In the spring of 1989, I was wrapping up a fairly successful college career. Four out of my eight semesters I had landed on Dean’s List, and was running an A- average. Considering how hard I actually worked at any given time, this was nothing to be sneezed at.
One of the classes that everyone wanted to take while there was Dr. Pellman’s electronic music class. The class was always full. And enrollment was strictly limited, with preference given to freshmen and sophomores, then juniors, and then seniors.
There were several basic reasons for this interest.
1. Dr Pellman was a lot of fun
2. The class was pretty easy
3. In the class, you got access to a hell of a lot of electronic music equipment – synths, samplers, MIDI sequencers, etc.
4. In the class you got access to a lot of recording equipment – mixing boards, mics, four and eight track recorders
Because of how I had planned my workload, I was actually only required to take three classes my final semester, but a friend who was enrolled in the class notified me that on the first day there were several no shows. Together we went right to Dr Pellman’s office with an Add slip, and that was how I managed to get into a class I never should have been able to get into.
We learned a lot of interesting stuff about music composition and the avant garde movement and atonality and a ton of other stuff that I doubt I would have ever picked up anywhere else. But mostly I was in it for the access to the recording equipment.
For years, I had hacked around with a series of instruments – guitars, keyboards, etc – making terrible personal recordings that were good for little else than a bad inside joke between me and the others who had been in the room at the time. But this gave me access to the whole candy store.
It was a workshop type class, and each week you would have an assigned time for the studio. All unassigned time was on a first come, first serve basis. And you were competing with everyone who had ever taken the class before, as well as your current students. I don’t remember all the rules, but I am pretty sure you couldn’t sign up for more than one block of time sequentially – for example, if you had the 8 – 10 slot, you could not also take the 10 – midnight slot, for example. But there was one severely coveted slot each day – the midnight – 8 am slot. Eight solid hours of uninterrupted … something – whatever it was you were doing at the time.
Within the first week, without having been assigned any work, Greg and I wandered in there with Geoff’s drum machine, Serge’s electric guitar, and the lab’s Yamaha DX-5 and DX-7, and we cranked out the first song I ever recorded/wrote/sang/played guitar on that I didn’t want to hide or bury as soon as I recorded it. If you aren’t into Joy Division or something like that, it isn’t for you, but it was so much better than I ever imagined it could be.
I was addicted. I was in the studio every possible minute. I recorded thousands of things that should not have ever been recorded, and several that were worth my time. But that wasn’t the point. I was living at least part of my dream.
I had a group of guys that would come in with me on occasion – Marc, Chris, Greg – but usually it was me all by myself.
It is now time for a segue. Trust me when I assure you that in the big picture it is relevant. At my college, most people there were either Uber Young Republicans or Uber Nuts and Granola Neohippies. There was precious little in-between, although that’s where I was. It allowed me a certain odd anonymity. I could fit in with either crowd, although I never fully fit in. And people didn’t know what to make of me as a result.
There were others like me. One of whom was Gwen.
I didn’t know Gwen, but I knew who Gwen was. If you have ever seen the movie The Breakfast Club, she came across like the female John Bender. In a world of LL Bean loafers, she was a pair of Doc Martens. Her hair was cut in a tight crew cut and was frequently dyed plaid.
You think I am making a joke, but I am dead serious. She had plaid hair. Her whole aura said “I don’t care what you think – I am going to be who I am.” Gwen was a musician – played rebellious music of her own writing.
To be honest, I was quite a bit intimidated by her. And I had never even spoken to her.
In May 1989, I had finished all my classes and exams. I was waiting around for graduation, when Marc, who was ultimately my biggest partner in crime in the recording studio approached me with the idea of a joint recording with Gwen and one of her cohorts – Dave. Dave and I were both R.A.’s and I knew him well and liked him a lot. And I thought, “What the hell. That could be interesting. Or it could suck. But let's try it.”
At first the four of us weren’t sure how to start. I don’t know how it went down exactly, but my recollection is that I decided to jump on the DX-5 MIDI'd to a sampler and a sequencer and I laid down a basic electronic drum beat. By itself, it was kind of lame, so I sped it up and threw a reverb effect on it.
Suddenly we were moved.
I then jotted down a brief rhythm guitar pattern that consisted of nothing but barre chords that I could just roll with. I was (am) not a good guitarist -- frequently lost my place, or just screwed up the fingering of a chord, so the simpler the playing, the better. Marc jumped onto the latest acquisition in the studio – a Roland synth. Gwen picked up her guitar. Dave picked up the bass.
We rolled the drum loop. After a couple of measures, I started the barre chord progression, Dave mirroring me with the bass. And then Gwen began. Her jangly two note chords brought the whole thing to spooky life. Somewhere in there Marc was laying in a background of a sort of dreamy ghost like glass sounding tone. And I had shivers up and down my spine.
We rolled tape on that for over eight minutes. None of us knew how to stop. We weren’t miked up, so we hollered a plan to each other on how to stop the recording – I was going to stop playing and scramble to the mixing board and bring down the levels on everyone – fading to silence. And I did. Except that I brought MY level down instead of Gwen’s so she was left the sole player, improvising for a measure or two before she just stopped cold.
We stopped the tape. And looked at each other. And I started to breathe again.
I was pretty sure that Dave and Gwen were used to this, but I was totally blown away. Totally.
We decided to call the instrumental composition "Naked Toes" because none of us were wearing shoes at the time, but true to fashion, when we all got recordings of it, I believe we all named it something unique.
I don’t think I ever saw Gwen or Dave again. I did a few more recordings with Marc, but even that stopped soon enough. We all went on with our lives, never looking back. And I was sure that I was making more of that session than I ever should have. But here’s the truth -- that was probably one of the top five moments in college for me. The chemistry was just so good. I could not believe it.
Fast forward nineteen years. I’m on Facebook, and I confess that of late I have turned into something of a Facebook whore – adding just about anyone as a friend. Well, almost anyone. I have to know you well enough to say "Hi" to you if I saw you in person. But that’s about it.
When looking at a list of fellow alumns from my school, I saw Gwen’s name listed. And I was still intimidated. I was afeared. the old Social Network Anxiety Disorder kicking in again. But being a whore, I went ahead and added her anyway. And within minutes - MINUTES - she accepted my friend request.
And then launched into a lengthy reminiscence of that recording session. It turns out that it wasn’t just me. There really was something magical about that session.
Gwen is still in music, playing in a band that is based in NYC but that travels to other cities to play. So I figure she would be the first to say "Meh – I’ve made lots of recordings. Yeah it was fun, but dude, get a grip." She didn’t. She spoke of that session with the same reverence that I was feeling about it but was afraid to speak out loud.
And that makes it just that much more fun to remember.
