We follow him to a studio. The hall is lined with band photos of Austin groups. Some have never grown past regional fame. Other photos are of bands anyone could name but from their early days. This is a good place to start, and the thrumming in my stomach says we really are at the beginning ofsomething.Something more than local club gigs.
Nine-Nine has a main studio with the big soundboard and mixer, another small one next to it, and five rehearsal rooms. He directs us to leave our equipment in the hall and follow him into the main studio.
“Let’s review how this is going to go,” he says. “We’re cutting a demo, so four songs. We’re looking at ten hours, and you guys have to do it over two nights.”
“Yeah. We work, and we have shows on the weekends,” Luther says.
Jethro nods. “That’s pretty typical. It’s better if we can do it in a single day, but it’s hard for anyone to make that work. It is what it is.” He points to me. “Vocals?”
“That’s me.” We’d sent him our songs earlier in the week, and since I’m the only girl here, he’s reached the obvious conclusion.
“Cool. I like your sound.”
I hug the compliment close. This is a guy who hears a lot of music, so it means something to me. He has the rest of the guys identify themselves by their instruments.
Once he’s matched faces with parts, he crooks his head behind him. “We’ll put Sami in there. Drums there.” He points across the hall. All of the rehearsal rooms are visible from the studio. “Each of those has cables running into here, so you’ll be able to hear each other through your headsets but also see each other.”
We’d been given the choice of laying down one track at a time, instrument by instrument. It makes for a cleaner sound. Drums and bass would come in the first day and play through their parts on all four songs to a click track. Then Jules and Wingnut would come in and lay down their melodies and I’d cap it off with vocals.
But for us, we feed off of each other. We love playing for and with each other. Bands with a messier sound, like punk bands,onlyrecord all together. But so do bands who have played together long enough to sound tight. We’ve decided we want to record with each other, not in isolation.
Jethro points each of the guys to their rooms and they go set up their amps. He spends time checking cords, plugs, and sound. It takes about forty-five minutes before he sits at the control board and says into our headsets, “Let’s rock and roll.”
I catch Luther’s grin through the studio windows, and a prickle of energy shivers through me. Then Rodney’s counting off the start to our first song, “Wannabe Man,” with four clicks of his drumsticks and we’re off. By the time we hit the second chorus, I can’t help it; I’m dancing as I sing, “You always tried to be the big man on campus, but you’ve got mama’s boy energy.”
This feels good. It feels right. The sound coming through my headset is crisp and clear, and seeing my bandmates amps me up.
We end up needing an hour to lay down the entire song in a take we all love. Sometimes Jethro hears something he wants to adjust, sometimes one of us wants a different level on a part, but Pixie Luna all high-five when we hear the final version.
Even Jethro smiles a little. “Ten-minute break, and we’ll start your next one. ‘Boy, Nevermind,’ yeah?”
“That’s the one,” I confirm.
He flicks a glance at the rest of the band. “You guys don’t mind all this fierce girl energy?”
If I were one of the Browers’ shelties, the fur on my neck would be standing, but Wingnut answers before I can lay into Jethro.
“Bruh,” Wingnut says, “you’ve heard the lyrics. Is she wrong?”
Jethro eyes me again, then gives a slow grin. “Nah. She’s not wrong. Y’all kind of have a No Doubt thing happening.”
“I’ll take your Gwen Stefani comparisons,” I say.
He shakes his head. “No. I meant the all-guy band with the female lead singer. And the energy.” It’s notYou’re a musical genius, but I’ll take it, except he’s not done. He nods at me. “Better vocals than Stefani.”
I grin at him. All is forgiven. Jules snorts. “Hell, yes, little Stefani.”
I punch him in the side, enough to get a small puff of air from him. “Go take your break.”
We all wander off in different directions. I hit the bathroom, they go looking for water or a vape break or whatever they need, but within a few minutes we’re all settled on the studio sofa, except for Luther, still outside with his vape.
I have given him every “why it’s bad for your lungs” lecture I know, ending them all with “trust me, I’m a nurse,” but he just tousles my hair and does it anyway.
Jethro comes back in for the next song, and we work on it for over an hour. It doesn’t come together from the jump like “Wannabe Man” did, but eventually we get a take we’re happy with.
We listen to both recordings back-to-back, grinning at each other like fools. Except Rodney, but even he has a slight smile.
Jethro nods as the last notes of “Boy, Nevermind” play. “It sounds good. I’ll mix these down before y’all come in tomorrow. We’ll be able to finish tomorrow night.”
