He had to go, but he never said a word. He arrived at the studio on a clear Spring night- a quiet, soft-spoken, unassuming presence. He didn’t need to say much; he spoke volumes through his horn.
DP and I had been working on a ballad and experimented with a variety of instrumentation before deciding on flugelhorn for a simple eight bar melodic solo. We wanted to capture the tenderness of the song by using something warm and resonant, with innocent overtones. Yup, flugelhorn was the ticket- it was time to get out the rolodex and make some calls. We found our guy and immediately booked the session.
Our horn player was an outstanding musician, first-rate in every sense of the word. He played it all- jazz, classical, pop, rock- you name it. He was so musical and incredibly tasty; his ears were truly golden. I couldn’t wait to start the session- it was a foregone conclusion that I was going to savor every moment of the two hours we had booked. These were the moments I cherished the most; these gifted session players lifted my notes off the page effortlessly and brought my music to life. My notes, my lines and my creations would remain still and lifeless if not for the infusion of the ingenious musical voices that float ephemerally across the studio threshold. I had no doubt that DP and I were about to be transported to celestial planes. All this cat needed was a couple of minutes to tune-up and we would be on our way!
What happened next was rather shocking. We didn’t see any celestial bodies, we were left dangling over a landfill in South Jersey. We started rolling tape when we knew the mix was fine in the cans and the click track was audible. His lines were perfect, but his intonation was off. Way off- way, way off. What in the world was going on? We did more takes, and DP began to utter the now famous phrase “I like what I’m hearing.” His lines were so beautiful- but his intonation was still so off, so horribly, terribly, wretchedly off! We couldn’t understand why this was happening, it didn’t make any sense. This was a gifted, top shelf musician. The song was a simple, straight ahead ballad. The changes weren’t complicated: CMAJ7, B-11, A-7, E-7, CMAJ7, B-11, A-7, D7 (sus4,no5th)- easy, diatonic changes in the key of G. In fact, this was one of the few times I wrote such an easy set of changes. The melody called for it, so what was the problem? What was the problem???
DP in his inimitable wisdom pulled another magic trick out of his hat. It was a simple, easy stall tactic that would hopefully enable everyone to regroup. He didn’t want our guy to know how bad he sounded (and believe me it was BAD!!!). It would have embarrassed him, and it might have made him feel insecure and inadequate. No, DP pulled out a classic play from his Producer Playbook. He blamed our inability to capture the perfect take on technical problems, he blamed the studio equipment and castigated the board for its failure to perform. “Hey man, I’m really sorry we’re having so many problems with the board tonight, we’re gonna need a few minutes with our engineer to fix these technical glitches”, he said. “Please help yourself to a cup of coffee, stretch your legs and feel free to use our restroom which is located right outside the main door.” “Oh great”, said our guy, “I’ve had to go ever since I got here but I felt funny saying something.” Huh? Excuse me? What!!!! You had to go? You had to relieve yourself but “felt funny saying something”? You didn’t empty your bladder before the session started because you happen to be shy? Shy about things like bodily functions? I didn’t even think it was possible to encounter a musician who was shy about such things. Our reputations do proceed us, and I’ve been around musicians all my life. They’re NEVER shy- they let everything fly! Oh my god, we would have never guessed that this was the problem. Wow!
DP pretended to fool with some knobs and faders for a few minutes and we resumed the session shortly thereafter. Needless to say our brilliant yet shy musician did his thing, returned promptly, picked up his horn and nailed the solo in one take. It took all of twenty-six seconds, and we had about eighteen minutes to spare before our session time was up. The solo was gorgeous, and it tugged on our heartstrings the way we had hoped it would. Suffice it to say that we learned another valuable lesson that night. Whenever we schedule a session with a freelance player the first thing we do is point out the location of the restroom and strongly encourage use of the facilities before we track a single note. You’re never going to get a good result (especially from a brass player with a full bladder) if he or she is squirming uncomfortably with eyeballs rolling backwards. The bottom line is this: you can’t blow if you’ve got to go!
So go- please go, for god’s sake go if you happen to cross the threshold of Studio B. Of course my recommendation stands for everyone else as well.
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