Mixing Like It's 1965

So, I'm recording a cover of "Spanish Harlem Incident" by The Byrds. It's really a cover of a cover, as their version is a rearrangement of a Bob Dylan song. With some covers, I like to give the song a little twist or take it in a new direction. Others are so perfect as they are that my goal is to faithfully reproduce them. For me, "Spanish Harlem Incident" falls into the latter camp.

Right off the top I was in a bit of trouble, as I don't own a Rickenbacker 360 electric 12-string, which is what Roger McGuinn plays on this track. I put my Takamine acoustic 12 through a Line 6 Pod to create a facsimile, but it's really not the same. (Until I can summon the 3,645 Canadian pesos it takes to purchase my dream guitar, I'll have to live with the electrified acoustic.) Fortunately, I can replicate pretty much everything else. Michael Clarke, especially in his early years, was a very paint-by-numbers sort of drummer and so am I, so programming his parts was easy. For David Crosby's rhythm guitar, I simply had to think 1965. There were no guitar effects yet, and if you wanted a little crunch you just turned your amp up. Crosby, I think, played a Gretsch of some sort; I used an Epiphone Les Paul. I created a custom preset on my Bass Pod to simulate Chris Hillman's tone: very warm and just a bit fuzzy. Chris played a Guild Starfire, and my Epiphone Jack Casady proved to be a perfect substitute.

So far, so good. But to really make it sound like 1965, I wanted to simulate the stereo panning they used, which by today's standards is nutty. McGuinn's guitar is alone, hard left. His vocal, along with Crosby's and Gene Clark's harmonies, is in the middle. Everything else is panned hard right: that would be the entire drum kit, bass, rhythm guitar and tambourine.

Why would anyone record (and pan) in this way? Well, consider that four-track machines were barely available in 1965. My guess is that The Byrds and producer Terry Melcher recorded the Mr. Tambourine Man LP on a three-track at Columbia Studios, Hollywood, in early 1965. So, the session for this song may have gone down something like this. For the backing track, McGuinn's guitar was recorded on Track 1 with the rest of the band on Track 2, likely all in the same take. That left only one track, Track 3, for the vocals, which would have been sung simultaneously and mixed on the fly. (And in this case "mixing" probably meant, "David, you're too loud. Can you stand back about six feet? No. Make it four. That's good.")

Panning in 1965 was also limited. You had your choice of three fixed positions: left, centre and right. Given all these recording and mixing limitations, the wacky panning scheme actually makes sense. You're stuck with all the instruments save McGuinn's guitar on one track not because you want it that way—there was simply no other way to record the whole band at once and give some prominence to the main instrument, the chiming 12-string.

Back here in 2020, I live in a world of 24 tracks, my recording studio is about half the size of a pillow and I can record a whole album in my bedroom. Recording 1965-style doesn't come naturally. For this song, I laid down each piece of the drum kit separately, later overdubbing the tambourine, bass and rhythm guitar. Nevertheless, I'm sticking the lot on the right side like The Byrds did, in a spirit of homage and as a fun mixing challenge. And let me tell you: when you've got kick drum, snare, hi-hat, three cymbals, floor tom, bass guitar, rhythm guitar and tambourine all in your right ear, it's quite difficult to tell what's too loud, too quiet and just right. Try it and you'll gain an appreciation for how brilliant some of these '60s producers and engineers really were.

The Thrill of a First Mix

I finished recording last Friday and am now on to mixing. I've started with a few of the easy ones: songs that I'd previously mixed where I had only replaced, say, one keyboard part. The process for these is pretty simple. I fly in the new part and solo it along with the old one, temporarily panning the parts hard left and right, and listen to match volume levels. Once that's done I remix the song, compare the new mix to the last one I did, and nine times out of ten that's that and I'm done. It's kind of like having an old friend in for tea—there's a pleasant familiarity in which things run smoothly and you know what to expect.

A first mix, on the other hand, is something like a first kiss with someone you already know you're quite fond of. Take "Lady Air," for instance. (She is lovely, you know.) For a couple of months I've been adding parts incrementally, shaping the song and arrangement one piece at a time. You'll recall from my previous post that I started with just a click track, lone guitar and me humming. That was back in November. The completed song has drums, tambourine, shaker, handclaps, bass, two acoustic guitars, 12-string guitar, electric guitar, mandolin, organ, piano, harmonica, keyboard tin whistle, doubled lead vocal and two backing vocals ... plus various and sundry reverbs. But because of (a) the limitations of my XP computer, which sputters in the face of too many tracks and (b) the nature of an additive recording process, all I could really hear to this point was a growing collection of individual parts.

That is, until tonight and that sumptuous first mix. Now I hear a song. Sure, I can still "zoom in" and focus on how the individual parts sound, which I'll need to do to create a better mix on the second pass. (Aside: how many mixes till you hit on "the one"? Depends on the song. I think the fewest I've done is four. With the more complex songs, I've made it into the thirties.) But finally, I can now hear the whole and discern what's happening in the big picture. Examples: how does the build work coming out of the quiet chorus? How do the vocals blend, with each other and with the instrumentation? Is the rhythm section in balance?

So, welcome to the party, "Lady Air," and thanks for the heady first-mix experience. I have two more songs that have never been mixed to look forward to as well, plus remixes of this one and four more. All in the space of a few short weeks as I prep for the real mixing with Dave in early June.

Almost Finished, Sort Of

Having just replaced 71 (!) keyboard parts, I'm nearing the end of my recording. By my count, I have between 12 and 15 tracks left to record and once they're done, I'll be finished. Right?

Well, kind of. Really, one finishes a full-length recording three times: once when the last note is laid down, once more when the album is mixed, and the true finish line—mastering, cover design and CD duplication.

Thanks to a grant from FACTOR, I'll soon be ready for Phase II: mixing sessions with David MacKinnon, producer extraordinaire and all-around good guy. The fact that I've created preliminary mixes here at The Grinning Zone means we won't be starting from scratch. I'm anticipating this next stage already, but before that, about those 12 to 15 tracks. What's left? Here's the list:

• "Nest for Little Bird" - acoustic guitar, 12-string guitar, harmonica, lead vocal, possible violin
• "Lady Air" - 12-string guitar, mandolin, harmonica, lead vocal, doubled lead vocal, backing vocal(s), possible recorder

Not too daunting, huh? Well, there's more to it than meets the eye. Both songs still need words. The lyrics for "NFLB" are about a third written, while "Lady Air" at this point consists of little more than the title. (More on that in a bit.) Now, in order to overdub all the above plus what I've already done (drums and percussion, bass, keyboards, some guitar) I needed something resembling a lead vocal. Not only is it arguably the most important part of a song, it kind of needs to be there so you can arrange the supporting cast around it.

Luckily, I do have a complete melody line for both songs, so I've put that down in basic form and proceeded from there. "Lady Air," for instance, started life as just a click track, a guitar, and me humming "la-da-da-da" for three and a half minutes; I've hung everything I've recorded since around that. For "NFLB" I laid down what I call a muzak lead vocal: the melody line played on a keyboard oboe patch. The long and the short of is that I needn't have words in order to record the remaining instrumentation.

Now, about the origin of "Lady Air." Song titles can spring out of strange places, but this takes the cake ... or the cereal, as it were. Several years ago I was eating a bowl of Alpha-Bits when I looked down at the spoon and there she was, swimming in milk: LADYAIR. I've heard of reading the tea leaves, but reading the Alpha-Bits? Come on. Anyway, I filed it under must-use-someday, and now her time has come.

Mixing

No, this post has nothing to do with socializing or, for that matter, baking. Sorry to disappoint. I'm raving about that glorious moment in the recording process where Benvereens producer/engineer/co-conspirator Dave uploads preliminary mixes for our upcoming album. So far we have just five songs ready for mixdown; the rest require a few vocal touches that we hope to complete next weekend.

It's best to evaluate mixes on equipment you're familiar with ... i.e., you know its sonic quirks and what your favourite music generally sounds like on it. After a worrisome first listen, I came to realize that the muddiness I was hearing was not in the mixes themselves but the skewed equalization profile of my computer speakers. This was borne out by a second go on my mp3 player, with earbuds. Hardly an audiophile's wet dream, but it's how I listen to most of my music these days.

And the verdict? A few minor issues aside, all five sound great. We have an eclectic batch of material, to be sure—from country ballads to Cajun folk-pop to near-psychedelia—so it's hard to compare one mix to the next. I do wonder how we'll craft the final product into a unified whole, but that's a challenge I relish.

Love this band, love working with Dave ... and can't wait to show off the results to you all—early summer, I'm hoping.