Let me tell you something.

So I mixed a song.  For the first time in ten years I darkened a studio door and wrestled a creation into what I think is palatable for the masses.  It’s what mixers do.  We polish and hopefully enhance an earnest, artistic musical effort. I had to do it.  I was scared.  New technology.  Tapeless.  No comforting whir of analog multi-tracks.  No printing the mix to a Studer half inch and editing with a razor blade if necessary.

None of that.  Archaic and obsolete.  Old school.

Hit the space bar and the track starts over.  Click in the box and enter the frequency you want to manipulate via the numeric keypad.  Pull the curve up and down with the cursor.  Write cuts visually.  Dial it up or down with the mouse after you’ve selected the “Q”.  Enter reverb and delay times consistent with note value based on beats per minute.  I didn’t touch a single fader and the only knob I fingered was the gain knob for the system I was monitoring on.

It was all about the mouse on a Mac.  Weird.

For what it’s worth, I produced, recorded and mixed my first record when I was twenty seven years old.  It sold a hundred thousand copies.  I had my first top ten multi-platinum hit before I was thirty.  I started as a janitor for A&M studios at twenty years old and was making records for the label long before the age of twenty nine.

But it’s been awhile.  A long time.

I was a little worried about a lot of things.  What if I couldn’t figure it out?  I’ve never been the most technical guy on the planet.  I worked with plenty of absolute geniuses and understand my place in that hierarchy.  Honestly, my biggest question and fear was whether, despite the entirely new tech, if I could still pull it off.  The extra added pressure, this was for my best friend since childhood.  We played together when I sucked and he was brilliant.  The engineer who’s studio it is and who cut the tracks, I’ve known since pre-school, the drummer I’ve known since his early teens and the guitar player has been my very best friend since we were thirteen.  I’ve only known the bass player for the last year but he’s a whip smart guy with no shortage of humility or musical ability.

They are an excellent band.  They can play.  They play anything they want, with an ease and level of musicianship that is rare.  I tell you this but you must understand that I know the difference.  I’ve worked with the best players.  Often.  I don’t wanna name drop, but I have to so I won’t.  I’ve been there. Over and over.

I co-produced and engineered Everclear’s “Sparkle And Fade”.  Art Alexakis should have let me mix it.  My mix of “Santa Monica” slays the mix that appears on the record.

I’ve been around but it’s been awhile.

These guys can play and they can write an excellent pop song.  I’m trying to tell you that I know.  I know the difference between shit and shiny.  They call themselves the the Atomic Giants and they are the best band that Carson City has ever offered.

Ten years I guess.

It is an awesome and sobering fact to me.  I might just still have a handle on this.

It’s not finished yet, but I trust them.  What follows is a letter I’ve written to them of my advice on how to bring it home.  I’m leaving town in just a few days to get back to my life so I can’t put the finishing touches on what I’ve wrought.  I want you to be interested enough to read my blankmanship in the context of the track that I hope I’ve figured out how to let you listen to.  There should be a link that takes you to it.

Davey V. plays drums and he has the grease.  My best friend Sean plays guitars, we have shared many a comic book, Chocodile, Rondo, Kiss and Van Halen record and he is my personal Jesus.  My new friend Greg plays bass and my new old Friend Mike Sarceno gives it throat.  They don’t suck at all.  Tom is the engineer of merit and receptacle of my thanks and gratitude.  A very sweet, very talented and capable man with really good ears and a nice pate.

Here’s my letter to the band:

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