This will be a multi-post story, as it really is about my history as a Recording Engineer.
By the time I'd met Steve Barncard (http://www.barncard.com/) in 1977, he was already a hero to me. Why? Because he had a credit on a Grateful Dead album (American Beauty). To a kid like me, who grew up in Foster City, CA (a banal suburb 20 mi south of San Francisco), and who managed to actually sneak backstage at more than one Grateful Dead concert at Bill Graham's Winterland, actually meeting and befriending one of the crew of the Dead (let alone one of their Recording Engineers) was similar to encountering the rainbow at the end of a spiritual pilgrimage.
By '77 I was working at Elektra Sound Recorders, a small in-house studio owned by Elektra Records, which at the time was headquartered in a swanky Mediterranean style building on La Cienega Blvd in West Hollywood, just below Santa Monica Blvd. Elektra was rockin in those days, with the Eagles, Linda Rondstadt, Queen, Jackson Browne, Bread, Warren Zevon, The Cars, etc. I was one of two in-house Recording Engineers, along with my boss, Roger Mayer, an affable Brit who had just fallen into his role as previous Engineers had become famous and moved on. Steve worked across the street in the A&R Department (Artists & Repertoire). A&R was responsible mainly for finding new talent, and for screening the multitudes of demos and wanna-be's that passed over the threshold every day.
Steve was what I would call "breezy". He always seemed appropriately confident, appeared to be take things in stride, and definitely did not take himself to seriously. By then I think I was working with Joe Cocker (who had run out of money so the label let him use the in-house studio), and my days as a Deadhead acolyte were a little bit behind me. But meeting Steve was definitely a high point in my career to-date. Made me feel yet another step towards bona fide membership in the rock n roll literate`. And as a in-house Recordng Engineer, Steve made use of my services, sometimes sending me out to the Valley to cut tracks at The Annex, a funky living-room studio Elektra ran for recording basic song demos and such. I produced and recorded a number of bands there, and one night had the pleasure of meeting the daughter of two famous movie stars (Jamie Lee Curtis, daughter of Janet Leigh and Tony Curtis), who actually introduced herself to me by saying, "I'm the daughter of two famous movie stars". She was so sexy and attractive I actually fantasized asking my wife at the time for a divorce. Hubba hubba.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Mother's Day, 2013
Star Date 11-22... oops, wrong era. We're still just plain Earth. Damn- no real trekking yet (except in the mind, where you can go a lot farther than you might think).
This is my very first BLOG Entry. Ever! And I'm excited... and apprehensive of yet another responsibiity. However, I think this one is different. For one thing, as a heretofore erzatz writer, I can at least think of this as real writing. I'm 57 now (as well as yesterday and tomorrow), and my best writing to-date has been in the form of letters. Anything from a business pitch to a parent bitch.
In my family, my letters are actually famous. I didn't say respected, necessarily... and I meant notorious. Some of them have been really long, and some have been threads... multiple letters over many years (Hi Dad!). But, they've all been my best shit, without reservation (which is how they were written: without any withholding- the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the God-damned truth). And they've served multiple purposes. Sometimes it's been survival (help me God I'm totally lost)... sometimes seeking help (usually in the form of cold hard cash)... and sometimes trying to explain some of the most interesting (and scary) experiences any human could stand (more on that later...).
When my mom used to get mad at someone (especially my brother John), she (and he) would say that, "he's in the Doghouse now". Whatever that meant in real language (or in real history), in our family it meant, "good luck with mom". Meaning, if she's still pissed off, don't call or come by. But, then again, you had to do something to break the chill. That woman had a cold shoulder with a mind of its own. An apology usually did the trick- especially if it was accompanied with a sincere warmth and respect. Which sometimes was simply an impossibility to call forth. Mom was a stickler for the qualities of character, but unfortunately she was also capable of borderline psychosis- or something near enough to hurt like the dickens. A lasting welt in a tender spot was not unknown in the Gazecki/Menzoian household.
But she was complicated, too. Pretty, smart, moody... and easily hurt, embarrassed, and irritated. She had what I call "pretty girl syndrome". Too pretty for her own good, and not skilled or rich enough to fend for herself. Not an unfamiliar position for a good-looking women to be in, and especially routine in her day (Born: 1929; Died: 2005). One thing I have learned as a man is that pretty women have issues and struggles some men cannot even conceive of, or are incapable of recognizing- let alone having compassion for- due to their own self-absorption. One thing my mom did not like was other people's self-absorption. She had enough of her own, and was not prone to easily sharing that spotlight. Which in itself was most assuredly tied to her relationship with her identical twin, Ann.
My mom had moxie. Although in many ways an "old fashioned girl", she was by nature a liberated woman. There was certainly no one that was going to tell her what to do, in any way, shape or form. And yet she wanted nothing more than a strong-willed man of character and integrity. She did very few things (if anything) with a selfish attitude. She put her kids first, almost all the time. And if by chance she did something like wash our mouths out with soap (which did happen once or twice- using a bar of soap), it was usually done with a eye towards building character. One thing my mom did not want was to have her children grow up to be alcoholics like the family she came from. Not on her watch. We were going to grow and improve even if it killed us!
This is my very first BLOG Entry. Ever! And I'm excited... and apprehensive of yet another responsibiity. However, I think this one is different. For one thing, as a heretofore erzatz writer, I can at least think of this as real writing. I'm 57 now (as well as yesterday and tomorrow), and my best writing to-date has been in the form of letters. Anything from a business pitch to a parent bitch.
In my family, my letters are actually famous. I didn't say respected, necessarily... and I meant notorious. Some of them have been really long, and some have been threads... multiple letters over many years (Hi Dad!). But, they've all been my best shit, without reservation (which is how they were written: without any withholding- the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the God-damned truth). And they've served multiple purposes. Sometimes it's been survival (help me God I'm totally lost)... sometimes seeking help (usually in the form of cold hard cash)... and sometimes trying to explain some of the most interesting (and scary) experiences any human could stand (more on that later...).
When my mom used to get mad at someone (especially my brother John), she (and he) would say that, "he's in the Doghouse now". Whatever that meant in real language (or in real history), in our family it meant, "good luck with mom". Meaning, if she's still pissed off, don't call or come by. But, then again, you had to do something to break the chill. That woman had a cold shoulder with a mind of its own. An apology usually did the trick- especially if it was accompanied with a sincere warmth and respect. Which sometimes was simply an impossibility to call forth. Mom was a stickler for the qualities of character, but unfortunately she was also capable of borderline psychosis- or something near enough to hurt like the dickens. A lasting welt in a tender spot was not unknown in the Gazecki/Menzoian household.
But she was complicated, too. Pretty, smart, moody... and easily hurt, embarrassed, and irritated. She had what I call "pretty girl syndrome". Too pretty for her own good, and not skilled or rich enough to fend for herself. Not an unfamiliar position for a good-looking women to be in, and especially routine in her day (Born: 1929; Died: 2005). One thing I have learned as a man is that pretty women have issues and struggles some men cannot even conceive of, or are incapable of recognizing- let alone having compassion for- due to their own self-absorption. One thing my mom did not like was other people's self-absorption. She had enough of her own, and was not prone to easily sharing that spotlight. Which in itself was most assuredly tied to her relationship with her identical twin, Ann.
My mom had moxie. Although in many ways an "old fashioned girl", she was by nature a liberated woman. There was certainly no one that was going to tell her what to do, in any way, shape or form. And yet she wanted nothing more than a strong-willed man of character and integrity. She did very few things (if anything) with a selfish attitude. She put her kids first, almost all the time. And if by chance she did something like wash our mouths out with soap (which did happen once or twice- using a bar of soap), it was usually done with a eye towards building character. One thing my mom did not want was to have her children grow up to be alcoholics like the family she came from. Not on her watch. We were going to grow and improve even if it killed us!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)