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When the Odds Are Stacked Against You
Kash
November 13
Paisley gives me a thumbs-up, presses a button on the laptop, and sets her acoustic-electric guitar in the floor stand next to her. “I think that went well,” she says.
Holy smokes. We have a complete song to send to Barry.
It still needs to be mixed and we don’t have time to do any mastering, but there’s a vocal, lead, and rhythm guitar track in the digital audio workstation. That’s not nothing.
Even though we’ve just finished our one-take recording of “I Don’t Know How I’ll Make It on My Own,” I still can’t quite believe we did it. A few days ago, this song was barely a crumb, and now it’s a full cake, minus the frosting. It’s a holiday season miracle.
I glance at the wall clock over the mixing console. It’s 10:30 a.m. and Barry wants the sample in his inbox by noon.
Paisley’s gaze follows mine. “We still have time if you want to record another take. Ready to give it a listen?”
I swallow and nod, my nerves on edge.
Paisley reaches over and presses the play button. She leans her hip against the table, crosses her arms over her chest, and closes her eyes. There’s a moment of silence, and then I hear the crisp, clean intro Paisley played on the acoustic guitar, rhythmic chords accented with hints of melody. After about ten seconds, I come in on vocals and lead guitar.
“Taillights bleed into the dark…”
My singing voice is darker and deeper than it used to be, and there’s a bit of a raspy catch when I get to the end of the first verse. I’ve managed to capture a lot of the raw emotion that’s been building up inside me.
“There’s not as much reverb on the electric guitar as I’d like,” I say, but Paisley holds her finger to her mouth in the universal hand gesture for “shhh.”
She furrows her brow, eyes closed in concentration, and listens like she’s hearing every individual note. The corner of her mouth twitches every time I add in some vocal fry on the track, and her head bobs gently to the beat. A satisfied smile plays across her lips when we get to the bridge and discover we successfully made it through the complicated strumming pattern we had trouble playing in sync yesterday.
Her eyes fly open and she mouths, “We did it.” I love the way her nose wrinkles over her wide smile. The way she emits pure, unbridled happiness. I want to capture this moment and bottle it up.
After a short electric guitar solo and some power chords, the intensity ebbs and I sing the final lines of the song. The rich, driving chords of Paisley’s acoustic guitar fade, and then there’s silence.
“Wow,” I say, stunned at how good it sounds for a stripped-down sample.
“Wow,” Paisley says, nodding in agreement.
She sinks down into the office chair in front of the laptop and turns her attention to the digital mixing program. “I agree with you,” she says. “The electric guitar could use some reverb.” She taps the laptop’s track pad to toggle a few switches and spin some dials until she has them set where she wants them. “We should probably adjust the EQ.” She glances up at the clock. “I don’t think I have time to do it manually, but I have a filter we can use.”
Paisley is a boss and knows her way around the studio. It’s super sexy, watching her work. My neck heats and I look away.
Don’t make it awkward.
Thank goodness she’s so focused on what she’s doing that she doesn’t catch me staring.
“And now to add some compression.” After a few more clicks, she says, “Ready to give it another listen?”
“I was born ready.”
She grins back at me and hits play. I’m blown away with how much better it sounds after mixing.
“It’s amazing,” I say.
“It’s good, but I wouldn’t go as far as amazing,” she says in a teasing tone. “You got a little pitchy there in the middle, and no amount of mixing can fix that.”
“Hey now,” I say, my heart thumping faster at the way she laughs in response.
This feels dangerously close to flirting and…I don’t mind. In fact, I’m already looking forward to our next songwriting session together. Who would have thought?
