SESSION shenanigans
The studio guitarist’s guide to happiness and personal fulfilment, as related by session ace Mitch Dalton. This month: Catch 23.
Ah…the deluded joy of The Boudoir Guitarist. Locked away in Boogie Bedroomland, Mexican Stratomaster strapped for maximum pose-ability, headphones set to 11 and wardrobe mirror adjusted to capture every provocative move. Within this Walter Mitty-esque world, our hero rips out supercharged renditions of Stairway To Heaven, Smoke On The Water and Brush With The Blues of such blistering intensity that Page, Blackmore and Beck return their instruments to their cases simultaneously, never to bend a string again. Why, even a good quality tennis racket will suffice. The lad’s a flipping’ genius! Coke-addled, rehab-ready superstardom is merely a rip-off record deal away.
Sadly, and inconveniently early in the tricky attempt to eat regularly as a professional guitarist, reality strips and comes off the bench about 10 minutes into your first recording session. Astonishingly, it appears that you aren’t playing in tune, you can’t keep time with the click track and your sound ain’t much to write to Guitar Techniques about either.
But fear not. If money is involved in the enterprise, you will be appraised of your musical deficiencies swiftly and concisely. Should you survive the crushing blows to your ego, the inflated estimation of your own ability and your bank balance, you may decide to give up and join the dole queue. Or The Foreign Legion. Or both. Alternatively, in the partially inaccurate words of Irving’s ditty, you could ‘literally’ face the music and get your s**t together.
Assuming for the moment that a combination of newly discovered humility, long years of relentless shedding and a catering sized pack of luck has propelled you to the dizzying heights of semi-regular employment, you will then discover that adulation eludes you still. After a morning of overdubbing performances of precision and passion on a variety of high-end instruments and in any style requested, you are likely to be dismissed with, “Okay. We’re done. Could you pack up and leave as quickly as possible? We need to set up for the brass section this afternoon.” Or, “Thanks. I think we got what we need.” Or (a personal favourite), after endless attempts to improve a solo, “Yeah. You Were right. The first take was the one. We’re gonna go with that.”
Occasionally, the odd tidbit of validation may come your way. Of course, it’s always welcome and gratifying to find that your efforts are appreciated. But beware of the coda and its potential threat to your self esteem. Some time ago in London’s West End Theatreland, my esteemed colleague Steve Pearce passed me a copy of a reputable fretting journal during one of the breaks in the extravaganza that was the musical, Chess. It lay open at the letters page. The gist of it amounted to, “Dear Sir, I am a regular subscriber to your mag. I enjoy particularly the transcriptions of famous guitar solos but often discover that they are beyond my technical ability. Would you include some easier take downs from time to time? I’m thinking of melodically pleasing examples like George Harrison’s While My Guitar Gently Weeps, Dire Straits’ Sultans Of Swing or the guitar solo on Blue Skies by Kiri Te Kanawa and The Nelson Riddle Orchestra.” “‘Ere, that’s you on the Kiri track innit?
You must write in and tell them. Studio musos are rarely afforded a mention and this reader has placed your performance in the same category as a couple of iconic solos.”
After much reluctance and a modicum of nagging, I put virtual pen to papyrus and replied. I thanked the gentleman for his interest and provided some fax ’n info about the gear I’d used and the week I’d spent with the genuinely great Mr Riddle. My letter wasn’t printed and I didn’t receive a reply. I hasten to add that the publication in question was not part of the Guitar Techniques group of mags. And I ain’t bitter. But that’s not important right now. The irony of this episode resides in the fact that the great American arranger returned home, the album was released and it roared up the charts. And I was duly booked to perform the title track on The Parkinson Show. As custom dictates, I thought I’d tell my mum and dad that their boy would be featured on the weekend’s primetime chat show.
I arrived at BBC Television Centre for a day of live Light Entertainment and terrible canteen food. Mr R was doubtless ensconced comfortably somewhere in a Beverly Hills hovel while a deputy musical director had been drafted in for the day. At exactly 2.00pm we ran through Blue Skies. And at exactly 2.05pm came the instruction, “Right. We don’t need the guitar solo at Letter C, ladies and gents. Cut it. And once more, please…”
So there you have it. To learn and grow as a musician you must acquire humility, modesty and acceptance. But to do the job you need self-belief, a wee touch of arrogance and the mental strength to withstand the continuous assault on your morale. Catch 23. Joseph Heller would have approved.
Maybe Buddhism beckons. Or alcoholism. Or one of those other ‘-ism’ words, at least.
FEAR NOT. IF MONEY IS INVOLVED YOU WILL BE APPRAISED OF YOUR MUSICAL DEFICIENCIES SWIFTLY AND CONCISELY
For more on Mitch and his musical exploits with the Studio Kings, go to: www.mitchdalton.co.uk