My mother-in-law is halfway between Chicago and Atlanta; as I mentioned yesterday, she will be visiting my wife and me for three days. I have exactly 1.5 hours until her arrival. This brief window may be the only 90 minutes over the course of the next 72 hours during which I can chisel away at any of the Redline Project goals.
What does that mean? Unfortunately, less blogging and more recording. Ta-ta for the moment.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Normal Procedure
I deemed a certain song recording complete about two weeks ago. Since then, I have opened up the file at least a dozen times, tweaking or finessing a small detail with every pass. I will certainly peruse the file twelve or more times between now and the album release, and I am sure I will find something else to adjust on each occasion.
Is this normal procedure?
Often I open up a nearly complete track and let it play on repeat for the better part of a morning. I listen carefully, I listen as a consumer, and I block out the sound altogether, in that order. Sometimes I notice a subtle issue or mistake in the mix, sometimes I observe nothing.
Is this neurotic?
Whenever I make good progress on a recording, I fly around the house in a bouncy iteration of unadulterated bliss. Without fail, no more than 12 hours pass before I hit a sharp feeling of depression, and I become certain that this project will never cross the finish line.
Am I insane?
My wife's mother will be staying with us for the next three days, which means two things: a lovely visit and virtually no progress made on the Redline Project. I will try to keep the posts going, so feel free to check in.
Is this normal procedure?
Often I open up a nearly complete track and let it play on repeat for the better part of a morning. I listen carefully, I listen as a consumer, and I block out the sound altogether, in that order. Sometimes I notice a subtle issue or mistake in the mix, sometimes I observe nothing.
Is this neurotic?
Whenever I make good progress on a recording, I fly around the house in a bouncy iteration of unadulterated bliss. Without fail, no more than 12 hours pass before I hit a sharp feeling of depression, and I become certain that this project will never cross the finish line.
Am I insane?
My wife's mother will be staying with us for the next three days, which means two things: a lovely visit and virtually no progress made on the Redline Project. I will try to keep the posts going, so feel free to check in.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Collecting Mixing Tips
The daunting task of mixing raw files into balanced audio presentations has begun, and I could not be more lost. Not only is every track of mine clunky and unpolished, but the peaks all redline and the softs are downright flimsy.
There is way too much to learn in these brief months. Curses.
I much prefer to accomplish on my own strength, and it takes me a while to humble myself and ask for assistance. When I finally reach out to a fellow human being for help, I am often stunned by the kindness that is extended.
An example: Jan Fischer, a faithful reader of this blog and a stellar musician, offered to take a look at a track, make some fixes, and describe what he did to achieve a good mix. When I expressed gratitude for his willingness to devote time and talent to the project, he responded, "That's what friends are for."
Another example: I called Nick Akin today, a budding southern gospel musician and recordist for whom I have completed some graphic design projects, to inquire if he offers mixing lessons. Though he does not teach for hire, he invited me to his studio so I can watch and learn as his band hones their latest songs. He spent a half hour on the phone imparting tips and tricks for massaging a recording to aural harmony, all while spouting encouragements like, "Just keep at it, I know your stuff is going to sound awesome." He's never heard me play a note, but I somehow still felt fuzzy and warm.
I am struck today by the generosity of these friends, by the many who dedicate time to reading my daily ramblings, and to the countless who have taken a moment to drop an encouraging line. You are all a marvelous inspiration to a guy who can be stingy with and self-consumed during all available free time. Thank you for reminding me the importance and beauty of generosity.
There is way too much to learn in these brief months. Curses.
I much prefer to accomplish on my own strength, and it takes me a while to humble myself and ask for assistance. When I finally reach out to a fellow human being for help, I am often stunned by the kindness that is extended.
An example: Jan Fischer, a faithful reader of this blog and a stellar musician, offered to take a look at a track, make some fixes, and describe what he did to achieve a good mix. When I expressed gratitude for his willingness to devote time and talent to the project, he responded, "That's what friends are for."
Another example: I called Nick Akin today, a budding southern gospel musician and recordist for whom I have completed some graphic design projects, to inquire if he offers mixing lessons. Though he does not teach for hire, he invited me to his studio so I can watch and learn as his band hones their latest songs. He spent a half hour on the phone imparting tips and tricks for massaging a recording to aural harmony, all while spouting encouragements like, "Just keep at it, I know your stuff is going to sound awesome." He's never heard me play a note, but I somehow still felt fuzzy and warm.
I am struck today by the generosity of these friends, by the many who dedicate time to reading my daily ramblings, and to the countless who have taken a moment to drop an encouraging line. You are all a marvelous inspiration to a guy who can be stingy with and self-consumed during all available free time. Thank you for reminding me the importance and beauty of generosity.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Question Without Answers
While studying art in college, a professor posed an important question.
When is a piece of art done?
Oil paints are malleable for a long time after they are on the canvas, and there is always the option of painting over whatever has dried. One can work, and rework, and redo again ad nauseum. When should an artist sign the lower right hand corner and call it a day?
The question stuck with me as I began a career in graphic design. In commercial art that is driven by budgets and deadlines, the determining factor of a piece's completion often is dictated by the number of remaining items on the project list or amount of billable hours already accrued. That is not a satisfying answer though, because the urgency of the moment should never serve as a litmus test for the completeness of artworks.
As the Redline Project album begins to take shape, I am developing a twitchy habit of cycling through each track, finding something to tweak or adjust, saving and closing, opening the next, and repeating the process. On ocassion, I have de-adjusted a facet I readjusted the day before and then re-readjusted the same detail the following day. I am tending towards obsessiveness as this project rolls along.
I have no answers for this. Feedback is helpful and welcome.
When is a piece of art done?
Oil paints are malleable for a long time after they are on the canvas, and there is always the option of painting over whatever has dried. One can work, and rework, and redo again ad nauseum. When should an artist sign the lower right hand corner and call it a day?
The question stuck with me as I began a career in graphic design. In commercial art that is driven by budgets and deadlines, the determining factor of a piece's completion often is dictated by the number of remaining items on the project list or amount of billable hours already accrued. That is not a satisfying answer though, because the urgency of the moment should never serve as a litmus test for the completeness of artworks.
As the Redline Project album begins to take shape, I am developing a twitchy habit of cycling through each track, finding something to tweak or adjust, saving and closing, opening the next, and repeating the process. On ocassion, I have de-adjusted a facet I readjusted the day before and then re-readjusted the same detail the following day. I am tending towards obsessiveness as this project rolls along.
I have no answers for this. Feedback is helpful and welcome.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Waxing Romantic
The Redline Project is not intended to be a venue for gushing oozy love. Mostly, I have kept the blog free from the details of my personal life, except where I deemed those specifics to be related to the project in important ways. Tonight is one of those instances that a taste of the personal is in order.
I am crazy in love with my wife. In a world filled with hissy, demanding spouses that wield their whims upon their partners, my better half is remarkably selfless and downright stellar. A poignant example: she not only puts up with the daily bouquet of hours I dedicate to the Redline Project music and blog, she champions the cause by offering a listening ear, encouraging feedback, and endless support. Margaret, you are a remarkable human being and a marvelous wife. The seams of my heart barely hold together as love continues to flood its chambers.
Why the gush after all this time? I experienced euphoria tonight as Margaret graced one of my recordings with her magnificent cello talent. Between the two of us, she is in every way the true talent, the real musician. Simply stated, this project would not exist if it were not for the gracious gifts of time and patience this woman offers me. These praises are barely adequate and long overdue.
I am humbled by Margaret's musicality and gratified by her presence on "Sing Silently," a song that will serve as the last track of the album. You are going to fall in love with her musical offering; I can't wait for you to hear it.
I am crazy in love with my wife. In a world filled with hissy, demanding spouses that wield their whims upon their partners, my better half is remarkably selfless and downright stellar. A poignant example: she not only puts up with the daily bouquet of hours I dedicate to the Redline Project music and blog, she champions the cause by offering a listening ear, encouraging feedback, and endless support. Margaret, you are a remarkable human being and a marvelous wife. The seams of my heart barely hold together as love continues to flood its chambers.
Why the gush after all this time? I experienced euphoria tonight as Margaret graced one of my recordings with her magnificent cello talent. Between the two of us, she is in every way the true talent, the real musician. Simply stated, this project would not exist if it were not for the gracious gifts of time and patience this woman offers me. These praises are barely adequate and long overdue.
I am humbled by Margaret's musicality and gratified by her presence on "Sing Silently," a song that will serve as the last track of the album. You are going to fall in love with her musical offering; I can't wait for you to hear it.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
That Bad
The first severe weather of the summer swirled through Atlanta today, drenching the local bike trails and all the other outdoor distractions that would have otherwise loved to lure me away from the Redline Project. If it weren't for this mountain of a hobby, the rain would have me pursing my lips and humphing along through the day.
Instead, I jumped at the opportunity to get some serious work accomplished on the recordings. Drums poorly miked and sticks in hand, I dove in at 10:00 this morning. It is now 7:30 pm, which means I pushed through a plumper period of music today than I usually squeeze out of any given workday. It goes without saying that I am clearly motivated by the former.
With this many hours logged in the recording studio, I am going to keep my remarks brief, limiting them to the following disdain.
Once again I am shocked by the honesty of recording. On many occasions during these nine hours, I performed what seemed like a good take. Alas, the playback had another tale to tell.
Am I really that bad of a musician? My mother always had complimentary things to say about my abilities, but somehow the tape offers a different opinion. I am suddenly struck with deep respect for the pros who churn out excellence in one take. Bravo to all of you. I am starting to understand why I never made it as a gigging musician.
Instead, I jumped at the opportunity to get some serious work accomplished on the recordings. Drums poorly miked and sticks in hand, I dove in at 10:00 this morning. It is now 7:30 pm, which means I pushed through a plumper period of music today than I usually squeeze out of any given workday. It goes without saying that I am clearly motivated by the former.
With this many hours logged in the recording studio, I am going to keep my remarks brief, limiting them to the following disdain.
Once again I am shocked by the honesty of recording. On many occasions during these nine hours, I performed what seemed like a good take. Alas, the playback had another tale to tell.
Am I really that bad of a musician? My mother always had complimentary things to say about my abilities, but somehow the tape offers a different opinion. I am suddenly struck with deep respect for the pros who churn out excellence in one take. Bravo to all of you. I am starting to understand why I never made it as a gigging musician.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Kid in a Candy Store
When I was in college, studying classical music at Gordon College and taking lessons in jazz drumming at Berklee School of Music, I used to practice for three hours a day.
I have to admit, practicing is a bit of a stiff word for at least half of what occurred during those morning, evening, or late night stretches. For the first hour hour or two, I was an obedient pupil, drilling exercises from classic manuals like Goldberg's Modern School for Snare Drum, Stone's Stick Control, Bellson's Modern Reading Text in 4/4, or Reed's Syncopation. The first 30 minutes were great fun, the next 30 were fine, and the final 30 were a molasses slog.
When the notes became ants on a page that seemed to squirm off their five-lined perches, I would file the texts into slots on the bookshelf and reach for an antiquated pair of brown studio headphones. After plugging the textured 1/4" jack into a 1980s Kenwood receiver, I would pop a colorful disc into the tray and maaneuver my way back to the helm of my nitron yellow Eames drum set.
Decibels pumping through the headphones and sticks firing away, I would get lost in the sounds of the combos of the 1950s and 1960s. Staples included Miles Davis recordings with Jimmy Cobb at the tubs, Herbie Hancock with drummer Tony Williams, Red Garland accompanied by Art Taylor, and McCoy Tyner collaborating with Elvin Jones. For the duration of these practice-room sessions, I lost all touch with reality. I may as well have been in the bands, burning grooves in Harlem with the original innovators until the twilight hours.
Diplomas and desk jobs later, those years all but faded from memory. But today I had an unexpected date with nostalgia.
As posted yesterday, I set up the same Eames kit in Studio Redline (also known as my basement and laundry room) to attempt an acoustic drum cut on one of the final project tracks. I have recorded some analog percussion - a cymbal here, a djembe there - but so far all drum set appearances have been MIDI stand-ins. I kept off-putting analog drum set recording so I could lay down the instrument for the entire album in one swoop.
The time has dawned for a grand Redline Project drum fest, and I left the yellow drums set up yesterday in honor of this weekend's goals. Like a child drooling at glass vats of colorful, chewy bits of sugar, the drums had me salivating all day, glancing over every ten minutes for a quick ogle at the shimmery cymbals and matte yellow handcrafted drums. At the stroke of five (or perhaps a few minutes before) I popped Logic open, selected a track from the Redline Project finals, and sat down on the familiar blue throne, headphones donned.
In an instant, I was transported to those sparkly days of being lost in the recordings, only this time, my mind basked in the sound of my own music. Marvelous.
There is no doubt that the accumulated years allowed rust to eat away at my drumming muscles. (I can say with sober honesty that I stunk it up today.) But creating rhythms at the set pulsed life itself through my veins. Perhaps the Redline Project will inspire me to chase away the dust bunnies and try to find a bit of rhythm once again.
I have to admit, practicing is a bit of a stiff word for at least half of what occurred during those morning, evening, or late night stretches. For the first hour hour or two, I was an obedient pupil, drilling exercises from classic manuals like Goldberg's Modern School for Snare Drum, Stone's Stick Control, Bellson's Modern Reading Text in 4/4, or Reed's Syncopation. The first 30 minutes were great fun, the next 30 were fine, and the final 30 were a molasses slog.
When the notes became ants on a page that seemed to squirm off their five-lined perches, I would file the texts into slots on the bookshelf and reach for an antiquated pair of brown studio headphones. After plugging the textured 1/4" jack into a 1980s Kenwood receiver, I would pop a colorful disc into the tray and maaneuver my way back to the helm of my nitron yellow Eames drum set.
Decibels pumping through the headphones and sticks firing away, I would get lost in the sounds of the combos of the 1950s and 1960s. Staples included Miles Davis recordings with Jimmy Cobb at the tubs, Herbie Hancock with drummer Tony Williams, Red Garland accompanied by Art Taylor, and McCoy Tyner collaborating with Elvin Jones. For the duration of these practice-room sessions, I lost all touch with reality. I may as well have been in the bands, burning grooves in Harlem with the original innovators until the twilight hours.
Diplomas and desk jobs later, those years all but faded from memory. But today I had an unexpected date with nostalgia.
As posted yesterday, I set up the same Eames kit in Studio Redline (also known as my basement and laundry room) to attempt an acoustic drum cut on one of the final project tracks. I have recorded some analog percussion - a cymbal here, a djembe there - but so far all drum set appearances have been MIDI stand-ins. I kept off-putting analog drum set recording so I could lay down the instrument for the entire album in one swoop.
The time has dawned for a grand Redline Project drum fest, and I left the yellow drums set up yesterday in honor of this weekend's goals. Like a child drooling at glass vats of colorful, chewy bits of sugar, the drums had me salivating all day, glancing over every ten minutes for a quick ogle at the shimmery cymbals and matte yellow handcrafted drums. At the stroke of five (or perhaps a few minutes before) I popped Logic open, selected a track from the Redline Project finals, and sat down on the familiar blue throne, headphones donned.
In an instant, I was transported to those sparkly days of being lost in the recordings, only this time, my mind basked in the sound of my own music. Marvelous.
There is no doubt that the accumulated years allowed rust to eat away at my drumming muscles. (I can say with sober honesty that I stunk it up today.) But creating rhythms at the set pulsed life itself through my veins. Perhaps the Redline Project will inspire me to chase away the dust bunnies and try to find a bit of rhythm once again.
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