Western Swing & Texas (and Other Punchy Thoughts) - IX.
IX.
Strips of console tape with microphone designations scribed in black marker are affixed to the walls in the Yellow Dog Studios control room. One could play a game of guessing which session remnants belong to which band based on the included song titles. Above the door I read “Fast as Lightning”, “Danger” and “Cheap” - they carry a relic-like tone for me.
Beth’s dog, Foosh, replaces Bandit’s post and sits patiently under the console as Colter and Adam listen to play-back and begin the mixes. Everything is warm and minimal adjustments are needed; delicate amounts of reverb, slight decreases in presence, adjustments to frequencies. Colter’s voice naturally pops through while Jason’s bass demands some attention. That dry washy kick drum lending identity alongside Jake’s harp and Pat’s fingers - all carrying a resounding tone that gives the record almost as much personality as Colter’s vocal chords. However nothing is as satisfying at the acoustic guitar tone. It remains the texture that sets his sound apart.
If Adam isn’t turning dials immediate to suggestions, he’s making notes. Both he and Colter are agreeing to the ease which the record will be to mix, they make volume choices between instrument and room microphones and whether or not to pan them completely to the left or right. Harmonies have yet to be recorded, Colter being the obvious to fill the spaces as he sings along with his own voice coming out of the speakers.
“I’ve tried to sing a harmony over the leavin’ Cheyenne part ‘cause I always hear it in my head, I just can’t get high enough...you listen to Ian’s version on Old Corrals and Sagebrush and he’s got a great three part that just goes on forever at that part.” Colter says. He sings a third above himself. I push for the fifth above that to myself. The harmonies on this album write themselves as the melody lines stay quite consistent to the chord progressions.
Harmony talk moves into track listing talk as Adam expresses his desire to mix in order as songs appear on the record.
“Yeah, we’ll start with “Western Swing”, set the tone for the thing. I’d like to have “Old Paint” next...that line go to Montana, throw the houlihan ties nice to Houlihans at the Holiday Inn, which will be last.”
The song referencing a bassist I brought along for an American leg of the Songs of the Plains tour. Never without his lariat, each morning we’d wake to him already in the hotel parking lot either practicing his back-hand swing or flipping his loop side to side in a trick like fashion.
“I almost called that one “Goat Roper’s Blues”, still might - put it in parenthesis behind it or something.”
Even with the working tracklist of more full band songs on Side A with the cow camp songs to Side B, it gives the feel of a double EP and frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me if the imbalance stayed. Colter expresses concern about this and I head to the fridge with Foosh on my heels.
Almost two weeks around Austin and I spent no more time in the city than the quick doze on a sidewalk when arriving and a meal with Jason before his leaving. I had been enamoured with the lore of the city ever since leaving university. A self-commitment to relocate buried itself in my lifeplans with my newfound regard of Willie Nelson around the same period. The urge to move in the name of my music strengthened a devotion to my pursuit but between evolving rock bands and amending long distance relationships I would find myself rooting in Calgary, Vancouver, Medicine Hat or Toronto before ever loading up and heading south.
Finally in 2017, with Colter’s “Warping Our Minds” Tour making stops in Dallas and Austin I was ready to live out of my van, sling songs and be in the area for as long as needed. The consistent scare of an unreliable diesel engine refusing to turn over, unfortunately, cut the dream short. However, it wasn’t without a couple weeks of roaming around with Beau and making inroads, most notably, at The Hard Luck Lounge on East 7th Street.
Tate Mayeux’s Tuesday night song swap introduced me to James Steinle, I received an Instagram message earlier that afternoon:
“Hey chief,
My name is James...met you briefly I believe down at Sam’s Town Point last night at the Moonpies show. I’m a singer/songwriter here in town. Listened to some of your tunes man...damn fine stuff amigo. How long you gonna be in town for? Having a little dinner/picking party at my place this coming Monday with some folks if you’d like to join. If not I’m always in for some picking any night of the week. Lemme know. Later on!”
A second quick note came in that he would be unable to attend the song swap, he appeared as we hit the stage and was as ever-generous as his messages conveyed. Beers and shots to the stage paired with a request for “The Grip” - an original, ironically about the struggle of addiction. James and I hit it off quick. He had an ambassadorship for his community and a clear mandate of inclusion. We parted with the offer extended that if I ever needed shelter while in the city, he had me covered.
I have a shower and put on my new bleach washed Wranglers to head into Austin, James is hosting a get together at The Hard Luck Lounge. Having mentioned I was in the area, it’ll be good to see him before leaving town. I extend an invite to Colter and Beth but head out alone.
Hard Luck is packed and quiet. I open the door to James already behind the microphone and quickly brings attention to my arrival with a shout-out from on stage. He continues:
“Here’s one I wrote for a guy that was kinda like my grandpa. He taught my dad everything he ever learned about the cattle business hence everything I ever learned about the cattle business. Jimmy Donnell, lived in a little town with a population of 13 between Los Angeles, Texas and Fowlerton, Texas - which, I just learned last weekend that Ruby’s Lounge is shut down. It’s closed for good this time. First time it was shut down it got burned down, some dude chucked a molotov cocktail at it after drinking in said bar…yep, and Ben’s Western Wear doesn’t exist anymore either...it’s all gone”
The crowd still caught up in his ramble…
“This one’s Jimmy, he had an endless array of CDs falling off the dashboard and falling out the cupholders - I’d drive him down to Fowlerton to go to the mini mall for ice cream...and the real cheese they served at lunch, he was a great dude, I always think about him. It’s called Without You.”
“Drivin’ down the backroads with a six pack of brews
I’m Looking out through this dirty windshield at what you once knew
I took it all for granted and now it’s gone too soon
This old world’s just a deep dry well without you.”
The room is filled with songwriters. I nod at Charley Crockett, having never met but now a first contact. I turn my attention back to James.
“Hey y’all give it up for Blake Berglund,” I’m directed at again, “great songs, get up here and do one Blake, y’all make him feel welcome here.”
Unexpectedly, the best preparation is no preparation. James hands me his guitar and walks to grab a beer. I say a few words as to where I’m from and the benefits associated with it. Mentioning the legalization of weed always gets crowd support, I sing:
“Moose Mountain at sundown, alfalfa and clover leaf
I wade into a drink hole, water to the bottom of my hand cut leather bound stirrups
As the sun dips, a melancholy chill of Montgomery Creek
My last dip of Red Man, my first real hurt of the evening
And I twist one tighter than the cinch of my saddle
And take to an evening ride
I gotta thirteen year old palomino mare with a need for a contact high
If the marijuana makes me miss them
Then my saddle horse makes it right
I tell her tales ‘bout the women of the winter
And the lost love in my life.”
As I finish, Charley gets up, nods and takes off.
***
Vincent Neil Emerson cocks the trigger of what looks like a Smith and Wesson replica revolver as I stand fifteen feet away holding a potato chip into the air. Where an original version of the firearm would probably be a .38 caliber, this one shoots a much less damaging bullet for entertainment’s sake such as this. I goaded him with the idea as he pulled it from a leather tooled holster and now I’m conflicted as to prove my trust as a friend and yield to a more intelligent decision. Our legacies would prove much more exciting if I were to let him pull the trigger but considering my habit of turning down insurance, I call the stunt off. He moves his aim and cracks off a beer can twice the distance.
Colter wrapped up the album’s harmonies and left space for Vincent on “Diamond Joe” inviting him down from Fort Worth with tour-mates, Charlie Memphis and Wild Will Boshart. With Adam having just given the ceremonious “that’s a wrap,” the group of us are back around the fire pit where we’ve gathered nearly every evening for the past two weeks. Vincent and Colter act as brothers in steady dialogue usually consisting of Vincent taking off on tangents and tales that have the collective doubled-over laughing.
“Got in a fist fight one time with a guy who was a tailor. Stitchman, Taylor Stitchman. Got in a damn fight over a donut.” He moves on to the next thought, an impression, his phone rings, he breaks out into a dance. It’s steady gold.
I check my phone to confirm the morning’s flight details.
“So what do you think of this place?” Colter asks.
A full circle moment as I recall the suggestion to come down - nothing more than his desire to have me in the room and that I’d like it. Without any expectations of an appearance on the album, I must admit my appreciation for the humour of keeping the take of “Talkin’ Prairie Boy” which I interrupted with the creak of the screen door - unsure if he’s serious as to crediting me with the part or if the offering is a product of another night filled with Lonestars.
It’s good to be around him. My most selfish sense would enjoy his return to Saskatchewan but I wouldn’t be surprised if Texas was where some new roots were to be planted. His intent with the record was to capture a family vibe and in the greater narrative including Yellow Dog Studios it offers exactly that. Simply through the board tape from past sessions saved on the walls, Colter is part of a greater movement coming from this area. Back in Regina, he told me I’d like it - now with the experience behind me and a journal full of thoughts and lyrics, I know the exact record I would make here. The one I will make here.
Cracking another beer, he gives my back a slap and takes a pull.
“You figure a name for this album yet?” I ask him as we look into the fire.
“Yep,” he says with an old smile, “Western & Country”.
THE END