SESSION SHENANIGANS
The studio guitarist’s guide to happiness and personal fulfilment, as related by session ace Mitch Dalton. This month: ‘If Muzak Be The Mood Of Love...’
Semi interestingly, the company whose name is synonymous with the phrase ‘lift music’ has never deployed its products in elevators. However, they should care. The last time the organisation was acquired in 2011 it sold for around $350 million. Mood Music. Background Music. Your-call-isimportant-to-us Music. Whichever label you wish to append, it’s big business, ubiquitous and a significant contributor to postprandial dyspepsia.
Which is why it dawned on me recently during a moment of lockdown lassitude, that I hadn’t recorded any ‘product’ for Muzak in a while. Upon undertaking superficial research, it turned out that they haven’t commissioned in-house music since 1997, preferring to licence original tracks instead. I catch on fast, apparently. So it appears that another lift door has glided shut on the lobby floor of my career without my even noticing. And well do I recall those sessions, featuring instrumental cover versions of hits transcribed, arranged and conducted by the meticulous Nick Ingman. The guitar frequently played the melody line live, backed up by a hotshot rhythm section and augmented with additional session aces as required. The studio of preference was Lansdowne in hippest Holland Park. Don’t go looking for it. It ain’t there no more. Like nearly all the others. But here’s the thing of it (a transatlantic phrase with which a bass player chum of mine would preface any sentence).
The object of the exercise was to reproduce faithfully the exact vocal performance on the original recording. The phrasing, the timing and the ‘feel’. But not the royalties, as it goes. Now. Imagine the melody of Three Blind Mice. Imagine it written out. In 6/8 time, bar one would be notated as dotted crotchet, dotted crotchet. Bar two, dotted crotchet, dotted crotchet rest. And onwards, until all animals had undergone cataract surgery. A sight reading test of Grade 1 standard I hear you exclaim with some derision. But wait. Now imagine Whitney Houston performing said ditty. Imagine her imbuing that eternal nursery rhyme with all the vocal gymnastics known to woman. Appoggiaturas, acciaccaturas, delayed and anticipated notes, inflections and a tour de force of phrasing in general.
And now my friend, imagine that performance written out.
Two words spring instantly to mind. The conflation of the words ‘night’ and ‘mare’ is the clue. And in that order. But that was the nature of the gig, the mission being to reproduce instrumentally an exact vocal performance. And quickly, since we recorded at the rate of six tunes per session.
But of course, there was method in the Muzak madness. What they were after was a genuine interpretation of the melody, which was clearly a factor in the success of the original. The fact that it resulted in a post-gig lie-down in a darkened room for the guitar player was of scant concern to them.
These reminiscences were triggered recently when I watched a clip of a live performance of The Gadd Gang. They were playing an instrumental version of the Stevie Wonder classic, Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I’m Yours. They were in Montreux, I do believe. Some of the heaviest hitters of all time. Steve Gadd himself. Genius of modern drumming, obvs. Eddie Gomez on double bass. Virtuoso. Richard Tee on piano. Owner of the deepest gospel infused groove outside a chapel. Or inside, for that matter. Ronnie Cuber, all-time baritone sax great. And there in their midst sat Cornell Dupree on a bar stool, equipped with nothing but a guitar and the lead he was probably born with attached to his amp. All he did was play the toon and a minuscule solo-ette. He employed no technical gymnastics, no advanced harmonic concepts and no multi-effects firestorms. Just a nice clean sound, each melodic phrase individually articulated. Bends, the same note played sequentially on adjacent strings, slides and slurs. All yer favourites. A subtle, thoroughly persuasive and convincing rendition. And in so doing, he held his own easily in that exalted company. I do not think Mr Cornell was a great sight reader. I rather think not. But in any event, please don’t transcribe his performance and give it to me to play on a lift music session.
I thank you in advance.
“SO IT APPEARS THAT ANOTHER LIFT DOOR HAS GLIDED SHUT ON THE LOBBY FLOOR OF MY CAREER WITHOUT MY EVEN NOTICING”