Recovery.

A rough vocal session last week really bummed me out. I couldn't clear my throat, couldn't do what I wanted to do, and basically, well, sucked. We packed the microphone away and got to many other things - sifting through Bruce's brilliant pedal steel takes, clearing away space to allow the songs to breathe, and plotting finishing touches - including possibly reviving "Ready or Not," a song I abandoned a couple weeks back. It's just nagging me. Finish me. You dork. It's saying. Finish me. It has half its lyrics and it offers an opportunity in that way. I'm getting that strange sadness at the close of a sentence where you hope you've said what you started out trying to say. Or maybe I'm just trying to keep the process alive. I'll know when I get there.

But my voice. I was bummed. This never happens. I can roll out of a car after 11 hours and my voice is right there for me. I became depressed, then nervous. We cancelled a day. Holy crap, that pissed me. Off.

Then I started getting coughing fits. At night, mostly, horrifying, bottom of the feet to the top of my head coughs that left my neck sore and my sight blurry. I'd be up at night, like a commercial TV dad with an abnormally red nose. In old-man pajamas. Powder blue, with a...breast pocket? For what? Why would a sleeping dad need a pocket?

Finally, I went to the doctor, a perfect blond Ken doll of a man who held a stethoscope to my back and said, "Jesus. You're wheezing like crazy. Pretty textbook case of bronchitis." He put me on a nebulizer -- there's something in this world that is called a nebulizer -- that blew vapor into my lungs and made my heart race. He prescribed drugs.

So. I wait. It's been a week. The Z-Pack is done, the inhaler now only sputtering the last gasps of propellant into my bloodstream.

I'm set to fly again next week. Which means this is lyric week. Planning week. Get to work week.

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Broad sweeps, editing continues, vocals ramp up.

Tracks are filling up, finishing, or overfilling. The completion comes from subtraction, the thinning of parts, and decision after decision. What's better than silence? Which instrument is the right coloration? And all that.

On The Other Side: We had several pedal steel takes from Bruce Kaphan, and also a great lap steel track from Matt Beck. Very different approaches, tones. Bruce took a real "solo," while Matt sort of poked in and out of the fabric of the track. Ultimately we decided that someone should step out during breaks in the vocal, so we went with Bruce. I may always sing the Matt Beck lines that aren't there anymore, but what Bruce did was right for where the arrangement ended up. It's vocal-ready.

You Could Be Anywhere: Arranging debates swirled, and were put to rest, on this one. I recorded it once, on All In, just as a guitar/vocal, but in live shows, Matt started taking the opening figure on piano -- something I've always wanted, and something that frees me from the guitar so I can focus on the lyric. We recorded piano, but also tried Fender Rhodes, a dicey move, in my book. Don't get me wrong, I love the instrument. Billy Preston on Beatles records, Pink Floyd on "Animals," etc. etc. But those are old recordings, and a lot of damage has been done in the meantime. Maybe it was the context of the song, but I couldn't get the whiff of lite jazz out of my nose. I heard things, scary things.

Ultimately, I had to overrule, and throw the Rhodes out. Better to do it now, than to wonder forever. I stand by it. We have to cut some more, especially in the pedal steel, but it is taking shape. Grudgingly, but definitely.

Waving Goodbye: We lopped off a bar at the top, and we replaced the bass with Ken on a Music Man Stingray, using a pick. The entire track woke up, and feels like it's just dying for people to hear it. My lead vocal is on point, and I think we have one more element in the middle section to find, and then possibly female background vocals. Yet another first. I can't believe how many firsts are on this record.

Wander Away: Oof. Well, I shouldn't say that. The song has a fresh lyric, and I don't really know my way around it. I think I also have some kind of allergies, and my voice wasn't doing what I wanted it to do. Frustrating. But I think the track has all elements together and in the right place. Vocal-ready -- that is, waiting for the right vocalist to show up. Tick, tock.

It's taking form, now, and I'm stunned by it. It's positive, and it's hard-won, and it's expansive. People always say, "It's my best record ever." Then they say, "I know, everyone always says 'It's my best record ever.'" But it is.



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Comes time, one must make cuts.

Three songs, causing me great pain and suffering, have been lopped off the record. Next Time, Till I Get it Right, and Ready or Not are the casualties. The cause of death is immaterial. It is sad, as death is, in some ways, sad.

Yet it is also invigorating, and after sentences were meted out, the record deepened in scope and sharpened in focus. The record I set out to make is the record that, finally, is being made.

I may return to these songs some day. But this is not that day.

Forging onward, strings have been completed, and lyrics for the final song, the so-called "Dobro Song," are done. It is now christened "Wander Away." This will mess up the filing system in the hard drive. Oh, well.

As for bold strokes with sharp objects, I recommend it highly. What is worthy will survive.

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The strings are down. Trio: Maxim Moston, Hiroko Tagahachi and Jesse Reagen Mann. Strings on songs entitled "Next Time," "Wish You Well," "Ready or Not" and "On The Other Side."

Now comes the hard part. Editing. Slicing away what's good from what's bad. Great performances will be cut for the sake of the whole and that's just the way it is. Editing is ruthless business. Everything that gets on the track has to be better than silence, which is a very powerful sound. THEN everything that gets on the track has to enhance the track, the sense of the song, the lyric. THEN it has to be out of the way of the vocal. THEN it has to be cool.

If the whole record was silence, it'd be close. Of course, that'd be theft.

More record news, plus personal brain fragmentation at Twitter: http://twitter.com/mikeerrico

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