Music Before the Money

In the early 1970’s “lay people.” or ordinary musicians began to record music. The reason they never recorded earlier was that the recording business was the domain of the record companies and ordinary people never got near one. However, that said, radio stations recorded their fair share of musicians, especially the big ones, because they had the facilities for live recording.

The other stickler for bands was money. Bands never made much money and almost every member had jobs. This was to pay for the gear and traveling. However, if you remember the movie, That Thing You Do, these guys “cut a record” because one of the members had a distant family member who recorded church services.

My first recording was in 1978 and cost $500 to do a ‘45 record. This included 200 records and 8 hours studio time on a 24 track Studer. An album cost $5,000 for 1,000 LP’s and it was a “quick dip,” meaning that I had to have my act together before going in. The bottom line was, it wasn’t a very good album. And although I owned the  1/2″ master I only “rented” the 2″ – Scotch tape.

The computer has completely changed the way recording is done. Tracks are recorded and cut and pasted with a mouse click. I imagine Paul McCartney said the same about 24 track recording when it came out because Sergeant Pepper was done on a 4-Track deck. This meant they had to “bounce tracks,” back and forth to get the desired effects, an overdubbing technique invented by Les Paul and  used extensively by Buddy Holly.

In addition “cut and pasting” were real in old-time recording. Tape was cut on special cutting tables with razor blades and spliced together to tighten up choruses. I remember one session where we had a great recording but the bridge sucked so we literally “cut it out.”

In the 1970’s we “invented a banjo.” This was achieved by stuffing cloth under the bridge of my Hummingbird to deaden the strings. It was a muffled sound but we mixed it with a lot of treble so it sounded like a passable banjo. In 1985 we borrowed a brand new Emulator with 5 1/5″ disks from a producer who owed us a favor. These disks contained actual samples of band instruments from a Los Angeles studio and this is how we did the orchestra background. Even then we thought that was “cheating” but it sounded so great we didn’t care. A comparable string quartet with a brass ensemble would have set us back around $2000 for the session. The Emulator was a freebee for 8 hours.

Today’s software has the power of 1,000+ Emulators and almost every sound you can imagine. You don’t have to work on the filters of a synth to get a portamento ( delayed tone slide) you can sculpture the sounds on the screen, if you doesn’t like presets, that is. And then you can bounce tracks until the cows come home.

My vocals always sucked – to me. It was thin. With the gear they have now I could have fattened up the voice and added harmonies with the exact breath expression.

But at the end of it all, computer or Scotch tape, recording was the least thrilling time I had in music. I would practice for live gigs but had a tough time in the studio because going over things again and again bored the crap out of me. And that’s probably why I was never successful at. However, looking back, I would have taped a lot more live performances.

Yes, computers have made it easy and cheap to get the music out to the people. And now wth YouTube you can record a video and becaome famous even if the music companies have passed you by. But you still have to have great songs and a computer can’t do this – yet.

“I’m gonna knock on your door
Ring on your bell
Tap on your window, too
If you don’t come out tonight, when the moon is bright
I’m gonna knock and ring and tap until you do.”

(Aaron Schroeder, Sid Wayne)

I still have my first 45RPM record, Eddie Hodges I’m Gonna Knock on Your Door. Although it came out in 1961 my aunt gave it to my a few years later, just before The Beatles came to America. Eddie was a child star who was drafted and went to Vietnam. When he came back from the war he became a child psychologist in New Orleans and stayed during Hurricane Katrina. Funny how one scratchy 45 tells a story, isn’t it?

At one time I was buying a 45 a week with my paper route money: Paul Revere and the Raiders, The Turtles, The Rolling Stones (I still have Ruby Tuesday).

The glamor behind 45’s was that, until downloading mp3’s came along – you could sample the band, a hit and a “B” side, for 98 cents without having to fork over $5 for the whole album. Because, with exception to The Beatles and their caliber of bands, most albums in the ’60’s were one hit song and a pile of filler tunes, sometimes played by studio musicians as in the case of Gary Lewis and the Playboys, Dino Desi and Billy and many groups who got into the scene because of their looks or were sons of movie stars.

I recorded 4 of the little records with the hole. The first was in 1978 and when it came in I spent hours staring at it. I liked it so much I made 4 more.

Not that getting it played was easy. I got modest airplay because my label never had a distribution deal but hearing my song on the radio was a great kick.

The lowly 45 still exists in places where jukeboxes will not give way to the new technology. Because there’s something magical about watching a 45 being picked out its rack and placed on the turntable by a set of calipers followed by th low the rumble as the Wurlitzer speakers belt out the opening bars.

The 45 Adapters are from Chuck Miller’s site:

In the ’60’s and ’70’s, “cutting a record” was the Holy Grail of musicians. To be able to drive down the street with your song playing on the radio was the equivalent of climbing Mount Everest. You could die after the song ended and your life was complete. There was never any thought about monetary compensation or who owned what percentage of the royalties. It was about the feeling and knowing that people were listening to something you created. Unlike the great artists and musicians of the 1800’s you did not have to be dead to be recognized.

The studio itself was similar to the inside of a “boogey van”: plush carpets on the floor, and sometimes on the walls and ceilings. The whole world was revealed to the engineer through the triple-paned picture window in front of the console and the huge speakers suspended on each side of the room.

My first studio experience was called a “quick dip” and was done at Total Sound West Studios in Vancouver. For $500 (1978 money) you could get in for the day and have 2 songs recorded. Then it was pressed onto a 45 and you got 250 of those to keep. You didn’t get to keep the 2″ tape but they gave you the master. It was not an unpleasant experience but – as I found myself doing many times later – everyone watched the clock. The producer was renting the studio and his profit depended on the time. He was getting the 2 musicians for $25 a pop.

The musicians we had were great and a harmonica player showed up and played for $10, just enough to get a few beers afterwards before his next gig. It was his harp that made the songs.

It was good experience. I knew my songs and could sing them in the first couple of tries, because that’s all we had. The guitar player doubled on bass and the drummer used the studio kit. Because the producer was a rocker the songs were mixed drum-heavy.

And, y’know, they didn’t turn out badly at all. I guess I received a total of $97 in royalties over a couple of years and several TV appearances so, all-in-all, it was a great experience. I also got more work because I was a”Recording Act.”

I later went on to do an album – also a “quick dip”- which also received some airplay from the FM stations and a few TV spots. And some country DJ in Edmonton played a cut off the album for almost a year.