The Poor Unfashionable CD

I am a member of a dying breed. A person who goes to the music store and purchases a CD. I was still in the process of putting out my CD a few months ago when a friend asked whether or not the record would be available for download on iTunes. I told her yes it would be, but why not just buy the CD. I wanted her to see all the artwork we had so carefully prepared. She responded that CD's take up too much room, that she has since mp3'd (a new word) all of her CDs and subsequently thrown them all out. She was so matter of fact about it, she had no idea she was breaking my heart.

To a musician that has just given birth essentially, to a new CD, the idea that someone would take the artwork and possibly the CD and throw it in the dustbin after digitizing it is, well, hard to fathom. Then again, I know the music industry is changing and the business model, the idea of the music's worth has changed.

Maybe my view is skewed being a musician, but the work involved with creating the record, the recording, the artwork, not to mention the sheer expense to make a CD, is immense. When I first started listening to music, my parents had dusty old vinyl LPs that were magical in their delicacy; they had organic artwork and gate-folded covers. I was told earnestly by my father to hold just the edges, touching the grooves would somehow diminish their worth. The artists were somehow larger than life on those covers. My siblings and I listened carefully and repeatedly to those precious stacks in our youth, unwittingly gaining yardsticks for every other record we would ever hear.

Even now, mention a Rickie Lee Jones song and I can tell you what album it came from and what the cover looked like. Its hard to believe the current generation of new Beatle fans will listen to the album Abbey Road and not take note of the fact that Paul McCartney is out of step with the rest of his compadres as they cross the road on the famous cover. For me, that is part of the mystique of that album.

I'm yearning for a return to this kind of thinking. When will the unfashionable CD be fashionable again?

I need therapy and a personal assistant

I spent the better part of the weekend trying get a handle on my gig schedule for the first few months of the upcoming year. Being a working/touring musician requires a level of commitment that is difficult to explain to a non-crazy person.

Admittedly, some of the work isn't all that fun. Booking hotel rooms, plane tickets, and creating itineraries is not really my idea of a good time. Tracking down the bass player who ran off with the blond after the gig, that stuff is a pain in the ass.

But then there are the musical moments when I am nowhere near a guitar or piano. I love the conversations with my musician friends, comparing notes, listening to favorite records, each others stuff, sharing (stealing) ideas, going to shows and often sitting in rapt awe at an unknown band's quirky turn of phrase. I've had more quick dinners turn into long evenings exchanging gig horror stories or the secret behind a song.

And then there are the moments leading up to the song. I can always tell when a song is trying to climb out of me. Its like a sickness, a fever that I have to shake. I will spend hours, even days tweaking lyrics, changing chords, flipping through keyboard patches or switching guitars, laying down version after version of a song til I have a demo I can live with. Sick, I tell you.

Despite the lack of sleep and the growing number of callouses on my fingers, juggling a day gig, spending time with loved ones, trying to keep in touch with friends, and not let my house become a refuse heap requires the sort of love and admiration for the whole process that borders on lunacy. You have to love it. Thank goodness I love it.

All I want for Christmas is a 2" tape machine

I have two problems this holiday season. One, I'm hoping Santa will bring me either an Ampex 2" tape machine which is exorbitantly expensive and two, I'm looking for other women who are recording nut jobs like me. Where are you guys?

I recorded my record with a friend of mine at she and her husband's studio, Limestone Vale in Delaware, Ohio. The recording studio is run in conjunction with Brian Lucey's Magic Garden Mastering operation. Brian is a demanding audiophile so his studio is chock full of high end analog audio gear. In the rack on the left is the awesome Tubetech tube compressor and at the bottom the Shadow Hills 8 channel tube pre. Just an amazing piece of gear. We did most of my vocals through a Korby mic with a 251 capsule in to the Shadow Hills. It had just the right balance of air and richness for my voice.

We recorded to 2" tape which is an anomaly in this day and age of cheap and plentiful digital recording. I haven't recorded to 2" tape since the mid-nineties when everyone was switching from analog tape to ADAT. Remember that? I have a ProTools setup in my home studio so recording to analog tape requires a bit more patience and preparation. There is a linearity to the process that many people new to the analog recording process might not take to very easily.

And to be honest, it took me a few days to get used to it again. I'm so used to having multiple takes and virtual tracks galore. But the beauty of analog recording is that there is an organic quality that has nothing to do with "magnetic distortion" or any other finely audible esoteric quality that analog studiophiles may be inclined to pontificate about. As a musician and performer in the analog studio, I have to work just a little harder, focus my artistic energy for this particular take because the result is always somehow more magical.

Thank goodness I just finished this record. I was thinking about what I'm going to do on the next one. It may very well be on analog again. Magic is addictive.

November in Columbus

Almost Thanksgiving. Ordinarily I would be getting ready for the trek via plane or car to a relative's house in the coming week. But for some reason, the holiday gods are smiling upon Drew and me this year. We don't have to go anywhere. Parents and in-laws are all in other cities, hundreds of miles away and devoid of any expectation that we will make an appearance. Yaay!

I certainly hope I don't sound like an ingrate. I just need a break. The good news is my brothers and Drew's brother are coming to our house. We are debating hitting a restaurant somewhere around here for the big day. That is how lazy I'm feeling.

I've been listening to a record that I haven't heard for a very long time. Rickie Lee Jones 1979 self-titled debut. I've said it before and I guess I'll say it again. It is my desert island record. I listened to this record with one of my best friend's from high school eons ago. It was summer and hot. We had all the windows in the upstairs of his house open. It had been raining and there was an oppressiveness in the air. There was nothing to do but sit around and smoke and listen to music. He told me he had stolen this great record from his sister and we should listen to it. That day change my life. I have that record and Rickie Lee Jones to thank [blame?] for my addiction to making music. That record is the standard by which I judge all other records including my own. The songs, the quality of the recording. It is simply one of the best sounding and played records I've ever heard.

My record just got a great review in the Columbus Alive. You can read about it here. I'm taking a tiny break from gigging during the holiday season with just a few gigs before the onslaught in the New Year. Its going to be a busy 2008 for me.

We're starting the year with a CD Release in New York at Banjo Jim's. We're very excited about that show. Then we're headed back to California for a little adventure in the City of Angels. More details soon. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Robert Nicolas ESQ RIP

Today, I had to put my cat of 14 years, Bob to sleep. I've never liked the sound of that. It sounds like lying because, in fact, thats not what we're doing at all. Is it?

I got Bob from a friend in German Village in Columbus. I'd never met her and I was audtiioning her for a spot as a back-up singer in my band. On a side note, we ended up being life-long friends. That day, I went over there, sat on the floor in her little apartment when a tiny ball of white fur came out of nowhere and sank its needle-like teeth into my hand. I shook Bob off me like a mosquito. My friend said only a few words "He has a biting problem."

And so it went for 14 years, Bob got hit by a car, punctured a lung, shattered a leg, fell off the roof umpteen times, had a stroke, got lost in the 'hood, got trapped in the neighbors attic, ran will-nilly through the neighborhood dodging cars, the neighbors huge black german shepherd, other cats and kid next door. 14 years. That is a long time for a cat.

But I have to say, I am eternally grateful for having met him and being able to witness how special he was first-hand. Here's to you Bob.