Guster Studio Journal

Nothing Will Stop Us From Rocking Tonight In Indiana. Nothing.

This story begins with the usual whoa-is-me-the-hurricane-cancelled-my-flight drivel that you’ve already read about in everyone else’s road journals.  But on Saturday when Delta announced they’d cancelled my Monday morning flight out of New York, there wasn’t much time to react.  A hurricane was bearing down on us, and we had to be in Indiana by Monday night.  We needed action.   While I was safely tucked away in a cabin in upstate NY, Young Naive Luke was stuck in Brooklyn with no car, no flight options, and no bottled water or cans of chick peas left on the shelves at the plywooded-up Trader Joe’s.  All the staples I needed for a week on tour were stuck in Brooklyn too (mostly finger tape, socks, underwear, and t-shirts)… they would have to be spared.

We spoke on the phone briefly.  “The George Washington Bridge is closing in 45 minutes” said Luke, who was also going on and on about how he had some avocado and wheat bread in his kitchen, but it’s the weird big Florida-style avocados that don’t taste very good, and always get a little runny.  “Get in a cab and make them drive you to New Jersey” I told him.  “Now!” I added, like a dick.

He swears he was the last car allowed over the GW Bridge.  He swears the cab driver had to swim across the Hudson to get home to his family.  The cab was a hundred bucks.  I drove two hours through heavy rain to rescue him at an A&P in Fort Lee NJ, where thank god they had Haas avocados.  I brought him to the cabin upstate, where we ate chicken pot pie and drank wine.  Life was good.  Our friends had rented us a mid size Chevy Malibu one-way to Indianapolis, just before the last local car rental place closed.  It was a 14 hour drive, but we could leave after the hurricane and still get to the show.  We went to sleep.  It was Saturday night.  Then the hurricane hit.

We’d left NYC to escape the drama but ended up right in the belly of the beast.  I felt the winds gusting through the windows at 5am, and heard trees falling in the distance.  We woke up and surveyed the damage.  Trees were down and the little bubbling creek had turned into a raging river.  There was no electricity and there was water leaking from the ceiling.  But the big blow was that Adam’s Monday flight outta Portland ME was cancelled too.  We made him rent a car and drive through the hurricane to Albany, where we could pick him up. 

Or so we thought.  The creek broke its levee and there was a flash flood.  The long dirt road to the property was like the Mississippi River. 

That’s me standing in the “driveway” — why am I smiling?  Fuck if I know.  We were punchy.  We were about to spend a calendar day in a Chevy Malibu.  The river raged on furiously and washed out the road entirely.  Luke and I had to drive the Malibu across peoples’ lawns to get out (sorry) (people of Indiana need us).  Goodbye wife and child who have no electricity or path to civilization.

Getting to Adam was a massive problem.  Just getting to Route 87 was almost impossible.  Roads we needed to not-be-flooded were flooded.  I knew side routes, but there were trees down across all of them.  There was one tree leaning against a power line that I thought we could squeak under.  I also thought it was okay to drive a car over a live downed power line.  Young Naive Luke disagreed and made me turn around.  It took about 9 different tries through back roads to get out to Woodstock.  By the time we got to Woodstock….

87 was closed.  We had to take half-flooded back roads all the way to Albany.  It took us about 5 hours to get to Albany instead of the usual hour and a half, and Albany wasn’t even on the way to Indiana.  We picked up Adam and briefly thought about testing our luck with a Monday flight to Indianapolis, but carried on with the road trip instead.  14 more hours in a Chevy Malibu didn’t seem nearly as bad as getting fucked over by an airline at the last minute and missing our show.  We’d come this far.

6 more hours in the car.  At some point I got pulled over, for the second time in two days:

I always get pulled over in upstate NY.  The rental car was not registered to anyone who was actually in the car.  The cop didn’t know who “Guster” was, but liked the sob story about Hurricane Irene and let us continue on.  With a ticket. 

At 9pm we were tired and hungry and decided to get Indian food and crash at a Quality Inn in Erie PA.  We loaded the bags into the hotel, and just as I was about to have my first bite of chicken saag (mild) I decided to check the mattress, because the hotel was a little dodgy. 

Bedbugs.

Back in the car, to the Quality Inn (yes, same chain, it makes no sense) on the other side of town.  It’s actually a decent hotel and the guy behind the desk told us that this Quality Inn is completely separate from the other one, which makes you wonder about franchises, and principles, and what bedbugs feel like when they bite you in your sleep.  They should call their hotel chain Varying Quality Inn. 

Monday morning.  Continental breakfast.  How is it possible for eggs to taste this bad.  I made us stop at a Walmart in Ohio so I could have clothes to wear this week.  Immediately I’m attracted to the five dollar pile of solid color Faded Glory t-shirts, but they are all in sizes 3XL and 4XL.  That’s who shops for clothes at the Walmart in Cleveland.  And at the Walmart everywhere else.  I was forced to buy the one medium sized t-shirt I could find, and it says Chillaxin’ on it.

Right now we’re still in the car but it looks like we’ll make it to the show with two hours to spare.  So when you see me out there tonight in my crisp blue Chillaxin’ shirt, while my wife and child wither away on an Irene-induced island, know that it’s because we really really wanted to make this show happen, Indiana.

I wrote a studio journal!

Dalton’s been asking me to write a studio journal while we’re down here in Nashville working on our album — at this point, having only posted a few entries about our new material and the sessions we did with David Kahne last winter, I think it’s better to let Ryan handle the day-to-day stuff like Joe’s inner “Situation” on his Twitter account.  Maybe I’ll pan out and go big picture with this update. 

Every album is a different experience for us, with high points and low points, good ideas, bad ideas etc… sometimes it goes quickly and sometimes it takes forever.  There are so many dynamics at play, it’s tough to say why this album has been over a year in the making, but over the course of our careers we’ve always had these forces to contend with in the studio:   Guster vs. Nature, Guster vs. Label, Guster vs. Technology, Guster vs. Lyrics, Guster vs. Producer, Guster vs. Guster.  It’s that last one that can be a real dagger.

Parachute (1994) isn’t something I recall too well.  We were mostly just psyched to be making an album and to have a producer willing to help us figure out how to do it (Mike Denneen).  Surely if people liked our 11 songs we could convince Adam to quit the Beelzebubs (Tufts a capella group) and join Gus full-time. We ran into the harsh limitations of our own playing abilities (Guster vs. Nature) on that record, and brought in some pros to play drums and bass.  Also, since these were pre-digital days, we would be “punching” hand drums for hours and cutting tape with razor blades to make things correct (Guster vs. Technology).

Goldfly (1997) was an absolute disaster of an experience.  We had a vision for the album and butted heads with Steve Lindsey (Guster vs. Producer) for an entire month in Los Angeles.  Why the hell did we fly out west to record when we were funding the record ourselves anyway?  It went quickly and painfully, and while many people like this album, lots of things slipped through the cracks (did we really dub out that “jackyl” lyric on Bury Me?) while we kept the process from drowning in tension.  This album got picked up by a major label, somehow, but gave us the anger we needed to take the next step.

Lost & Gone Forever (1999) was a joy to make.  We brought in Steve Lillywhite to execute a vision he shared with us.  It took two months.  Done.

Keep It Together (2003) took forever, and was recorded with two producers in various stages, with plenty of tension all around.  Roger Moutenot hung in there with us while we learned new instruments (Guster vs. Nature) and arranged songs like “Come Downstairs & Say Hello” on our shiny new Macintosh computers (Guster vs. Technology).    Ron Aniello came in for a second batch of songs (Guster vs. Label) after our A&R guy didn’t think we were finished writing, and Careful, Keep It Together, Homecoming King, and Amsterdam were all added to the record, with Rosenworcel on lyrics for three of those (Guster vs. Lyrics, Guster vs. Guster).  Ron was an inspiration.  Only producer we’ve ever worked with twice.  At one point during the exhaustive process of recording Keep It Together, Steve Lillywhite told Ryan (read this with a thick British accent, please) — “Every time U2 reinvents themselves it takes them four years, so the way I see it, you’ve still got a year to go.”

Ganging Up on the Sun (2006) added Joe to the mix and was documented for a while by Dave Yonkman, if you want to see us in action.  The high points were incredibly high during that recording, and we all felt we were making something very special.  We ran into our label and our lack of lyrics in a big way towards the end though, and brought in Ron Aniello to play the role of “The Wolf” again — this time yielding half of the album, including “Hang On,” my favorite song from the album.  I can’t stress enough the fact that our albums have actually benefitted from our label telling us to keep writing.  It’d be more fun to say “fuck you” than “you’re right” — but in our experience so far, major labels have only pushed us to greater heights. 

Still Untitled (2010) has seen us confront all our familiar foes (Nature, Label, Technology, Lyrics, Producer, Guster), with a special asterisk on Producer this time around, and a new force to throw into the mix:  Guster vs Their Own Expanding Families.  We have a lot of pride as a band, especially regarding our last few albums, and we’re not about to release an album until we all feel (heart of hearts etc) that it’s the best thing we’ve ever done.  In the year since my last studio journal, I’ve been awfully quiet on the blogging front, which is an indication that our recordings weren’t quite doing justice to the songs we’d written.  So I’m happy to say that in the last month since we’ve taken matters back into our own hands and returned to Joe’s Place in Nashville, we’re honing in on an album that will be our proudest yet.  It’s amazing how, after 19 years in a band, you have so much musicality, perspective, and collective creativity under your belt that you can just start painting a canvas together and it’ll start to look good.

I don’t know that I’ll get into the songs via studio journal this time.  There are lots of them, and tough choices to make, and I don’t want to jinx anything.  But we’re honing in on something very exciting.  And here is “Solid Potato Salad” for your viewing pleasure:

Dear 109 Followers…

Today I realized my last two road journal entries were accidentally posted here in the studio journal.  A minor blogging technicality to some of you, but the difference between a tickle in the back of the throat and a nasty case of swine flu to me.

Huh?

If you’d like to follow along as I mock deadly global pandemics online, you ought to click this link and join up with the road journal, where I’ve been blogging for the past month under the accidental header “What the #$&! is Tumblr and how do I use it!?”

Together we can prove that twittering is for people with A.D.D. and tumblring is for people with slightly less A.D.D.

Yours!

Brian

Fluglehorn solo

I’ve been delinquent again, but I have good reason.  I can’t find my digital camera anywhere, and without my camera these entries are just bland walls of words.  Obituaries.  Thankfully Adam has a FLIP video camera, and did his best D.F. Yonkman impression yesterday while our friend Larry played fluglehorn on our record.

Working title for the song is “Lost at Sea” — yes, we are in a room full of old televisions.

Last week I wanted to snap a photo of Ryan playing the Omnichord on a song (working title: Cars/Love) (Shut it! Working title are always lame).  But I couldn’t find my camera.  It’s an old keyboard that plays chords and beats and generally has an awesome harpsichord-like tone, and we’ve tried to use it on records before without much success.  This time I think it’s going to stick.

In lieu of Ryan performing the Omnichord, I found a photo of some woman playing it online.  And she’s hot, to boot.

Letter from a fan!

“Kenny R.” in California writes…

Brian-

It has now been one day short of a month since you last updated the road journal’s new “Tumblr” page, and that can mean just one thing. You have quit the band after a heated debate with Ryan over what you thought was Bruce Willis’ worst performance on screen. I don’t want to get into the argument or studio in-fighting, but if I had to guess, I would say that you went with “Last Man Standing,” and Ryan took “The Bonfire of the Vanities.” Both valid opinions, but unfortunately, you are both wrong. The film is of course, “Hudson Hawk.” (Though the case can be made for both “The Sixth Sense,” AND “Hart’s War.”)

It’s so cool that someone was checking our website because they wanted an update.  My bad.  I think it’s been all downhill for Bruce since “Moonlighting” but that’s not what we’ve been arguing about.  We’ve been arguing because while recording the second batch of songs at a studio in NY last week, someone slobbered all over my snare drum right before a really important take…

I know what you’re thinking.  I know what Kenny R is going to write about next.  Oh no, the new direction of the studio journal and the band in general is to make corny jokes about their kids and post adorable photos of them holding instruments.

All I can say is this… wait until you see the lyrics, Kenny R.  You wouldn’t think a band could rip off “Cat’s in the Cradle” in so many unique ways.  In the end, I forgave Ryan for drooling on my snare drum because his daughter Leo is so damn cute.

At this point, the drums on the record are all recorded, and it’s my job to sit on the couch, listen while the flaws slowly sink in, and then figure out the perfect moment to go fix them on the computer.  One of the things I’m most proud of so far on this record is that I used these old crappy old 12 inch hi hats I once bought on the road on like, more than half the songs.  They sound like someone throwing a toaster oven in a metal trash can when you play them next to your ear, or next to Leo’s ear, but somehow they sounded like sweet creamy butter in the mics.

I didn’t pay ten dollars for them, I think I paid $200.  But someone, once, paid ten dollars for them, or at least wrote $10 in permanent magic marker on the underside of them.  They sound best on Jesus & Mary, which is a kind-of-reggae song we wrote with the hi hat chugging through all the verses.  I know, reggae.  I know.  We try to write one reggae song every album and then it never even makes it to the studio because it sounds like reggae.  This one’s actually getting recorded and might end up on the album.  Probably because it’s not really that reggae.  It’s reggae in a clashy way.

Also, after many experiments with “rocking,” and many failed experiments with “rocking” (see: The New Underground, circa 2006), we are making an album with little-to-no rocking on it.  It’s energetic and up tempo like never before, this record, but there are no songs you’d want to put up devil horns with three fingers while listening to.  There is one song, working title: Ry Plays Guitar where you might put up a half skull or something, but he’s rocking on an acoustic and it rocks in a more slackery indie way.  That one is tentatively titled as such a) because we need to write the lyrics for it and b) because it’s the one song that Ryan plays guitar on.

We’re breaking for the holidays now, but before we split up, we tried out a vocal on Hebrew Joe, which is one of my favorite numbers.  It’s this soft graceful Nick Drake-y song we wrote where Joe was singing gibberish in a Russian accent during its conception.  Lots of “chuh’s” and “shne’s” and stuff.  It’s kind of silly but kind of awesome, and we’ve had conversations about whether to put English words on it, but always thought that it would sound weird with real lyrics because it was conceived in a real moment, an inspired moment, and it just strangely works with foreign gibberish lyrics.

Well, we recorded the gibberish vocal, listened to it, and everyone unanimously decided it sounded ridiculous.  Producer DK said “I think you’re ruining a great song.”  He was right.  Ryan had a set of lyrics he was working on about that girl who fell in a well and those sounded much better.  Stay tuned.

What the #&%! is tumblr and how do I use it

November 21st 2008.

We’ve recorded 8 basic tracks now.  It took us 3 days to do it.  That’s 2 and 2/3rds songs per day.  Most bands that David Kahne works with knock out 4 in a day, but we’d never done more than one a day before (we started in a dorm room! we’re just cavemen!), so for us this represents a real accomplishment.  Should there be pride in recording songs quickly?  If you’re Guster, and you can spin your heels like nobody’s business in the studio, absolutely. 

We actually practiced the songs this time.  Usually we’ll get into the studio and say things like “it feels like the click track is speeding up in the chorus” because we’re used to slowing down in the chorus (my bad).  This time we got that out of our system in rehearsal, where the rent is cheap.  I don’t think we did more than 4 takes on any song, and we usually got what we needed from the first couple of takes.  There will be fiddling and tweaking, as we are wont to do in the studio, but there will be no “take the bridge from take 18 and the second verse from take 31, but use the fill into the chorus from take 4” this time around.

I’m on a plane to San Diego where our tour manager Seth is getting married this weekend.  It’s been an exciting month for the Gusters, with Dave Yonkman’s wedding, Dave Zamboni’s wedding, and the much-anticipated beginning of this recording. As I sit down to reflect on our first few days in the studio, I’m not even sure what direction the studio journal will take this time around.  I could get into each song, as I’ve done in the past, describe the sound, admit the influence (did I ever confess that “Satellite” was just us trying to write “Under the Milky Way Tonight” by the Church?), or maybe I’ll let people be surprised when the record comes out, and write about other things.

Like the fact that I got a full on “bye-bye-da-da” on my way out the door this morning (my wife speaks in crude remedial phrases, not unlike a baby).

Or crashing the set of a local cable access show when we discovered it was just down the street from where we were recording.  Oh wait.  That happened two albums ago.

Or maybe I’ll offer up little tidbits, here and there.  Like the fact that we have a song we call “Yacht Rock” (working title) that will be so polarizing, it’s destined to be the “Highly Suspicious” of this album.  But better. 

We’ll just see how things go.  Working until midnight and then waking up at six (I’m a morning person now!) doesn’t leave a lot of energy for journal writing, but thankfully the kind of journal writing I do doesn’t take a lot of energy either.  I just hammered this shit out in twenty minutes and now it’s back to 36 channels of DirectTV and my cushy leather seat and wondering if I should have paid the extra thirty bucks for an exit row because I have to pee, I’m in the window seat, and there’s an old man on the aisle sawing away with his mouth open.  Maybe I can hold it for another three and a half hours.

Journalists note: I did actually wait three and a half hours (successfully)