Debut, p.10
Debut, page 10
The recording process for both songs was similar. Rhythm in the form of drum and bass came first. The chord structure was established by guitars and synthesizers. Melodies, primarily in the form of vocals, followed. The last step was to add nuance through the background vocals and percussion/piano/guitar fills. The trial run of “On Your Lips” demonstrated the band’s readiness. Their playing was tight. The peppy song lightened the mood. When it came time to record, the professional disparity of the members proved challenging. Four had experienced at least some prior studio time. Mindy, for example, laid down a solid scratch track right from the start. The process was entirely unfamiliar to Erin, however. Her eyes darted to and fro, conveying uncertainty throughout. Mateo was a patient mentor, though, taking time to explain the multi-track recording process in detail. To her credit, Erin absorbed the information readily.
They progressed throughout the day but went far slower than anyone preferred. Steve kept his eye on the clock, knowing they’d have to clear the room for another project by 6:00 a.m. While the initial results for “On Your Lips” sounded promising, the B-side proved an unexpected revelation as it developed. “Have No Fear” was a simple, uplifting ballad with thoughtful lyrics and soaring vocals. The song concerned a woman working up the nerve to reveal her genuine feelings of love. Its jangly guitar and simple rhythm established a country feel, though it clearly departed from pure country. Heather sang the opening verse while Sun-hee followed. Grace provided a much different rap this time, opting for a subtle approach that blended well with the more subdued nature of the ballad.
To Heather’s surprise, excitement grew as the song came to life piece by piece. The emotional high point of “Have No Fear” was extraordinary. Grace’s rap transitioned into simple piano chords, over which Heather sang the bridge. This quiet moment was soon to pass. As her powerful voice rose to a sustained high note, Sun-hee took over the main chorus, leaving Heather’s vocals sailing overhead like a cloud. Their singing contrasted and complemented each other perfectly. Heather repeated the final refrain alone before the song came full circle with the return of the jangly guitar from the intro.
After the song’s first rehearsal, Mateo proposed a switch, which Steve volunteered to execute. When Heather saw him enter the isolation booth, her eyes widened. Lifting the headphones off her ears, she asked tersely, “Is something wrong?”
“Mateo thinks you’d sound better on this Shure.” He disconnected the Electro-Voice from the microphone stand and placed it on a nearby desk. The pause must’ve struck him as an excellent time to thaw the tension. “Are you still mad at me?” he asked.
Heather looked at him sharply. “Seriously? That’s what’s on your mind right now?”
“Since we’re working together, we should at least try to get along.”
“And people call me sensitive.”
Steve seemed unsure of how to proceed. An awkward silence followed.
Mateo’s patience had been tapped. “C’mon guys, what’s the holdup?”
Heather gave him an okay sign through the window. “It’ll be fine,” she told Steve. “Let’s finish this song. Okay?”
Steve plugged in the new mic and returned to the control room. Heather provided a brief test and then sang the song twice.
“Wow, that second take is a keeper,” said Steve. The band waited as the crew fiddled around with the controls for several minutes. Mateo transmitted a rough mix over the intercom. The group was overjoyed to hear the results. Smiles were in abundance.
“Okay, let’s get Mindy in for some vocal fills next,” said Steve.
“In that case, we’ll need that Electro-Voice again,” said Mateo.
Steve re-entered the booth as Heather was listening to the playback. “We’re going with that take. You’re done.”
Heather heard sniffles as Steve switched mics again. It sounded like crying. She tried to take a closer look, but Steve managed to turn away each time.
“Are you crying?” she asked.
“No.”
She grabbed his chin to look him straight in the eyes. “You are, too. Why are you crying?”
Steve smiled in embarrassment. “That was beautiful, is all. I guess I get worked up when creative ideas come to fruition like that.”
His response caused tears to well in her own eyes. The pair laughed at the silliness of their reactions. The relief of a job well done was evident on their faces.
Mateo’s voice came over the intercom, “What’s the deal, guys? Clear out. We’ve got work to do.”
“Let me know when you’re done with this crap,” Mateo said. “I’m going for a smoke.” Most of the band had departed hours earlier. Heather remained behind, anxious to hear the final results as soon as they were ready. The pressure was on. Only an hour remained in their reserved time slot before the next crew arrived. The mix was still needed. The pleasant mood that prevailed earlier had long since dissipated. Pulling an all-nighter was exhausting, but the breakdown had more to do with Steve’s growing annoyance with Arnie.
“The ballad’s too slow. People want a rock song,” argued Arnie. “That was the plan.”
“Now that I’ve heard both, I’m convinced ‘Have No Fear’ fits my concept better.”
“So change the concept.”
“I can’t at this late date. That’s money I don’t have.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“It’s not your video, pal.”
“I’m not your pal, chum,” said Arnie, thrusting a pointed finger in Steve’s direction. “The fast song is stronger. That’s what counts.”
“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, amigo. Maybe it’s more immediate, but ‘Have No Fear’ has more depth.”
“Ballads have less potential.”
“Lots of ballads are hits. Where are you drawing that conclusion from?”
“As manager, I havta maximize this band’s performance.”
“Dude, the day you pay for this project is the day we’ll talk. What part of this do you not get?” The fracas went on for several more minutes as talking points were repeated ad nauseam in every imaginable variation. Steve eventually acknowledged Heather, who had silently observed their argument the whole time. “Where’d you dig this guy up from?”
“Which one do you like?” asked Arnie.
Heather frowned. “That’s like asking me to pick a favorite child.”
Before the bickering between Steve and Arnie resumed, Mateo returned to the studio. He looked exasperated. “Guys, knock it off. We’re running out of time. What’ll it be?”
A moment of awkward silence passed. Steve shifted his eyes back and forth between Arnie and Heather. “I’m going with ‘Have No Fear.’”
* * *
Heather received a phone call from Julie two days after the recording session. “I’m sorry to lay this on you, but I have some awful news.”
“What’s up?” asked Heather.
“I developed a viral infection in my throat, and my doctor recommended I stop singing for now.” Heather wanted to sound sympathetic but couldn’t muster much of it. She sensed this moment was coming and gave points for the cleverness of the excuse. “My friends say it’s best if you go on without me. It may take a while to heal.”
“Prioritize your health. Let us know when you get better.” Heather spoke these words, knowing she’d never hear from Julie again.
* * *
Made in Heaven’s rental van, packed with passengers and band equipment, made its way through the scruffy eastern reaches of Hollywood. Heather watched as two unhappy pedestrians puddle-jumped their way across the potholed street. It hardly ever rained in L.A., so of course, tonight, of all nights, it did. Angelenos treated mild showers like the end times, and this storm was decidedly not gentle. Arnie had promised them a club gig within a month and had delivered. Would their debut be a success? Heather wondered if anyone would bother coming to their official debut.
Arnie briefed the musicians as he drove. “We’re running early—Showtime’s at 9:00. Play for half an hour. Pretty sweet, right?”
Nobody said anything.
“Told your friends and family, right?”
A few muttered yeses.
“Tell them to drink a lot too. That’s what gets ya called back.”
Again, no response. Heather didn’t have the heart to inform him their friends were mainly underage.
“C’mon, where’s the energy? It’s like a morgue in here.”
Arnie slowed the van as it entered a somewhat desolate stretch of Fountain Avenue, turning left onto a side street near their destination. He rolled down the window and shouted at a guy wearing a club jacket who took shelter under the marquee. “Back or front?” was all he asked.
The guy wordlessly pointed to the alley. Heather looked at the blinking neon sign and the tattered facade.
“The Wormhole?” she had asked incredulously when Arnie first revealed the venue earlier in the week.
“Ya think you can play the Palladium on your first night?” he responded. She couldn’t counter his reasoning at the time and let it go. Now that she saw the club in person, it was even less impressive than she imagined.
With the van parked, Arnie slid open the side door. “Okay, grab something and head inside.” The five band members struggled to ‘grab something’ without lingering too long in the downpour. Still, the effort to hustle only complicated the process. When they finally passed the burly security guard at the door, their outfits were soaked, makeup streaked, and finely coiffed hair lay limp.
Stepping into the harshly lit backstage area, the scene before them looked like a bunker from a Fallout game. The band was met by the perplexed stares of what appeared to be, at first glance, a dozen members of an all-male motorcycle gang. A profusion of leather clothing, tattoos, facial hair, and piercings was on display. The girls instinctively huddled together like cornered prey.
One guy with a soul patch, stringy black hair, and a Machine Head t-shirt looked at them, chuckled, and uttered, “What the fuck?” Heather heard catcalls from across the room but dared not look.
“Is this like Babymetal or some shit?” said a guy in a Slayer shirt with a bald head and short boxed beard. His companions laughed.
“Kono sukebe jiji me,” whispered Mindy in Japanese under her breath.
Heather stifled a laugh. “Babymetal’s Japanese,” she whispered to Grace in Korean.
“Don’t you think that’s a little beside the point right now?” she responded in kind.
Arnie forcibly squeezed around the girls as they steadfastly refused to budge. “What kind of club is this?” Grace whispered to him. Before he could answer, a beardless guy emerged from a side office. He appeared in his upper 50s and donned a long gray ponytail. Arnie greeted him with a broad smile and a bro hug. One look at the girls, however, and the beardless guy grew distraught. “What did you bring me here?” he asked, failing to put a positive inflection on his voice.
“Tim, this is Made in Heaven,” Arnie said, presenting a copy of their band flyer.
Tim took one look at it and grimaced. “Dude, you made it sound like an Iron Maiden tribute band. What the hell is this?”
“You girls like Iron Maiden, right?” Arnie asked. They stared at him blankly without saying a word. “They’re a K-Pop group, but don’t worry, they rock.” This news generated snickers from among the ‘biker gang.’
“A what? Dude, you’re killing me here. What do I do with this?”
Arnie addressed the girls. “Don’t worry. I got this.” He ushered Tim into the office and shut the door. Heather could hear them locked in a heated debate. The girls continued to stand uncomfortably by the entrance as most of the guys lost interest in the newcomers.
Slayer guy, though, seemed anxious to make amends for his initial reception. He walked to a tattered leather couch, the most substantial furnishing in the room, and kicked the legs of its current sole occupant, a black-clad, scrawny teen. “Hey, dickhead, be polite for once.” The teen grumbled but relocated to a Marshall amp. Slayer guy gestured as if to say it was safe to move to the couch. Not wishing to cause a scene by resisting, Heather took the first tentative steps. She was soon followed by the others. The five moved like a school of fish avoiding sharks. Scrawny kid shot them a resentful glance as they hesitantly occupied his former seat. Heather hoped that whatever substance stained the upholstery wouldn’t transfer to their wet outfits.
The office door reopened after an interminable amount of small talk with Slayer guy. Tim approached. “Here’s the deal. We’re moving you off the 9:00 slot. You can start first or last. I’d recommend the former. The crowd won’t be as drunk.”
Erin looked to Mindy for reassurance but received none. After a brief discussion in Korean, the band conveyed their preference to go on at 7:00. All enthusiasm regarding their official debut had long vanished.
The primary advantage of the opening slot was the leisurely setup time it afforded. At 6:30, a soundcheck was conducted with the house engineer, who appeared more interested in talking with his friends than making sure the band sounded good. Once ready, the group congregated at the stage end of the bar, awaiting their call.
“We told our friends to be here by 9:00. What should we do?” asked Heather.
“We could text them,” said Grace.
“Will anybody show?” asked Erin.
“Do we want them to?” asked Mindy. “We might not have any friends left after tonight.”
The clock rolled to 7:00, then 7:15. No stage call came. A middle-aged female bartender in a sleeveless Sturgis t-shirt was wiping the bar near where the band waited when she spotted Sun-hee sitting on a stool, looking dismayed. “You sure do look like you could use a stiff drink,” the woman said, “but if you’re planning on sitting there, sweetie, I need to see some ID.”
Sun-hee stood. “Sorry, I’m not old enough.”
“What’s wrong, honey?” asked the bartender. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Sun-hee surveyed the room. “Are they going to kill us?”
The bartender laughed heartily. “Who, these guys?” she said, indicating the clutch of muscled, leather-bound, middle-aged men who stood at the opposite end of the bar. “Nah. So long as you stay on their good side, you’re in the safest place in America right now.”
This statement did not seem to reassure Sun-hee. “So, how do we stay on their good side?” she asked.
“Keep doing what you’re doing,” the bartender explained. “Believe me, they ain’t seen girls like you in this club since the Reagan administration.” A customer called for attention at the other end of the bar, and she departed.
Once the woman moved beyond earshot, Heather asked, “What do you suppose she meant by ‘girls like us’?”
“From the looks of this place, I’m guessing girls who bathe regularly,” said Erin. Unfortunately, the music ended on the PA system as she spoke, leaving the words hanging mid-air.
A blushing Mindy placed her finger over Erin’s lips in a silencing gesture. “Just because you have an apparent death wish,” she whispered, “doesn’t mean you need to drag us all down with you.”
At 7:30, Tim reemerged and instructed the girls to hit the stage. Heather counted 12 people in the main room, including staff. Not one of their guests had arrived.
The setlist opened with “Celestial.” Heather thought it would be a wise choice since it was their hardest-driving song and stood the best chance of making a positive first impression with the ‘crowd.’ The rest of the band wasn’t feeling it. Erin lost the beat. Grace followed her into oblivion before awkwardly migrating to Mindy’s steadier rhythm after skipping a few bars. Mindy grew annoyed by the disjointedness displayed by her peers. Distracted by these observations, Heather missed one of her own lines, which caused Sun-hee to enter late.
The three audience members who were at least making a show of listening soon lost interest and instead joined in the general conversation. The sound guy sensed the vibe in the room and steadily inched the volume toward zero. Their debut performance was reduced to background noise in less than a minute. At the song’s conclusion, nobody even acknowledged it. Heather looked at her dejected bandmates. This was far from the evening they had long dreamt about. She had to motivate them somehow.
Fortunately, Grace came to the rescue, stepping towards Mindy and motioning for the five to gather. “Believe it or not, it could be worse,” she said.
“At least they didn’t boo,” said Erin.
“They’d have to care enough to boo,” surmised Mindy.
“Okay, well, regardless, let’s treat this as extra practice. From the sound of “Celestial,” we could sure use it.” Upon realizing all mistakes would go unnoticed, the band grew more at ease.
By the time their show ended, the club’s patrons were boisterously greeting newcomers and thoroughly oblivious to what marked Made in Heaven’s first-ever gig. As if they weren’t feeling beaten enough, the band that followed added insult to injury by not waiting for their equipment to be removed. Mindy looked ready to punch a guy shuttling her drum kit into a haphazard pile offstage without permission. Sun-hee calmed her so she wouldn’t commit an action they’d later regret.
During the van ride home, the group argued, highlighted mistakes, and provided unsolicited advice. Arnie received the brunt of the vitriol for booking such a wildly inappropriate club.
“Show me a K-Pop club in L.A., and I’ll book ya there,” he responded.
The van stopped off at Grace’s parents’ house, where they unloaded equipment and went their separate ways, each vowing to do better next time. Their first club performance was in the books. Heather hoped for brighter days ahead, or her band idea would be short-lived.
9
NOW THINGS WILL CHANGE
