This is the first in a 12 part series, each detailing the recording of one song on Ted Eliason's The Tentcoat. An exercise in writing, an effort to share our experiences, and most of all the act of committing my memories to text before they fade away.
Part 1: Good Morning, Get Out of the House!
In the beginning
"This isn't how I usually record a kick drum," I said to my brother Andrew as he lounged on the couch behind me. "We're trying out some different things on this song."
"I thought it seemed a little weird," he shot back.
Andrew had stopped by the studio that Saturday morning for some reason or another, as Ted and I recorded the very first track for the album. Ted had recently finished applying Remo Fiberskins to an old, inexpensive drum kit, and proceeded to tune up one of the loosest, flabbiest kick drums I had ever heard. I was skeptical, but Ted set the tone these sessions were to follow from the very beginning.
Thinking back, I must have simply stared at him as he explained the arrangement to me. First kick drum, then triangle, then crash cymbal (which we later re-recorded - the very last sound created before mixing), then piano, rhodes, electric guitar, fuzz bass and kitchen utensils. At some point we laid down a scratch key and vocal to work with, though the trend of recording scratch tracks would not continue past this song; I repeatedly suggested it and Ted would insist that it wasn't necessary.
And on the second day
May was fast approaching, and the studio was already beginning to warm up. The room was overly insulated; warm and toasty in the winter and even more so in the summer. An underpowered air conditioning unit worked overtime to keep the temperature around 80, even in the middle of Spring. To step out into the sun for a break was sweet relief. As a result, I would generally work with the windows open.
We were feeling quite wonderful about the previous day's work, and started bright and early at nine or ten or eleven that Sunday morning. A number of times, we exchanged glances that said "what exactly are we making here?" There was a sense of creating something new and fresh - or at least completely fresh to our ears.
As we listened to a playback of the tracks so far, I commented on how nicely the song seemed to blend with the sound of chirping birds floating through the window. I glanced at Ted and knew we were on the same page.
I chained together three or four mike cables and had a condenser a few feet out the front door. The sound was unimpressive. We took a quick walk around and discovered the section of trees where the racket was most concentrated. Another five or six cables and we were recording the birds across the street. I doubled the track back on itself for stereo, and let it run through the entire song. To say we were pleased with ourselves would be an understatement.
I should note that the birds never again sang so boldly or in such great numbers as they did that day. How wonderful that we were able to capture it!
I should note that the birds never again sang so boldly or in such great numbers as they did that day. How wonderful that we were able to capture it!
Please Sir, may I have some more (tracks)?
From memory, I can tell you that the bridge contains three vocals, three kazoos, two saxophones, kick drum, a heavily distorted ride cymbal (in stereo?), fuzz bass, organ bass (foot pedals), 3 mellotrons, and either one or two tracks each of the following: electric guitar, rhodes and wurlitzer organ. Don't quote me on that.
My wonderful, talented and loving Mother was called in to add the saxophone. This was her first of many appearances on the album. Though she is an excellent clarinetist, I chose to play the chorus clarinet myself. It was likely a spur of the moment addition at 3:00 AM or some such.
The sunny nature of the song established, we decided the best vocal approach was to smile while singing. This fit the tone of the song perfectly.
After a particular take, I pressed stop and Ted inquired, "How was that?"I found myself tongue-tied. Intonation was good, rhythm was right on, but something was missing. A long pause, then "Were you smiling that time?"
"Oops, I forgot on that take." The next one was a keeper.
Recording the kitchen utensils at the end of the song was an aboslute pleasure. Something like 4 mono and 2 stereo tracks went into this. Ted played an egg beater, baking sheet, pot, pan and likely a few other items, after which I decided to make some of my own fun. I asked Ted to take five and let me set up some "instruments" in the booth. He left and I quickly scraped together a large pile of unusual items for my performance. Ted pressed record and I went to town.
When listening in headphones, one can hear objects being thrown about the room and a wide variety of items being struck with a hammer. I won't divulge all of what took place that night, but I would like to point out that I managed to break a tub of peanut butter during my performance.
The bombastic bridges
We had planned to record one song at a time, in the order they were to appear on the album. Ted changed the plan by suggesting Good Morning as the first track we should tackle. I liked the idea of starting with a song I hadn't heard a demo of, so we went with it. The opening track, Everything We Have, would be the second song we worked on, and we continued working in album order for the next five months of tracking.
One day, Ted explained to me that we were going to record an interlude to go between track one and two. It was to sound like something one would sing in church, with heavily layered vocals, and the lyrics went something like "I want the quiet verses to contrast the bombastic bridges, Amen."
"I'm not really into that idea anymore," was his reply when I asked him about it a few days later.
Such was the tone of the Tentcoat sessions.
