Art is the holy spirit blowing through your soul. — Jack Kerouac.
I’ll drink to that, thought Roc as he poured himself a strawberry mango shake while reading the post-it on the cupboard. The note on the other door, Roaches love crumbs, demanded less thought. Roc was in that wonderful creative haze where the physical world was manoeuvred on autopilot while musical fragments floated through his head, seeming to want to push their way into life in the open air. Often they did, and songs were born. He was in a different musical phase now, and while not wanting to examine it too closely, he realized that the work was unlike anything that had come before; and the idea that it represented some earlier, cruder career phase was ridiculous. Still, Uncle had been calling, reminding him of the upcoming label meeting to discuss the first Echoes release. Glad to no longer be part of that world, Roc was enjoying his unassailable creative freedom. The only thing nagging was the Marie song, the one he hadn’t started and that she was scheduled to sing in a matter of hours. Eddie had wired up his bedroom so Roc could have audio and video contact with the control room, to effectively produce the track from the grave.
He wandered into the studio, confident that inspiration awaited. Things had been moved around again, but the mystery had been solved. Eddie’s son, Rich, alias Stick Neff, had been sneaking into the studio to work on his music. Roc hadn’t mentioned this to Eddie because, truth be told, he was now enjoying the intrusions. It was forcing a change in his sleeping patterns, and he’d had to beat a quick retreat from the studio a couple of times when he heard the system being disarmed, but he was fascinated by the music. And he was curious about Rich’s girlfriend, who always seemed to be just out of range of the security cameras or curled up in a corner of the studio, reading, with her hair falling in her face while her boyfriend moved restlessly from drums to bass to piano and back.
Roc found himself making the same circuit as he tried to get a start on the Marie song. Finally, he decided to see what the percussion closet would yield. There was a post-it note on the door.
I couldn’t go pop with a mouth full of firecrackers. — Waylon Jennings
Roc smiled as he pulled out the old Scandalli accordion. Perfect. He dusted off the keys and flashed back to his father playing those pieces he called musettes — wobbly, gypsy-sounding waltzes that Roc and his brother used to dance to like marionettes while his mother leaned in the doorway looking dreamy-eyed. After working up a wheezy squeezebox riff, Roc headed back to the control room. He patched in an old Roland 808, one of those early eighties drum machines that they used on “Sexual Healing” and “In the Air Tonight,” and dialed up a primitive groove. After adding some strumming Spanish guitar and the two chord accordion pattern, he looped it so it repeated infinitely, grabbed a studio notepad, and scribbled:
“I’m your negligée
You’re my matinée
I’m your tarte aux pommes
You’re my chocolat bombe
Oh mais oui
It’s just you and me.”
Greatly amused, Roc glanced at the clock and dashed off a chorus lyric:
“Ooo lala, ooo lala
C’est moi et toi
Ooo lala.”
No time for editing, he thought as he hastily recorded a guide vocal, or whisper, more accurately. Processing the vocal up to girlie range, he did a quick one-pass mix and left the disc, marked “Edam and Weep,” where Eddie would find it.
A short time later, he was refining one of the new “old” song lyrics when a glowering Uncle burst in. “You’re kidding, right?”
Roc held his gaze and paused. “Aren’t you?”
“C’mon, man. This is serious. I’ve been counting on you.”
Roc couldn’t suppress a smile and saw Uncle trying to fight one back. Roc sang quietly, “Ooo lala. C’est moi et toi.”
“Shut up!” Uncle laughed out loud at this point. “Okay, it’s funny, but Marie’s not a comedy act, for God’s sake.”
“Doesn’t she like it?”
“She loves it, but she grew up on a diet of French disco.” Uncle shook his head slowly. “All right, but you’ve got to help us through this.”
“Tell Ed to keep his phones on and use talkback 2 for me and 1 for Marie, okay?”
“Yeah, all right,” Uncle sighed. “I’d better get back, or they’ll wonder what the hell I’m doing.”
“They?”
“Julie’s here too. Remember Julie?” Uncle arched his brow and departed.
The session went remarkably well. Marie proved to be a quick study, and the talkback system worked perfectly.
“Have her replace ‘think’ with ‘wink,’ it’s coming out ‘tink,’ and I’m not sure what that means.” Eddie nodded in reply to the camera, which caught Julie over Eddie’s shoulder. She almost seemed to be posing for him, running her hand through her hair and fixing her lipstick while she encouraged her friend. Roc told Eddie, “Have Marie get closer to the mike. Really work it. Imagine it’s little Uncle. Oh, and could you move your chair about six inches to the left, you’re blocking my view of Julie.”
Eddie suppressed a smile and hit the talkback. “Okay, one more pass at the chorus. We need to stack it. Keep it breathy, Marie, here we go. Comin’ at you goin’ strong, it’s K-Ed, the rock of Toluca, and a brand new sexy smash from sweet Marie.”
Julie smiled straight into the security camera.