A New Album
Today (June 9), my record drops. Who will be there to catch it?
I have made a number of these things. Records. The process still mystifies me. It starts with nothing. A hummed tune. A few words. A chorus line I can’t extricate from my head.
Then it’s a pile of songs. Too many, invariably. So the runts get shoved aside by the stronger of the litter. The castaways might grow up between now and the next record and find a home there. Some will become bonus tracks. Others will be forgotten. But the record? That’s the thing. The monster that has just been summoned into existence. The beast about to draw its first breath.
I love the process of making records. The comraderie. The common goal. The act of creation that links all involved. It’s more fun now than when I made my first record way back in high school. And that was the most fun I’d ever had. What a thrill. To discover the meaning in a life. In my own life.
I am a lucky, lucky man.
I named this album after its dad. Rhett Miller.
Self-centered? Sure. But my favorite art happens when the lens is turned inward. I reveal bits of myself in order to reach out. To the shared consciousness. To the world. To you.
“My life was saved by rock and roll.” It’s not just a great lyric, it’s the truth. I heard Joan Jett sing it on the King Biscuit Flower Hour one depressing Sunday night during my childhood. That night she introduced me to The Velvets AND Bowie. Thanks, Joan,
While I’m at it, I need to thank the good folks who have helped out even more recently…
This record started out as mine, but it became the property of a small group of us.
Salim Nourallah is my George Martin. I love him and depend on him. He nurtured this record so lovingly. His endless ideas; his willingness to hear input from all involved; his strength of vision… He made it all possible. And what a bedside manner! Salim has helped me learn to be a more conscious, present person. That’s a full-service producer!
The first thing we laid down, not unusually, was the foundation. The drums. John Dufilho had studied the demos I’d made with the intensity of an FBI operative poring over vital intelligence reports. He came into the studio with a focus and determination that made me want to work hard enough that I would deserve his hard work and talent. John re-introduced me to my own songs. He rebuilt them. He saved their puny little lives and set them on the road towards maturation.
Billy Harvey is like a taller, good-looking Yoda. Quiet and intense. He embodies a Zen approach to life that inspires me. He could be the world’s biggest show-off – his melodic and instrumental prowess is so profound. But, like a true Jedi, he only displays his brilliance when it is needed. He played the vast majority of the guitar parts on the album as well as some keys and some singing. To hear him create melody and nuance is to watch a master-craftsman at work. And we pushed him. Long hours. Hard work. He never complained. He never phoned it in.
Jon Brion, on the other hand, did phone it in. But only technically. He was in LA while we were in Dallas. He would get the tracks we had laid down and add his own fascinating, insane, beautiful flourishes wherever he saw fit. How lucky am I to count Jon among my friends? Supremely. And don’t think I don’t know it. Listen to the bass part on the album’s opening cut. That’s Jon Brion. Forever riding a wave of inspiration. Forever making the world a more beautiful place.
The backing vocals on the album are the sweet fruit of the thousands of hours my friend Paul Averitt spent honing that specific talent. And what a talent. Though he did mark up all my notebooks, writing FA and SO in the margins, I still heart him.
There were others, friends who swung by the studio and got recruited. Jason Garner from the Deathray Davies and the Paper Chase came in and ended up playing bass on one cut. John Lefler of the band Dashboard Confessional got roped into playing some late-night keyboard parts that might have just saved the album. Kristy Kreuger came in and sang on “Refusing Temptation”, a song I’d originally written with the idea that it should be sung by a woman. And what a voice SHE has.
And then, amongst an arsenal of secret weapons, the most secret of all. Rip Rowan was not only the Geoff Emerick to Salim’s George Martin, doing a fantastic job of engineering, but a great player as well. Keys, percussion, and ideas galore. His unflagging energy saved many a day.
And now the record is out. In the world. And the hard work of that team is documented for eternity.
I love music. I love records.
I am a lucky, lucky man.
If my record is dropping, how come things are looking so UP?
