And then there was Joe Cocker. One of the truly great highlights of my early years. As many know, even by then (1978) Joe's career'd had many ups and downs. Electra had signed him for a single album (Luxury You Can Afford), and the tracks had been recorded in New Orleans with legendary Producer Allen Toussaint.
Great musicians, great songs, great tracks...but NO vocals. Joe HATED
singing in the studio. I think he just felt too self-conscious (I'm not
really sure). When he came in, I was familiar with him, although not a huge fan (yet). His Manager- who was always with him and oversaw every detail- was Michael Lang, one of the Producers of the Woodstock
festival (yes, THE Woodstock). Nice guy, too... soft spoken, really smart. I remember after a day or two of them being around, I looked at Michael and said, "man you look FAMILIAR". He smirked and just said quietly, "Woodstock". And I thought for a moment, and then exclaimed, "you're the guy on the motorcycle!". He just winked. That was a fun moment I'll never forget.
Wow, working with the guy who put on Woodstock. That was cool. I was 13 when it happened, and at that time my life was about Boy Scouts. As a matter of fact, the summer Woodstock happened I was at the Boy Scout National Jamboree at Farragut State Park in Idaho. Same summer we landed on the moon. But, when the Woodstock album came out, it was 1971, and I'd started down the glorious path of hippie consciousness (mushrooms and weed). Listening to that album was one of the major epiphanies of my adolescent life. I was SO THERE with it all. And, living in the San Francisco Bay Area as I did at the time, the air was infused with hippiedom. It was a compelling time, to say the least.
Cut to 1979; Joe Cocker is in the studio (with me engineering), tasked with finally laying down his vocal tracks for an album that was in fact very important to his career (Luxury You Can Afford). It was comeback time. We worked night after night after night. Sometimes recording vocals, other times various overdubs to enhance or replace certain parts. I recall Rick Danko (The Band) coming by one night to replace a bass part. I think we may have done some back-up vocals too, with Clydie King (historic back-up singer). After about a month, everything was done (or had gone as far as it was going to go), and Michael packed everyone up to return to New Orleans for the final mix. As they were leaving, Michael asked me, "how would you like to come on the road with us and mix the house (what the audience hears)?". I was like, "uh-yeah!" (as in, "what an excellent adventure!"). And so, I was thus off on my first real rock n roll TOUR.
Friday, January 18, 2019
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
The Wally Heider Story cont'd
I would call my time at Elektra Sound Recorders (1977-1980) the epitome of "halcyon days". The era itself, particularly in terms of music and music recording, was a time of renaissance. And, working at a company studio the likes of Elektra meant a steady stream of historic artists. I remember the day I recorded comedian Mel Brooks chatting with the Chairman of the Board of Elektra/Asylum Records, Joe Smith (to promote the soundtrack album of "The Producers"). Mel I wasn't that familiar with (I was 23 years old... what can I say?), but Joe I found fascinating. The demeanor and panache of a Hollywood executive was something I'd never seen back home in Foster City (suburb of San Francisco). He was really a smoothie... the next time I saw him was around 8 in the morning at The Village Recorders, after a string of coked-up all-nighters in the final throes of completing the soundtrack album for The Rose. But that's another story I'll save for later.
Working for Elektra was also what I would call an intense learning phase, with both stellar good moments and unimaginable disasters. One significant disaster was knocking a full milkshake onto the recording console. That was a sticky situation for days afterwards. But the clincher was the day I sauntered in to a session terribly hung over from drinking (which I rarely did), to lay down tracks of a band of stellar studio pros, to be the basis of a new R&B record for an unnamed new vocalist. Regardless of my limited capacity, I set the studio up, got a sound the Producer was happy with, and proceeded to record. We did three or for tunes, and every track was smokin. Most of the musicians had gigs out of town that night, so as soon as we were done they were out the door and off to LAX. The producer and I practically skipped back into the studio, gleeful to play back the fabulous tracks. I rewound the 2" 24-track Master tape back to the head of the reel, and proudly pressed "Play". Out of the speakers came NOTHING. The tape was EMPTY. Silent. Not a single iota of sound had been recorded. And we had not stopped to play anything back during the session as everything sounded awesome, and we knew the guys had to go soon.
Oh sure, I'd pressed the BIG RED RECORD BUTTON for every take. I was certain of that. But, in my hung over stupor, what I'd forgotten to do was to put every individual track into "Ready", allowing it to actually go into record when I pressed the big red button. Oops. The Producer looked at me like, "Whaaa?". I caught on real fast to what was going on, but for one of the very very few times in my entire life, I feigned ignorance... and surprise... and incredulous astonishment. Clearly there had been some catastrophic, unpredictable technical failure (yeah... right). After I quickly and surreptitiously put each track into "Ready", as it should have been all along, I called in my boss in (Roger), who after a rudimentary inspection of the circumstance humbly apologized for the Studio's failure. I was relieved and my heart was pounding. In the end, it cost Elektra Sound Recorders about $11,000 to have all the musicians return and re-record the tracks. Although I always suspected Roger knew the true scoop, he graciously never said so. After all, upon inspection all the equipment was in fact functioning perfectly.
So much for the disasters at Elektra. On the up-side were many fun times. Like Flo and Eddie, the two singers from The Turtles (who later went on to back-up Bruce Springsteen for awhile). They were producing a demo for Elektra, and had come in for some overdubs and mixes. And they were a RIOT. Kept me laughing every minute, with phrases like, "hookers and coke... we need more hookers and coke!". They were joking, but for we of the hippie era it was good fun. More to come... next time I'll talk about working with Joe Cocker, and how my involvement with The Rose came about.
Working for Elektra was also what I would call an intense learning phase, with both stellar good moments and unimaginable disasters. One significant disaster was knocking a full milkshake onto the recording console. That was a sticky situation for days afterwards. But the clincher was the day I sauntered in to a session terribly hung over from drinking (which I rarely did), to lay down tracks of a band of stellar studio pros, to be the basis of a new R&B record for an unnamed new vocalist. Regardless of my limited capacity, I set the studio up, got a sound the Producer was happy with, and proceeded to record. We did three or for tunes, and every track was smokin. Most of the musicians had gigs out of town that night, so as soon as we were done they were out the door and off to LAX. The producer and I practically skipped back into the studio, gleeful to play back the fabulous tracks. I rewound the 2" 24-track Master tape back to the head of the reel, and proudly pressed "Play". Out of the speakers came NOTHING. The tape was EMPTY. Silent. Not a single iota of sound had been recorded. And we had not stopped to play anything back during the session as everything sounded awesome, and we knew the guys had to go soon.
Oh sure, I'd pressed the BIG RED RECORD BUTTON for every take. I was certain of that. But, in my hung over stupor, what I'd forgotten to do was to put every individual track into "Ready", allowing it to actually go into record when I pressed the big red button. Oops. The Producer looked at me like, "Whaaa?". I caught on real fast to what was going on, but for one of the very very few times in my entire life, I feigned ignorance... and surprise... and incredulous astonishment. Clearly there had been some catastrophic, unpredictable technical failure (yeah... right). After I quickly and surreptitiously put each track into "Ready", as it should have been all along, I called in my boss in (Roger), who after a rudimentary inspection of the circumstance humbly apologized for the Studio's failure. I was relieved and my heart was pounding. In the end, it cost Elektra Sound Recorders about $11,000 to have all the musicians return and re-record the tracks. Although I always suspected Roger knew the true scoop, he graciously never said so. After all, upon inspection all the equipment was in fact functioning perfectly.
So much for the disasters at Elektra. On the up-side were many fun times. Like Flo and Eddie, the two singers from The Turtles (who later went on to back-up Bruce Springsteen for awhile). They were producing a demo for Elektra, and had come in for some overdubs and mixes. And they were a RIOT. Kept me laughing every minute, with phrases like, "hookers and coke... we need more hookers and coke!". They were joking, but for we of the hippie era it was good fun. More to come... next time I'll talk about working with Joe Cocker, and how my involvement with The Rose came about.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
The Wally Heider Story
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.
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.
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!
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