You might be wondering, faithful fan, about the progress of my next album. I can just see you, late at night, tossing and turning, with one thought running over and over through your head: “When? When? When will I be able to bask in your next dose of genius? When?” (This may be a hallucination on my part, but humor me – my ego could use a boost nowadays). The answer is: not anytime soon.
My next album is, well, complicated. My drummer and I are having trouble finding time to rehearse; I’m trying to figure out how to justify the expense (on this side of the scale, the undying gratitude of my adoring fans; on that side, new brakes); I want it to sound fabulous, but I have very particular requirements about who can and can’t play on the album (Walter Crockett, yes; anybody who plays the mandolin, no). I’m a terrible arranger, but I’m having trouble finding a producer I want to work with; blah, blah, blah. And then there’s the part where I hate being in the studio.
Really. All those knobs. I’ve done a bunch of recording in my life, and I never like it any more than the previous time. It bores the hell out of me; it taxes my patience; and I’d frankly prefer to be on stage.
But it takes all kinds. The other night, I met a guy named Dan Olsen, at a Patty Keough/Buffie Groves show at the Pejamajo Cafe in Holliston. He was introduced to me as a “monster songwriter”, and from what I’ve heard so far, that’s not an exaggeration. (Of course, I was introduced to him the same way, so I apparently should know.) You can check out his latest album, “Rumors I’ve Repeated”, on your favorite music site. He loves his craft as much as I do. But here’s the thing about Dan: he doesn’t perform much. He’s a studio guy – just adores all those knobs, adores them. I’m kind of envious – but at the same time, who knows, maybe he’s a bit envious of me.
It’s just so hard for me to imagine what it would be like to want something different. A good friend of mine told me recently that he really wanted to tour with a band, but he was getting older and felt it slipping away; I, on the other hand, think of sixteen hours in a van followed by sleeping on somebody’s sofa in Ames, Iowa as the sixth circle of hell. And in the same way, the thought of being locked up in a tiny room with an engineer and seven versions of the same guitar solo makes me long for sweet, sweet death. But some people – somehow, in a way that simply escapes me – just eat that stuff up.
I’m sure, eventually, that my album will get done. I’ll find a producer, and I’ll choose some sidepeople, and my percussionist and I will have enough rehearsal time, and I’ll set aside the money, and it’ll happen. But I’m not planning on enjoying it. And Dan Olsen can’t record it for me.