Chapter 11
At first, the novelty of being in the studio had us all feeling excited and eager to begin the process of recording our music.
After finally making it through pre-production, we were more than ready to actually start recording the songs that would be on our first album—even though we didn’t even have a name for it yet.
Jeff assured us that would all come with time.
We agreed to track our songs live, meaning we were going to record all the songs together.
Because we’d been playing most of our songs live three or more days a week—plus all the practicing Zack had had us doing right before recording—we decided as a group that it would help us achieve the kind of sound we were shooting for.
“We might need to go back and record isolated parts, but recording you together will save time,” Jeff agreed—and, of course, as he’d said many times, time was money in the studio.
Unfortunately, none of us had known what a control freak Zack would become until we were there. I don’t think even Zack knew he’d be such a perfectionist. But I knew why—this album was his baby, our new fans’ first taste of what we sounded like, and he wanted it to be perfect.
On that first day, we set up the room, doing sound checks, testing all our equipment, and figuring out what we needed to hear in our personal headphones to make sure we all kept time.
Even though we’d played together hundreds of times, having the headphones on made it so different—and kind of weird—but once we tried it once or twice, we all had them set up in a way that helped us do our best.
I also had something called a click track coming through my headphones.
Since my drumbeat was what was keeping time for the rest of the band, the click track, kind of like a digital metronome, helped me stay on course.
Cy asked to have the bass turned up on his headphones, and Zack wanted to hear it all equally.
And then we got to work. We planned to record each song five times each, even with Zack singing, but Jeff said they’d have him re-record the lyrics later.
With five takes of each song to listen to, Jeff assured us that we’d get the best version, even if the final version was a patchwork of different recordings.
Unfortunately, we had obsessive Zack at the helm—and sober, to boot, something unusual for that particular moment. When we finished the fifth round of a rowdy song called “Get Out of My Way,” Jeff said, “Okay, let’s take five.”
Zack, however, had other ideas. “No, we need to do this again.”
Braden said, “Can we do it after I take a piss?”
“No—we need to strike while the iron is hot.”
“And if I piss my pants, that’ll just add to the overall effect?”
Cy and I smiled—but Zack was not amused. “Yeah, maybe. The song’s only three fuckin’ minutes, Bray.”
Jeff, through the speaker from where he sat behind the glass, said, “Exactly. It’s only three minutes. I appreciate your passion, Zack, but I think you’d rather have Braden focusing on his bass instead of his bladder. And coming back fresh might help.”
Zack’s brows furrowed and, for a moment, I expected him to argue. But then he said, “Fine. But only five minutes.”
“That’s all I asked for.” Braden rested his bass in the case and walked out of the room—but I wondered if he’d really needed to pee or if he just needed to get away from our frontman for a minute.
Although I didn’t need the bathroom, I wanted to fill up my water bottle. Zack went into the control room to talk to Jeff, but Cy stayed behind, doing something with his guitar. After a few seconds, though, he emerged into the hallway where I was.
I didn’t know if Cy was feeling as stressed as Braden or I were, and I didn’t want to ask—so I decided to keep the conversation fairly neutral while asking a question I’d been dying to. “You know millions of people are gonna hear this album.”
“That might make this bullshit worth it.”
Ah…so the tension was getting to him too. I wasn’t sure how to ask, so I just blurted it out, knowing Cy didn’t mind directness. Remembering his nerves at our first few gigs and even more recently, I asked, “Will you be okay performing in front of thousands of people?”
“Yeah. I’ve gotten used to it.”
I thought back over the last month of concerts and realized he had. Once he got under the spotlights, it was almost as if someone else took over—and maybe that was how he did it. “You’re a great performer, Cy—and I’m glad you’re in the band.”
“Thanks. You too.” After I took a sip of water, he said, “Having so many hot girls in the audience kinda helped me get my shit together.”
I nearly spat out the water in my mouth because, out of everything I’d expected him to say, that hadn’t been it. Although I tried not to get sucked into our social media platforms, I did know that a lot of females said they loved Cy because of his “hot” looks and “broody” nature.
Their words, not mine.
Even though I could see how good looking he was, I only had eyes for one guy…even while that guy was pissing me off beyond belief.
“Guess we better get back in there.”
“Yeah. At least we’re not getting waterboarded.”
Braden exited the bathroom and walked in the recording room behind us.
I said to Cy, “Part of me might be willing to try that over this.” A couple of the songs I’d already grown tired of playing—and while I only had to play each a few times in the studio, I might have to play them hundreds of times on the road.
And what if one of our singles became an all-time fan favorite and it just so happened to be one of the songs I didn’t like?
I’d have to play it thousands of times over the course of decades.
Why did I hate playing those songs so much?
Overall, I liked them. But then I realized—they were songs I’d learned early on, and the beats weren’t mine.
Although it was fun to copy other artists from time to time, I realized as I made my way to my drum kit that I’d been developing my own style this whole time.
And I’d grown to hate the earlier because of it—because they weren’t me.
Settling in, I knew exactly how I was going to play. Jeff, from the control booth, said, “Okay. One more time for ‘Get Out of My Way’.”
This time, I closed my eyes and let the clicks fade into the background. I kept the rhythm, letting it flood my heart and soul, allowing the music to take over my emotions, because I had decided that this song and I were going to love each other, and I would find a way to do it.
After the first verse and chorus, the inspiration took hold.
At the time, I didn’t have words for what I was doing; all I knew was that my drumming could be more artistic, more creative—and by doing that, it could elevate this song to a whole new level.
What I was doing was something called syncopation, which was basically my way of taking us off the beaten path.
It made me excited about drumming in a way I’d never felt before.
At first, it was subtle—just a little during the second verse and chorus and, during the guitar solo, I kept a regular beat, except I was double thumping the bass instead of giving it the usual one.
By the end, I was adding in fills where they didn’t belong.
Well…after that take, I thought they did.
I was even smiling when we finished. I looked at Jeff to see what he thought but Zack said, “What the hell was that shit, Dani?”
“I was improvising. This song’s beat is kinda boring, and I wanted to shake it up.”
“We’re on the clock here. Time is money and that shit’s eating it up.”
I couldn’t help myself and I jumped up off my stool. “That’s easy for you to say. However we record it today is the way fans will expect to hear me play it from now till the end of time—and if I can’t make this song mine, I don’t want to fucking play it ever again!”
Zack’s volume didn’t match mine. In fact, he dropped his voice as he closed the gap, his guitar still hanging from his shoulders. “I wrote the goddamn thing, so I’d appreciate if you played it the way I wrote it.”
I could argue…or I could prove my point. And that was exactly what I intended to do. “Fine.” I sat back down on my stool, my teeth clenched.
Zack returned to his spot and, in the mic said, “Again.”
I couldn’t read Jeff’s expression through the glass. “Whatever you say.”
This time as we played, I kept the beat, but I gave it no energy. I was limp and dull, hitting the drums with as little force as I possibly could, displaying my lack of enthusiasm. We’d barely made it to the chorus when Zack stopped playing. “What the fuck, Dani?”
“I’m doing what you said. I’m playing it the way you wrote it.”
“I didn’t—”
Jeff, through the mic, said, “Yeah, that kind of soulless playing will translate into millions of sales.”
Zack ignored the sarcastic comment and said, “I need you to take this seriously.”
Cy muttered, “We’ll put it on your gravestone, boss: Sucked the fun out of rock.”
“Goddamn. Not you too.”
“I’m just being a smart ass,” Cy said. “Dani, it’s cool, but we’re burning money here. Let’s just get it done and move to the next song.”
Zack nodded, glad to have some back up. But then Braden spoke, shocking the hell out of me—and I think everyone else.
Even though Braden was everyone’s friend, we all knew he was loyal to Zack and always took his side no matter what.
Out of all of us, I’d never expected him to contradict Zack, especially now.
“Why don’t you let her try it her way? It needs a little smoothing around the edges, but what she was trying was interesting. ”
Wow.
“Yeah, and it would have been fine if she’d been trying that shit the past two years when we were playing this song every night.
Right now is the worst time to do it. We practiced these songs all week to make sure we were tight and ready to go and now you want to be different? We had all this shit down.”
“And, to be fair,” Cy said, more invested in our band than ever before, “we had these songs pretty tight. How the hell are they supposed to edit with so many versions? This last take won’t match with anything else.”
“Exactly. We were supposed to come in, lay it all down, and be done.”
Jeff finally shouted into the mic—because we’d been ignoring him.
“Guys, guys!” Once we all shut up, he said, “Why don’t we do two more takes?
” His voice was calm and steady, like a spring breeze.
“It’ll take ten minutes tops. Let’s do one the way Zack wrote it with no flair—but with enthusiasm,” he said, looking straight at me, “and then we’ll do another one with Dani improvising. Sound good?”
There was no denying by the tension in the air that Zack hated the idea—but he heard that ticking clock in his head like the clicks in my headphones and decided to go with Jeff’s suggestion.
I knew it was simply a way to placate me because, during the editing process, they would do whatever the hell Zack wanted and not use any of my improvised stuff.
And I didn’t care…because I’d finally found my muse.
The first time, we played the song the way we’d played it hundreds of times before.
This time, even though I didn’t want to, I went through the motions exactly as I’d learned them and tried to be respectful, playing them as I had for audiences in the past. When that take was done, I looked over at Zack, because I was hoping to get confirmation from his eyes that he was pleased with my performance.
Instead, I got a glimpse inside my friend.
He was staring at the floor, his left hand gripping the shaft of his guitar.
At first, I thought it was because he was angry at me for being defiant and was avoiding eye contact.
Although I couldn’t see his face, I began to realize it wasn’t that.
There was something else going on…but could we get past all this bullshit so I could ask him?
When we went through the song a second time, I definitely improvised, but this time it was more subtle.
Instead of shaking up the whole song, I isolated perfect spots where I could jazz things up.
In the solo, I kept the double bass and, in third verse, I played the rhythm just a little off-beat to keep it interesting.
At the end, I played the toms in a rolling thunder and threw in extra cymbal crashes to wind it all up.
This time, no one said a word when we were done.
And I didn’t know if I was happy about any of this.
From the control room, Jeff said, “Let’s call it a day, guys. Good job. We’ll comp from the best takes.”
Zack didn’t look too happy about that, knowing that some of my improvisation might make it into the final cut—but we all knew he would likely have the last say, regardless.
I decided then and there that if that song wound up being a single, I’d play it onstage however I needed to in order to keep it from numbing my soul.
Even though I halfway got my way, I felt frustrated, knowing that I’d made it mine but it probably wouldn’t make it to the final cut. Braden at least gave me a short nod and half a smile, telling me he had my back. Cy, though, wouldn’t even look my way.
The ride home might have been awkward had we not all been so tired…but I felt like I’d had a little victory today.
And there would be no going back.