Small Town Girl

when Casey came in it sounded sensational through the earphones. Their two very distinct vocal qualities blended like smooth chocolate and rough peanuts, coming out sweet to the ear, and Tess knew beyond a flicker of a doubt that she and Casey would do many, many songs together after this one.

Watching Casey's face as she sang for the first time with these extraordinarily talented pros made Tess smile. Hearing the song they'd composed coming to life was incredible. She remembered her own first time, and saw in Casey's radiant expression her own excitement, years ago, when she'd stepped into a recording studio as a beginner. The girl was good. She had a natural feel for which words to sing and which to drop; which harmony note would sound best; when to crescendo and when to hold back. Nashville had a clever, oft-repeated answer whenever an out-of-towner inquired if a musician could read music: Not enough to ruin the song. Casey was that way; Tess had recognized it back in Wintergreen and it was reinforced again today.

They finished their first run-through, and Casey exclaimed, 'Far out! This is way too incredible, Mac! When did I die? 'Cause if this isn't heaven, I don't know what is!'

'It'll get better.'

'Better! You're kidding! It don't get no better than this!'

Chuckling, Tess replied, 'No, I mean the music. We've got some kinks to work out yet. I was thinking, here where we break into the bridge…' They dissected their parts while the musicians did the same.

Over the talk-back Jack said, 'Sounding good, ladies. What would you think about running the last note of the second verse over onto Mick's solo for a couple beats, then fading?'

And so it went. Jack interacted with everyone, and everyone with him, and with each other, trying various spots in the song, experimenting with rhythm and technique. The quality of the talent in the studio made the work inventive and mercurial as the song started coming together. The blank audiotape alone for any project could cost some three thousand dollars, and Jack didn't want to waste it recording takes that were too unpolished, but after ten minutes of experimentation, and a second run-through, which sounded far smoother than the first, he said, 'Okay, everybody, should we record one?'

Dan Fontaineau said, 'Hell, yes, we're professional musicians. We can knock this thing.'

'Okay, Tess, Casey?…'

'We're set.'

Dan gave the downbeat and the second engineer started the tape running. The first engineer operated the board, and Jack concentrated on listening, one finger crossing his lips and a scowl on his eyebrows-his usual expression when he was concentrating. The music was sounding very smooth, but, unfortunately, halfway through the take Dan's earphone fell out of his ear and he stopped playing. The sound swooned and the song fell apart. Naturally, the guys-they had a great collective sense of humor-gave him some shit.

'Hey, way to go, Dan.'

'Yeah, we're professional musicians,' someone mimicked. 'We can knock this thing.'

'Knock that earphone into his head, you mean, so it'll stay there.'

'Anybody got some Super Glue?'

Everybody laughed and relaxed as Jack, ever the overseer and prompter, got them back to business. 'Let's save what we got and start again. Whenever you're ready, Dan.'

This time they completed the song, got it on tape, and afterward everyone piled into the control room to give it a listen. The women sat on the leather stools, leaning forward with their elbows on the slanted desk. The men gathered around the control panel and while they listened some played air guitar, some studied the floor, some mouthed words. Everybody in the room had a knee, a foot, a head or a hand keeping time to the music.

The playback ended and chatter broke out.

'It's solid.'

'What we've got here is a fresh ballad with a heart.'

'Nice way to start a career, Casey.'

Though they liked the start they'd made, they had a long way to go. Everybody exchanged ideas. 'You think that solo was too Las Vegas?… In the fourth bar of the intro the sax is resolving too fast… I wonder if we should pull back the tempo a bit.'

They worked this way for two and a half hours, back and forth between the studio and the control room. Record it again. Listen again. Record. Listen. Record. Listen. Finally one run-through seemed to ignite a specific spark in everyone. They'd got it: they all felt it simultaneously, and the charged atmosphere was palpable as the playback ended.

'This one's got the edge.'

'We finally filled that deep pocket.'

This was the best cut so far, and everyone felt the diminished tension and a sense of self-satisfaction.

'Time to break bread,' Greaves said. 'We'll pick up again at seven o'clock.'

While they'd been recording, a caterer had come in and set up food buffet style on a large table in the lounge. As most of the group headed toward it, Mick Mulhall asked Jack, 'Can I put a fix on that line where Tess sings, 'Say good-bye, mustn't cry'?'

He went back into the studio to rerecord the section while the other musicians wandered out into the lounge, put quarters into the Pepsi machine, loaded plates and sat around on the sofas talking mostly about the song in progress.

Casey was so fired up she found it hard to sit.

'Jeez, this is wild! I never had so much fun in my life!'

The others remembered what it was like to be breaking in, hearing yourself for the first time, and they humored her.

'Hey, Mac, you're gonna have to tie an anchor to this one's tail or she's gonna float right on outta here, she's so high.'

Tess smiled, and said, 'Better eat something, Casey. We've got three more hours of work before we call it a night.'

Mick finished his fix and came back into the lounge area with Jack, who was so intense he didn't take time to eat. Instead, he told Tess, 'We're still getting a little creep in the vocals. You want to come in tomorrow and lay down a new track, just in case?'

'Sure, if you think we need it. What about Casey?'

'Casey, too. I think we'll get a cleaner sound if we use two boxes. Okay with you, Casey?'

The girl's eyes were so wide and excited, she couldn't believe she was being asked to come back again. 'Yeah, sure… heck, yes!'

Tess told Jack, 'We'll be here.'

They sat around eating grilled shrimp, rice pilaf, salad, green grapes and watermelon, all of it served in very utilitarian fashion: this was a work session, not a party: remaining in the studio was essential to keeping the musical urgency alive and pulsing. Leaving to eat elsewhere, they all knew, sometimes managed to subdue that drive. When that happened, the lifelessness came across on tape.

Jack barely ate. He remained in the control room, working with the first and second engineer on the tracks they'd already recorded, listening for anything that might possibly need fixes.

Tess left Casey visiting with the guys and went into the control room to speak privately with her producer.

'Can I talk to you a minute, Jack?'

'Sure,' he said, turning from the control board on a rolling chair, hooking another with his foot and inviting her to sit.

The engineer and his assistant went out to catch some supper, leaving the two alone.

'I want your opinion, Jack,' Tess said when the two had the control room to themselves.

He could tell from her demeanor that whatever she was going to ask was important.

'That's what I'm paid for.'

'It's not about the album, it's about the tour. Carla's throat problem's not going to be straightened out anytime soon. I want to ask Casey to go on tour with me and sing backup vocals.'

He considered for a moment, then said, 'She's young.'

'She's talented. And she knows my music. Jack, we were playing my old albums around the house yesterday and she's got the backup cues cold on every one. Every lick-exactly like the record! I know she's inexperienced, but we don't have much time left for rehearsals, and sometimes the hungry ones are willing to work even harder than