Off the Record - January Edition

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If a record is never heard, does it even exist?

Many moons ago, in Paris, there came along a project that was quite different from anything I was working on at that time.

There was a talented artist, an experienced producer, a big label and a proper budget. My job was to engineer this full-length, pop-rock record.

My contract was for two months, and we had close to thirty songs going in. That’s a lot of studio time. Back then, I was often making eleven-song records in a week or less. It sounded too good to be true! We could experiment as much as we wanted. I had finally made it.

Everything went well. We got along perfectly and were having fun capturing great music. On my last day, the artist, the producer and I celebrated with a few drinks on a sunny terrace. We patted each other on the back, congratulating ourselves on a job well-done.
Proud of our work, we even entertained ambitious thoughts about the future of this record.

The phone rang two weeks later. They wanted me to come back in for three more days. Thinking that the songs were already off to the mixer, I was a bit confused, but I accepted.

The label was not entirely happy with our work. The result was not “pop” enough. The record was plenty “pop” in our opinion, but not sufficiently pop-that-plays-on-mainstream-radio-now.

So, we layered synth parts and drum samples over the organic sounds we had tracked. Another pat on the back, and I returned to regular life: night sessions, short indie projects, and liters of black coffee.

You can see it coming: it wasn’t the end of it. A couple more months passed, and I got another call, for another few days of recording.

Even more confused than the first time, but strapped for cash, I agreed.

The label wanted to go in a different direction. The pop sound didn’t convince them, or not for long apparently. They were considering doing a more acoustic record.

So back in we went, this time layering numerous acoustic guitar parts and percussions. We covered the drums with tea towels, and re-did most of them with brushes, rods and mallets, bringing a very soft and muted sound to the whole thing.

Any version of that record was great. That’s a testament to how good your songs are, by the way. If you can change the instrumentation that much and they still work, you’ve got something special.

A month later, the producer asked me to come down to the studio for a chat with the artist. They had news from the label. Surprise, surprise, they wanted more changes.

That’s where I drew the line. I told the lads I was out.

I loved working with both of them, and I loved the project. The studio was lovely, and my rate more than decent. But at this point, we were doing more harm than good.

The record was done, three times over, and any version of it could be successful. Every ProTools session had close to two hundred tracks. Every song had three to five different arrangements at that point.

I told them that the record was there. It was only a matter of deciding which record they wanted to release.

Both were sad to lose me as an engineer, but they thanked me for my honest opinion. For all I know, they went back in with someone else working the desk.

I doubt anyone will ever hear this record, though.

Because someone in an office couldn’t make up their mind, these songs will never connect with anyone. For all the time and money spent, this beautiful record was shelved and the artist dropped. The producer and I earned a reputation as an unlucky combo to have in the studio (ironic, I know). We haven’t worked together since.

I learned a lot from this project. But the most important lesson of all? Vision.

Know where you want to go before you start. And for those rare times where you’re not sure, trust your guts and act. Take these hard decisions to push the project forward. Forward is always better than still.

Because if a record is never heard, does it even exist...?

But then again, what do I know…

Happy Ever After You

Another spin around the Sun. Another twelve months lying in wait in front of us. A blank canvas, up for grabs.

What will you do with them?

P.S.: if this newsletter has left you feeling inspired, do me a huge favour and forward it to a friend.