’d gone to Mt. Hamill to gorge on fried chicken and beer for Chuckie’s b-day party.) During the comedic break betwen songs (Jonas really is pretty funny), my dad actually hollered something at me. I told the audience, “That’s my pop!” and they actually applauded him. (I suspect he got a hell of a kick out of that!) The two stayed for one and a half songs, then slipped out and went to the Regina’s bar to get away from all the roos. (Roos in this sense actually meaning “non-Christian spiritual people,” not “TM-ers,” because the folks in the room were all Totally Off The Program in terms of current TM Movement policy. I mean, they sang the responses to bhajans! CHANTING! ACK!)

After the show was over, many people came up and told me I had a great voice. Aimee said I nearly made her cry. Other people asked where they could see me again. Another said I’d given her chills. Another remembered me from The Diamondbacks, another remembered me from The Iowa Theatre Company’s Once Upon A Mattress fifteen years ago. All in all, I was deeply gratified.

I told Tahmi in the bathroom I didn’t deserve the amazing response I get from people. She essentially smacked me upside the head. It went something like this:

Me: “…don’t deserve it. I mean, I did well, but NO ONE does as well as the kind of response I get from audiences.”

Tahmi: “You’re too hard on yourself. No one hears the kinds of mistakes you’re talking about. You’re the queen of vibe, that’s what they’re responding to.”

Me: “Let me put it this way. Remember when you went to your lesson, and your teacher congratulated you on practicing AND YOU HADN’T EVEN PICKED UP YOUR VIOLIN? You didn’t deserve that–”

Tahmi (pertly): “–yes I did! And so do you.”

Now. How in the hell do you argue with that kind of logic, yo? She was so commited to the idea that we both deserved undeserved praise for simply being fabulous, merit or no, that my brain totally flipped trying to figure out how she could possibly even MEAN that (“What is the sound of one hand clapping?”). And it worked: I popped into a whole new paradigm. I am too hard on myself, I do love the praise, I do deserve it, and yes, I am the queen of vibe – she’s definitely right when she accuses me of that. I made a pact with myself years ago not to look down on my audiences, and she’d whacked me back into that headspace. Thank God.

(Let me insert here that I don’t think I suck. I think I’m fucking awesome. It’s just that I’m a realistic person, and I know there are literally thousands and thousands and thousands of better singers than I. And every single solitary time I ever perform, regardless of how well I do, I get bizarre amounts of gushing praise. People hug me, kiss me, tell me how my voice gives them chills and/or tears and/or goosebumps. They touch me, hug me, beam at me, and love me all out of proportion. I belong to them after I sing to them. The response is always totally out of proportion with what I’ve done, and I’ve always suspected the universe is playing some strange trick on me. I mean, it’s not that I think I shouldn’t be performing, it’s just that people literally GUSH, every time I sing. Period. It’s downright weird. I used to think it meant singing/performing was my dharma, but now I don’t know. Like I said in a previous post: perhaps it’s just the one perk I’m always guaranteed in this life. Whatever the hell it is, it’s really, really, really nice.)

There was a cake. I had a piece (Tahmi, wench, took my fork right out of my hand and ate most of the frosting off if it WITHOUT EVEN ASKING) and then we escaped. I can escape, just like that, because I’m just a vocalist and I don’t have any gear to schlep!

{continued}

Tonight I’ll be back over at TB’s. Apparently we’re re-recording a track called I Am because there’s something hideously wrong with it, something so insidious and evil that I FAILED TO NOTICE IT AT ALL WHEN I RECORDED BACK-UP VOCALS ON IT THE WEEK BEFORE LAST. What this means is that the CD master has NOT gone to Iowa City and is NOT being pressed as I type.

What it means is that J’s album project is way the hell behind schedule. (Which doesn’t really matter, in the long run. I just like to complain.)

Anyway, tonight we’re re-recording an entire song. I will probably not get home until after midnight. Tomorrow we’ll be rehearsing in the afternoon – the entire band, together, for the very first time – and gigging at night.

And while I’m singing “religious music” (to quote my dad), he and Bread will be eating dead deep-fried chickens at the Mt. Hammil Tap in honor of Chuckie’s birthday. (My father doesn’t even know Chuckie, that’s how much he loves those fried chickens!)

I’m just glad I don’t have to go to Mt. Hammil again. A girl can only have cocktails and a salad bar for dinner so often.

I managed to underdress rather spectacularly today, don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve got a long-sleeved top on, but Birks with no socks. It’s raining and overcast and cold out. I had to bring a sweater in from the Jeep to wrap my feet up in under my desk.

I went to J’s house today at 12:30 for a band photo. It’ll run in the Fairfield Weekly Reader on Thursday to announce our gig at Cafe Paradiso this Saturday. (Yes, I’m playing a coffee shop. I mean, it’s appropriate for the material – ain’t no loud blues gig, this.) I guess we’re rehearsing Thursday night. The whole band has literally never played together before; I met the violinist for the first time today.

J still wants to re-record one of the songs, and is bordering on miserable that an album recorded for less than a grand has flaws on it. He seems particularly depressed with his own singing, which is More. Than. Perfectly. Adequate. He mentioned something about wishing this project measured up to what it would be if he’d spent four months and twenty-five thousand dollars on it! G told him to revise his standards downward from ‘perfect’ to something more mundane like merely ‘excellent,’ and K told him that even bands who can afford multi-tracking often choose to record live in the studio, sacrificing the ability to punch in for the synergy of actually playing together. I told J he’s totally vata-deranged.

So I’ll be doing my first bona fide roo gig on Saturday: singing Western bhajans in a smoke-free, booze-free coffee shop. My God, I’ve turned into TSR!

I’m actually excited; it’ll be fun. But one must endeavor to engage in a healthy amount of self-mockery, eh?

Local jargon file is here.

I’m so proud of Steven! (Er, Derby.) I adore this song. It needs about half a million dollars worth of production, of course, but if it had that it would basically be a hit. It’s so fun to have your friends on your iPod. Seriously. Dude.
——–

Recording is finished!

For me, at least. I think they’ll still be laying down additional tracks (guitar solos, mandolin, flute, violin, etc.) and finishing production & mixing until Wednesday. Next Friday we’re meeting at TB’s for a pizza-slash-listening party. After that I have no idea how long it will be until I actually get a copy. I’m gonna get J to let me put a couple tracks up on my site, hopefully in their entirety.

J & Snow want me to come to Aspen, CO in May to perform the material for Sai Ma, but I have no idea if that’ll work out – I’m willing to go, of course, but airfare from CR to Aspen is probably prohibitively expensive, and landing in Denver would do me no good since it’s so far from Aspen and I ain’t takin’ no damn Grayhound bus up a mountain.

Sunday, the last day of recording for me, was a bhajan-style song… names of the Divine Mother (Lakshmi, Durga, Kali, etc.) in call-and-response format. J invited several additional background singers from his satsang group to make it sound fuller, so I was basically nothing more than a choir member. We spent literally HOURS punching in – about two thirds of the way through the song – to get a tricky tempo change nailed; we could have re-recorded the entire track about five times in the time it took them to nail the punch (*insert the heavy sigh of the eternally-beleagured-vocalist-who-waits-on-musicians HERE*). After we finally got it right, we did another track of response vocals, then we listened to it and I was finished with my part of this project.

I think I’m vaguely bummed it’s over, actually. I haven’t sung in so long. Maybe Snow and K and I really should start a band and do late 70’s/early 80’s covers; we’re all from the same planet and would have an absurd amount of fun. Or, as K said, “Fuck that! Let’s write originals!”

Anyway, after we finally finished recording I gave K a ride home. (MY GOD I LOVE K AND A. WHY DON’T I HANG OUT WITH THEM?!) (I see them once a year at Amma, and they live right smack dab in Fairfield; it’s not like it’s hard to find them fer chrissakes.) A was home so I went in and ended up spending a lovely fun hour there. (MY GOD I LOVE K AND A. WHY DON’T I HANG OUT WITH THEM?!) We talked about music and concerts and listened to CDs. I got to hear Walter Becker’s [song] “Book Of Liars” for the first time since I lost my cassette six years ago. They made me listen to some tracks off of the latest Duran Duran album. And K burned me a copy of Steven’s album ‘Let Me In’.

Steven! Is recording albums in his bedroom! In New York! How cute is that?! Actually, I guess his name’s Derby now, but either way – I sang with him when he was Steven – the album’s got some really nice moments on it. The first three tracks are solid, at any rate. I’m SO brutally amused. Steven (er, Derby) actually called when I was there – about five minutes after we started talking about him – so I got to say hi to him for the first time in about a decade. He sounds like he’s doing really well. A says she talks to him practically daily. Who knew?

A caught me up on the whole Steven/Ilana-Barbara/Katya/etc. crew; it was great to hear about everybody. Barbara STILL wants to record the a capella group (twelve years later!) and is threatening to get us (me and A) to NYC this August or so to actually accomplish it. I told Derby I’d record with him while I’m there if there’s time. HOW FUN WOULD THAT FUCKING BE?

Very. That’s the answer: VERY. FUCKING. FUN.

Anyway, go to Derby’s site and download some smooth tracks. Some of it’s pretty tasty, you might dig it!

This probably won’t make you laugh – it was something of a location joke (i.e. “you had to be there”) – but I nearly wet myself:

Last night, recording. We were in between takes. I’d been giving J grief about his love of reverb – he’s so used to hearing reverb on his voice that he’s bummed without it, and I HATE REVERB. (TB told me that’s unusual in a singer, but I don’t own any gear so I can’t HIDE MY FLAWS WITH REVERB.) (Reverb is for pussies and guitar players. I am so serious.)

Anyway, we were in between takes. It was quiet. I was sitting on the floor, K was nearby. TB was tweaking stuff on the laptop across the room. Recording gear was everywhere – instruments, thermoses of tea, wires, cables, mics, scores, notes, shaker eggs.

In the utter quiet, I muttered: “I hate reverb.”

K replied: “I hate compression.”

And then TB, from the console, as if queued: “I hate you.”

It became a little schtick: ‘I hate reverb I hate compression I hate you’, ‘I hate reverb I hate compression I hate you’, ‘I hate reverb I hate compression I hate you’.

Seriously – that shit was so funny!

No? Hmm. Guess ya hadda be there. 😉

Session number two at TB’s house last night went from six to 10:45. We got two songs in the can… even though you can’t really say “in the can” any more, since no one uses tape – it all goes straight onto a hard drive. But still, we recorded Om Namah Shivaya Om and Glory Glory, and I think they came out well. I’d like to lay down about eight (or ten) (or twelve) more vocal tracks on Om Namah Shivaya Om because the changes are awesome, but I doubt I’ll get to.

We hit the pocket much sooner last night than the night before, and the vibe in general was pretty good. We had good fun joking around, too – this group of folk is really sweet. I mean, they’re amazingly sweet, to themselves and each other, and the space is really gentle; I almost feel awkward around such subtle people because my sense of humor is so very base… but I’m the funny chick. I can’t help it. Sometimes there’s a conflict between people’s idea of ‘spiritual’ and my sense of humor but I simply fail to see it. If you’re laughing, it’s all good. (Well, as long as its not at the expense of someone’s heart.) I have a hard time being quiet when there’s an opportunity for a joke, and I simply like to hear people giggle.

J put new strings on his guitar the day before yesterday (a recording no-no, because strings take awhile to stretch out) and he had a hell of a time keeping his instrument in tune last night. About the fifth time he stopped to tune his B string, he said, “This B just won’t stay in tune.” And I said, ‘You should just take it off.” TB laughed and told me I’m a nut.

TB, if you don’t know about him, is a well-known Irish music expert. He plays all kinds of things, flutes and bagpipes and I think some stringed instrument of some kind. He also a master pipe maker. He can be observed wearing kilts around town. He’s toured pretty extensively, and is, in a nutshell, A Monster Player. He’s also a great recording engineer, who gives impeccable but never hurtful advice. (He can tell you you’re flat without your ego noticing, which is an incredibly difficult thing to manage.) He will happily be a human metronome for the duration of a nine-minute song. His patience is endless.

J dropped briefly into a rut last night on the first verse of Glory Glory, which is many many bars of just him, alone, on guitar and voice. For about ten takes, he either sang sharp or flat, or did something wonky on his guitar. He started to feel tense about it – who wouldn’t! – until finally TB told us all that this always happens at some point during recording, and then related a brief story about what recording hell really is: five hours, playing the same four bars over and over and OVER AND OVER, take eighty-seven. Gack. So to break the funk, Snow and J did some breathing exercise together (I don’t know what discipline it was, some pranic thing) and when we were ready to record again J looked up at me with those big brown eyes and I said, “Did you feel that? Just now? THAT was us beginning to rock. Before was PR – pre rock. Now we’re AR. Let us rock.” He grinned up at me and said, “Well, all right.” And we did just that.

I once recorded a radio commercial, and for the LIFE OF ME I could not sing in tune that day. It was two hours of agony for me and the recording engineer. I breathed, I drank water, I did yoga, warmed up, I jogged in place, and I could NOT fucking sing in tune. My tone was great, my phrasing was great… I just COULD NOT HEAR PITCH until playback. It was the most painful musical experience of my life. So I had total compassion for J. Seriously.

Not to mention that I don’t really sing in tune myself any more. Snort!

The cute Australian “audient” (singular for audience? hah!) was there again last night, and her name I learned! It’s Virginia, or Ananda Ma. She’s planning on going to school in Boulder next year, after she goes home and makes enough money to come back. She’s friends with the Hickeys and is just a fabulous gal in general. Her accent utterly slays me. So cute. She knows how to shoot guns and drink rum. All my guy friends would eat their hearts out if they met her.

K’s drum work was great; I think last night’s charts were more beat-oriented overall because he played some great stuff. (He’s super cute, too, when you say, “Dude, that thing you did there was hot!” He just smiles slowly, and says “thank you” really softly.)

Snow’s keyboard work was solid as always… he seems to think he kinda sucks on keys but I think I would have NOTICED BY NOW if he actually did suck. I miss having him on guitar of course, because he is your basic California guitar god, but I guess he’ll be adding solos later. I love having keys. It’s nice to be able to hear chords entire, as God intended them, rather than the series of inversions and non-chord ringing strings you always get with folk guitar. Not that I hate guitar, but stuff’s always more locked in for me chordally when I can hear a piano. Plus Snow’s just a tasty player. He’s still working on brightening up his tone vocally, but I don’t know if he’ll be able to. He’s got a smooth, breathy, blending voice by nature – I like it the way it is, but he feels he’s having a hard time blending with J and me. I don’t know that I agree, but I tried to soften my own voice when singing backup with him last night, but I forgot to pay attention during playback to see if I’d succeeded in blending with him better.

J continues to remind me of Cat Stevens vocally. The tunes he writes are totally different, but he’s definitely got a Cat thing going on with the way he sings, and his actual voice is similar. Which I like.

I had some pitch problems in a few spots, and I turned diva and threw a bit of a fit at one point because I didn’t know the song well enough to feel I should be recording it. But they all told me to get over it and go for it, and I did, and over all I feel pretty good about the results. I’m unutterably hard on myself, and cringe every single time I’m even a tiny bit out of tune, or sloppy, or miss an attack… I find my mind divided between the drowsy groovyness of a good experience with the process of recording, and the analytical vivisection of the recording itself. “Wow, that FELT great! But man, I suck!” is a hard dichotomy to sustain, yet somehow I always seem to manage.

We’ll be doing it again tonight. I work ’til six, grab some drive-thru, and get to TB’s by six. On Friday I am SO SLEEPING IN.