Seattle Subsonic

Intro for New Seattle Subsonic Writer: Radiohead, Band Meeting, No Pillows, God Dammit

February 17th, 2010

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“God dammit!”
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He wasn’t quiet in the way he said it. It just came out natural for him, the way it might when stubbing a toe or spilling a full beer. Radiohead’s A Punchup at a Wedding had just started on the jukebox. I was happy. I’d put the money in for the tune, but the bartender didn’t like it. He said it again, “God damned Radiohead!”
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That was last week. Earlier that same day, one of the writers for Seattle Subsonic called to ask me to write for this site. As I often am, I was in a Starbucks when I got the call. I looked around, I sipped my coffee, French Roast, yum, stared out the window for a bit. It felt good. She’d liked the voice I had on my other blog. She thought it would fit well here. So after a moment of consideration in which there wasn’t really much to consider, I paused for effect and then said, “Sure.”
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And so that night with Seattle Subsonic still on my mind, my band had meeting over at the Monkey Pub with Radiohead on the juke and a pissed off bartender. The band had just signed on with a new manager and needed to gather for a kick off, a strategy session, an assessment, and of course a few rounds of beer. They had $1.00 PBR drafts, but even at that price I had to decline. That stuff reminds me too much of high school in Ohio and the $4.21 we used to pay for a twelve pack of Busch, another “fine quality” beer. No, there would be no PBR in my glass. I opted instead for Mannys, the lone Mannys of the group as we all got our drinks and got settled at a table next to the jukebox. Radiohead’s Reckoner was playing then. Good tune. Someone at the bar asked for singles for the jukebox. “Just don’t play any of that God damned Radiohead,” the bartender said as he placed some ones on the bar. The guy took the money and went to the jukebox. He put in a few bills, chose a few tunes, and went to the back of the bar and sat down. Reckoner finished and Weird Fishes/Arpeggi began. Another good tune. Another Radiohead tune.
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“God dammit!” I heard from the bartender.


We got into our meeting and were pounded by Stephanie, the manager. She was a fireball of energy and ideas. “So, first on my list, we need a freaking logo …” She then went on down said list. Video. Gigs. Critics. Merchandise. Logo again. Website promotion. Radio promotion. And on and on. It was a long list, a blaze of ideas, and the beers went down smooth as she spoke of working angles to get into the better venues and with the bigger bands around town. On the fourth or fifth round of beers, and still only in the middle of her list, she asked, “So how are the new recordings going?”
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Very well,” I said, “The mixes are shaping up. I just re-recorded the bass tracks when I was up at your place on Camano Island. Thanks, again.” I’d been staying at her island vacation home for two weeks while transitioning from the world of cubicles to the world of trying to do web programming and band/studio work full time, while looking at the stars and thinking about a certain woman. And yes, while up there I did a fair bit of mixing and redid the bass tracks. One track direct. Two others captured with microphones placed just so in front of the Trace Elliot. Three tracks of bass. The sound fit well with the drums. Things were taking shape. Radiohead came back on the jukebox. Creep. “God dammit!” The bartender was just not a fan.
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“No problem on using the house,” Stephanie replied, “Anything to help make it a kick ass recording.” She looked at her watch. She was going later to check out another band and possible client.
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Roger, our guitar player, chimed in, “Yeah … uhh … I meant to tell you, I listened to the mixes you … uhh …uploaded and rather liked them, but … uhh… I think we should spread the percussion out a little more in the solo part of “Lick My Love Pump.” Yes, that tune was named after the beautiful Spinal Tap song.
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“I agree,” Doug said. “And the kick drum needs a little more definition.”
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“How so?” I asked.
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“Well, it sounds good on big speakers, but I’m afraid it will sound like a pillow when people listen on crappy speakers or little earbuds which they so often do.” This was good. We were all contributing, all producing this one. Doug is the drummer and prior to starting the mix had been very specific about the Dave Weckl kick drum sound he wanted. We wouldn’t get it exactly, but he had a valid point. We didn’t want any pillows thumping and flopping in the mix. I made a note to dial in the kick’s tone a little more. Billy and Katy were outside for a smoke. I’d get their input later.
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Stephanie made notes about a few things and then said, “I think that’s enough for one night. Who wants a shot?” Now, that’s a manager! She bought a round of shots. Doubles. Tequila for me. Whiskey for everyone else. We raised our glasses, “Let’s get this fucker rolling,” Stephanie said. We clinked, gave our cheers to that, and downed the shots. And the meeting ended. Everyone else left, but I stayed on to finish up the full Manny’s I still had in front of me. I wanted too to sit quietly and think about a woman. I took a few sips and thought to put more Radiohead on the jukebox. I wanted to hear the whole of In Rainbows. And well, with the bartender’s love of the band, I couldn’t resist.
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In addition to thinking about the woman though, there was this other thing of being asked to write for Seattle Subsonic that I needed to mull over. I needed to work up an introductory piece for the site. My intentions were to write not just reviews of bands and shows and CDs but also simply about being a musician, about music as it works its way in the course of this life, sometimes making an evening spectacular, other times adversely affecting the mood of a certain bartender, about what we all go through in the process of composition, rehearsal, performance, recording, and yes even that dark side of the business of music, a dark side in which our “business” meeting involved multiple rounds of beer and a shot. Best damn business meeting I’ve ever attended. I settled on what to write about for the introduction, and my thoughts went back to the woman. I got up, put a few dollars in the juke box, enough for all of In Rainbows. The drums started, then that unmistakable voice.
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“God dammit!”