That Faint Scratching Sound

In 2004 drummer/producer Petur Smith and I ventured up the west coast from Los Angeles on a hardscrabble tour. The journey was distinguished by a faint sound emitting from the back seat. We didn’t know it right away, but the sharp edge of a steel guitar stand was scraping the bejesus out of the plastic interior door panel. For the rest of the tour, at the onset of any disappointment, boredom or fatigue (or any other road-born emotion that demands an absurd response), we’d mimic the scraping sound with our mouths and laugh. The joke was as abstruse as it was troubling, because I was certain that National Car Rental would charge us hundreds of dollars for the damage.

Our show in Coos Bay, despite being poorly attended earned us a few fans. But most that audience would’ve greatly preferred we play Creedence Clearwater Revival covers or get the hell off stage (I think we tried to play “Lodi“). The coolest gig of the tour was booked by a songwriting partner of mine Andras Jones. He had us opening for Eleni Mandel in Olympia––with the impressive Joshua Grange playing guitar and pedal steel in her band. Before the show, as Eleni and I both set up our merch tables, I mentioned to her the name of a mutual friend and watched her immediately ice over, as if I’d reminded her to an unfaithful boyfriend. Maybe she was just distracted. But, further conversation was stifled. I’d impaled myself upon a chill.

Regardless, I swooned at her set that night, and took a thousand pictures of her. I had already been a fan; her WISHBONE album (produced by pop masters Jon Brion and Brian Kehew) was always a favorite. And of course, her voice is spellbinding. Music did all her talking for her.

The tour’s apex was a gig at Doe Bay on Orcas Island. The ferry ride across the Puget Sound was a beautiful treat––certainly more enjoyable than the gig, played to a few booths of people, mostly facing away from our bass-less duo. After the show, the show really started, drinking with my old pal John Berry and a friend of his. John is a sensational visual artist and over the years I’d had him design a few album covers, posters, fonts and a huge backdrop for my bands. So drinking on a remote wooded island, far from home, made for a lovely time.

One odd memory persists: while driving through remote Oregon on Interstate 5, Petur’s pillow was sucked out of an open back seat window. “O crap,” I exclaimed as I saw it fly away in the rear view mirror. “What?” Petur asked. “You’re pillow! I am pulling over.” But he insisted I not. I pressed the brakes a little, as he said, “no, no, go on it doesn’t matter. It’s the pillow from my girlfriend’s bed.” The remark seemed too fraught with psychological overtones to respond to. But, I felt we should go pick it up, if for no other reason than because there’s something sad about a pillow by the side of the highway. I anthropomorphize pillows, like children do teddy bears.

On the tour, Petur and I performed many songs that I’d begun recording for my PARADOR album. During the long ferry ride to Orcas Island, I gave Petur my iPod and asked him to give his opinions on the rough mixes. He was critical about tones and an overall coldness. His honesty was heartbreaking, but also illuminating, as I’d been working on PARADOR for a while and had no perspective on it. I trusted Petur’s opinion because his taste in music and his feel on the drums are impeccable. From the very first time seeing him in 2000 with The Januaries he’d impressed. His drumming was sublime and groovy, and stole my attention, despite a Bardotesque singer in Debbie Diamond, and the awesome Rick Boston on bass/guitar.

A week later, as our tour came to a close, on yet another sunny SoCal day, Petur suggested he and I produce a song together. We chose “Altitudes” as the recording that most needed a rethinking. I’d demoed the song with vintage 1960’s rock and jazz samples, and then done yet another version that was too hyper-active. Petur felt that a different rhythm would make it more cohesive. So probably in early 2005, we gathered at my home studio in Laurel Canyon, set up some drum mics and started recording and arranging.

Petur labored over the drum arrangement for a couple sessions. He insisted on stripping away unnecessary parts. I’d never worked with a producer so committed to the hygiene of a recording––if you will. But it was surprising to see how the removal of tiny, excessive details served to better outline the song. His goal was to make the arrangement see-through––a structure of bars upon which a fleshy song could hang and not be obscured. His approach reminded me of Gwyneth Paltrow’s face and how her skin so gracefully shrouds her bird-like bones. Petur added bass and acoustic guitar when my performances didn’t feel delicate and controlled enough. Besides lead guitar and singing, I mostly engineered the track, perfecting the edits and enjoying the ride.

After Moog Cookbook’s Brian Kehew added Mellotron and synthesizer we finally had a slender, cool, compelling version of “Altitudes”. I included it on PARADOR, which inspired deeper collaborations with Petur, resulting in the WISELY album, recorded during 2006-7. Our working title for the project was LUNGS, and I regret not keeping that, because the space around the music on this record is air-like and gently swelling. The economy that Petur brought to the album is its defining quality––nothing extra, just clarity and clear tones without that faint scratching sound in the background.