In my life away from The Writer, I’ve kept fairly busy as a professional musician, and
I’ve always found the parallels between searching for one’s voice as a writer
and one’s voice as an improvising musician to be strikingly similar. Last night
I was reminded that the process of art-making is very similar, too. Meaning:
lots of false starts, lots of wrong paths, and lots—and lots—of sitting around
before something good and usable comes from all of it.
I was in Joe Puerta’s Milwaukee recording studio, The Exchange, doing parts on
the Hammond B-3 organ for a talented singer-songwriter named Franz Lucas. Joe, a fabulous bass player (that's him at left), was a founding member of Bruce
Hornsby’s Grammy-winning band and is a bassist and singer in another national
band, Ambrosia. Based on my initial impressions, he is
also a gifted, precise, exacting producer who, in his insistence on getting the
most out of a song and a musician, reminds me of, well, another Wisconsinite,
Vince Lombardi. Joe, who, fortunately, does not bark like Vince but seems just
as persistent, is after one thing: making the work that comes out of his studio
reach the level of that produced by national acts with deep pockets.
To
get his point across about a particular rhythmic feel or chord variation he wants in a tune, or just to show how he's feeling about what he's hearing, he’ll dance around the control room, he’ll gesture, he’ll mime playing the bass himself, he’ll clap his
hands, he’ll hum parts, he’ll play notes on a little glockenspiel next to the
mixing board, he’ll make BOOM-POW! sounds. I think he’d stand on his head if it
helped.
His exacting approach meant, among other things, a great deal of time spent tediously “micing”
the instruments, especially every part of the drum kit, as well as a lot of
one-on-one work with the drummer, the lead guitar player, the bass player, and
me. Some of the adjustments amounted to a matter of micro seconds in timing, but the changes made a difference. There was a lot of pressure to try to get it right--to understand what Joe and his
big ears were after and then to instantly execute it. (Sometimes easier said
than done when the music is complicated and you’re running on vapor fumes after a long day.)
I sat around for five hours before playing a single note, and as I did, I kept wondering,
what is this reminding me of? Then I got it: It’s exactly what you read about
how movies and television shows are made—with long days and lots and lots of
waiting around while bad takes and various technical difficulties are fixed or
done over. And over. Endless revisions. Sound familiar? It's also the process of creating polished writing--just add in a wastebasket full of crumpled-up paper.
The evening showed another similarity, too. The amount of nuance, subtlety and
sweat that goes into a good piece of art—whether writing, music, film or some
other form—and that flies by not consciously noticed, or not understood or appreciated by audience
members and journalists, is enormous.
-- Ron Kovach, senior editor, The Writer