Chapter 23
Each Broken Heart Will Eventually Mend
HARMONY
For the second time in a fortnight, I enter Riff’s foyer.
“Welcome back,” he says.
He’s wearing lightweight joggers and an army-green tee, which puts me at ease since I’ve shown up in leggings and a loose denim button-up top.
He said it would be “chill” but I wasn’t sure how relaxed this recording session was actually going to be—and I want to say I don’t care how I look when I’m around him, but I (ironically) spent a good half hour picking out something that would convey that idea while also still looking nice.
Not sure I struck the balance, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.
Since we have the time today, he gives me that tour he mentioned before.
It’s a beautiful modern (modernized) house with lots of light and open space.
He has too many bedrooms, but most celebrities do I guess.
The big decks show off the canyon views as the sun starts to set for the evening, making me yearn to stay outside instead of go in to record myself singing lyrics that are too honest for my liking.
Unfortunately, that’s the only reason I’m here, and thus it is inevitable.
Riff takes me to his home studio, which has an eclectic style with a woven rug, several potted plants, a row of vintage guitars racked along one wall, a couple of wood-backed swivel chairs, an abstract painting, and some animal figurines with patterns carved into them.
The whole thing is soundproofed with panels that look like wooden slats but are actually foam—I verify by touching them.
And of course he has a huge desk with recording equipment and monitors.
He pulls out one of the chairs for me so I can sit next to one of the little mic stands propped up on the desk, then hands me a pair of headphones and the sheet music with the words we finalized the other night.
We ended up combining his ideas and mine and, even though it’s going to be tough to sing this whole thing with him, I think we nailed it.
We do some vocal warmups before he opens the accompaniment file in Logic Pro, with all the instrumental tracks stacked in a rainbow of colors.
From what’s open on his monitors, it looks like he’s been demoing other stuff too, although I can’t imagine what; from what I know, his album is done, and I wouldn’t think he had time for anything else right now.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yep,” I lie.
Once he clicks the play button, layers of sound trickle into my ears.
First an ethereal synth hum, then the slow strum of an electric guitar, followed by individual strings plucked in sequence, then gentle percussion—mostly hi-hat.
Riff recorded all of this on his own beforehand, playing the guitars live and then adding synth keys and digital drums in the software.
The country elements are almost nonexistent except for a slight tremolo on the lead guitar, and I guess he can get away with toning it down since it’s a collab.
A few seconds later Riff comes in with “‘Didn’t mean it, didn’t want it, but here we are,’” and then I sing “‘Like we’ve pinned all our hopes on a dying star.’”
We alternate lines for the following:
Don’t think we’ll ever see eye to eye,
You act like the rules simply don’t apply,
We’d rather be going toe to toe,
Game on for the tenth time in a row,
Then we sing the last couplet in harmony:
No holding back, let’s see what you’ve got,
Come on, hit me with your best shot.
The guitar and the drums gather energy here, building up to a peak for us to set our voices on:
Oh I …
Hate you to the moon and back,
Fate can’t make these opposites attract,
Fame don’t mean that I’m your fan,
Game face ‘cause you’re so on brand,
Gave it all but my fight is fading,
Give it up? No, I’m not done hating,
Live wires, both of us, but there’s a spark
Love might just be lurking in the dark
For the second verse, I start. “‘Can’t explain it, can deny it, I’ve lost my might.’” Riff sings, “‘Suddenly this doesn’t feel like spite.’” And we alternate in the same pattern for the rest.
I play it cool but my mind’s on you,
Now when you’re gone, I see shades of blue,
I keep replaying every word you spoke,
When you smile it’s like an inside joke,
Somehow your voice is music to my ears,
You’re the only one who doesn’t grind my gears
Chorus again twice, and then the bridge:
We didn’t stand a chance,
Lost in the circumstance,
It only took one glance
One more chorus, an instrumental interlude, some vocalizations as we repeat words, and finally a closing cadence.
But of course that’s not the end of our session.
“I think we need to tighten up the harmony at the end of the verses,” Riff says.
So we re-record both of those. But I accidentally sing different notes for my second-verse harmony and Riff tells me, “Ooh, I like that better,” and asks if I can do it on the first verse too.
Playing it all back afterward, though, I can hear my lack of emotion during some of my lines and insist on doing them again.
“While we’re at it,” Riff says, “I came in a little too soon on ‘Now when you’re gone I see shades of blue.’”
That’s enough work that we just do a full, brand new take.
On the second verse, I try to sound more open, vulnerable, and soft as the story shifts to reveal our new perspective.
But for that, all I have to do is look at Riff and sing the truth: “I play it cool but my mind’s on you,” and “I keep replaying every word you spoke,” and “Somehow your voice is music to my ears.” It comes out exactly the way it’s supposed to.
I end up sitting cross-legged on my chair, leaning in as we listen for what else we need to change.
“When we were trying out melodies in the lounge,” Riff says, “you did a little run when you sang the word ‘star.’ Do you remember?”
“I think so …”
“I thought that was really pretty.”
We make eye contact for what feels like a beat too long, so I break it to write a note on a small pad where I’ve started a list of tweaks. “Thanks. I’ll try that on the next take.”
He scrunches one eye when the chorus comes on. “Do you think I’m oversinging it? Should I back off a bit?”
I shake my head. “It’s good. It’s kind of … raw. That’s what we want. This is all about being caught off guard, fighting the tension we can’t avoid.”
We still end up doing several more takes, not because the first few are bad but because we start to experiment.
Riff plays around with the instrument layering and even grabs a banjo to see what that does to the overall feel.
We try clipping lyrics or adding words to see if that makes things flow better syllabically.
I suggest recording extra harmonies (basically doing our own background vocals) for more depth.
This gives us way too many versions and they’re all interesting in different ways. My voice, however, needs a break, and Riff’s hair is all mussed from him running his hands through it every time he analyzes the music.
“Let’s breathe for a minute,” I say. “Then we can listen to these one more time, pick our favorite, and export the file.”
He nods. “Okay. I’ll go grab us a couple of drinks and some snacks, and we can just hang out for the final playthrough.”
“Sounds good. I’ll wait here.”
Padding off to the kitchen, Riff winks at me once and I hang my head back in defeat. When he’s out of earshot, I actually groan.
There’s no reason for us to be taking a demo this seriously, but I honestly like working with him, whether it’s productive or just messing around. He’s creative and funny, he keeps pushing himself to do better. I melt whenever he gets a good idea and that mischievous look spreads across his face.
I sigh and roll my chair over to the monitor where all our tracks are.
Riff has at least five Logic windows open and I cycle through all of them trying to remember the differences between each one.
We have our basic version, our more layered version, the banjo version (which is kind of Mumford & Sons coded and I really like it), a super tight minimal version, and …
Oops.
A totally different Logic project fills the screen. It’s titled “That Syncing Feeling.”
Is this on There Goes The Sun?
I don’t think it is. I’ve heard our teams talk about the tracks enough that I can say it doesn’t sound familiar. I’d remember the play on words for sure. Unless it was a late addition.
Curious, I click on it.
It’s just piano for several measures, and then Riff’s voice comes in on top.
Didn’t think I had regrets,
But I’d rewind like a cassette,
and then I’d do things diff’rently,
Wouldn’t let you walk away,
I’d counter all your counterplays,
We’d meet halfway like symmetry
That syncing feeling like we’re almost aligned,
But the timing’s off, yeah I’ve fallen behind,
I’ll make it up to you, eye on the prize,
It’s not too late for us to synchronize
Had losses that I thought were wins,
Now all I see are might’ve-beens
Bleeding on our battlefield,
Didn’t see your point of view,
Heard your song but missed my cue,
Fumbled moments that were real
That syncing feeling like we’re almost aligned,
But the timing’s off, yeah I’ve fallen behind,
I’ll make it up to you, eye on the prize,
It’s not too late for us to synchronize
Never on the same page
At the same time,
It’s a new age
On an old line,
But I’ll catch up
And we’ll be fine,
I promise you …
When the song ends, I stare at the screen, shivering.
Before I heard this, did I hope, somewhere in the deepest crevices of my mind, that it would be a song about me?
I’m ashamed to admit … yes.
Do I see what an idiot I’ve been?
Also yes.
These lyrics are about the past, about regret, about a failed relationship and letting someone walk away. Worse, they’re about trying to catch up, about how it’s not too late. “A new age on an old line.”
Part of me thought maybe I was just being self-deprecating when it came to Riff’s lingering feelings for his ex, that I was only telling myself he was emotionally unavailable in order to protect myself, but this song has to be about her.
She broke up with him—“walked away”—and he’s thinking of all the might’ve-beens they missed not being together.
Running into her last month when he was supposed to be publicly dating me was obviously terrible timing (“the timing’s off”) and now he’s left scrambling to figure out how they can be together under these circumstances.
Sure, Riff and I are getting along now, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m in his way.
Tears threaten to form behind my eyes, but the sound of Riff’s footsteps in the hall snaps me back into focus. I click to exit out of the Logic window, stand up, and try to casually leave the studio, where I pass him on his way back.
He’s carrying a round, high-rimmed tray that holds two Perrier bottles, an assortment of flavored nuts, a bowl of grapes, and some kind of fancy cookies. “Sorry, it’s kind of random stuff, but I figure if you want to hang out a while after, we could order some real—”
“I think we should probably call it a night,” I tell him, brushing past.
“Wait, what?” Riff spins and follows me a few paces until his stride outlengthens mine and he gets ahead. He sets down the tray on a random decorative hallway table and holds up both hands. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I insist. “It’s just … getting late. I’m tired. We got what we needed. I trust you to pick the best version and I’m sure everyone will love it no matter what.”
“I don’t understand.”
I force a smile. “There’s nothing to understand. I’m fine. Thanks for everything. I’ll see you … when I see you.”