The Ballade of Nixon Tyme Chapter Twenty Five

Gil Riot had been running his studio for years, and was well versed in recording techniques. In that time he'd extensively researched the methods used to record some of his favourite artists.

Nixon Tyme had never bothered to learn any of this. It didn't interest him. For him, the art of producing great music was an instinctive process. Neither of them realised, that together, they made a great team. Gil's technical methods had never produced any germ of originality, but it did give wings to Nixon's more radical ideas.

Nixon's holistic approach offered Gil the confidence to experiment, and so, the first days of their recording session was spent making endless test recordings, discovering sounds and techniques to provide (what Nixon called) the glue, and hopefully give their new project a distinctive edge.

It wasn't all original. Nothing ever was. Nixon had remembered some of the techniques employed from his time in Hollywood, and threw them into the mix as well. He had Gil string up various guitars to different tunings, and connected through unconventional speakers, recorded them to tape with the speed altered, giving an eerie shadow effect. It was often unproductive, but gradually sounds and textures began to emanate that neither of them had heard before.

At one point, Nixon ventured into the workshops outside, and began hitting various steel drums and lengths of pipe, looking for some new, interesting percussive sounds. At times, it sounded like chaos, but by the third day when they'd started to lay down some of the backing tracks, the glue, that Nixon had talked of, had started to bring everything together. Gil was fired up by Nixon's blatant disregard for convention. Somehow, Isabella had got wind of what was going on, and for the first time in a long time, decided to come into the studio.

“Tea break, anyone ?” Isabella wandered in with a large tray.

Isabella was in a cheerful mood, and Gil playfully reminded her that she'd forgotten the whisky.

“Will it help the recording, then ?” 

“All avenues should be explored.” Nixon replied. “It's just a question of knowing the difference between clever, and stupid”

“Deft or …......daft” Gil offered. They laughed

“How do you say that in French ?”

“Ah, I'm sorry, we don't really have many of those funny words. French can very boring like that, that's when I prefer to think of myself as English” 

“So when do you think of yourself as French ?”

She smiled. “I probably think of myself more as French, when I meet English, who can't be bothered to learn French”

“Maybe you can teach me some when George Martin here, is mixing the album ?”

“Shouldn't it be mixed by Gil Riot ?” said Isabella. “I think Nixon really wants you to be yourself” she looked at Nixon. “Okay, I'll help you with some French, if you'll explain music to me........ Gil never wants to do that.....He thinks I'll steal his power” 

She was still laughing as Gil got up and walked out of the room, shaking his head. He was smiling, but Nixon sensed that she had touched a nerve.

“He's very defensive with his knowledge. I'd probably better go before I end up winding him up. Have fun anyway.......It sounds like you are”

He agreed, just as Gil returned with whisky and glasses. It was the first time that Nixon had seen Isabella as herself. The slight distance he'd first encountered seemed to have evaporated, and in turn, it helped him to relax. He rolled a cigarette, and sipped his whisky.

“When is her birthday ?”

“Why....you want to buy her a fucking present ?”

“Star sign, grumpy”

“That's nonsense...........but, it's April third..........Belier, which is a........”

“Aries” Nixon cut in “.......and you.........a Virgo ?” he sucked in an arcing whistle. “No wonder”

“Don't start on me ! Come on, we've got a record to make......”

Once the rhythm tracks had been recorded, Gil and Nixon set about the guitars, using the sounds they'd created earlier. Although Nixon played the majority, he encouraged Gil to play too, forcing him to live with little errors, which ordinarily, he would have automatically edited out.

“It'll give it some character. …...It doesn't need to be too perfect”

After a week, they had basic versions of all the songs. Nixon then decided, to add some additional instrumentation. It would give each track its identity, while still maintaining the overall character. They hired a violinist, pianist, and, after a great deal of searching, a pedal steel player.

Gil could only look on and smile as he watched Nixon going over the same regime with each musician. At first, they all had difficulty in interpreting Nixon's musical instructions. Each time, it was case of trying to get them to play less, often much less, than they were comfortable with.

By now, Gil had learned what to expect, and it was with little surprise, as even the session players finally conceded, that it did indeed, sound much better this way. It was turning into a team effort.

The final recording process was to get the vocals right. Gil was made to try various positions as he sang. One method was to lie on the floor, sometimes with a weight on his chest. Another time, Nixon had him work out till breathless, then sing. Intimate songs were generally tried late a night, usually with the aid of whisky and cigarettes. Anything that could help, they tried.

Even before the final mix down, the songs were sounding fantastic. Nixon had surprised himself. He always had an idea he could do it, but now, here was the proof in spades. He smiled to his inner self at the irony of waiting over twenty five years to put it to the test. Gil was astounded.

“This is brilliant, Nikki. Do you realise what you've done ?”

“Hey man, you were here too. You're on it..........It's your record, remember ?”  

The recording had taken three weeks of intense work. Gil calculated he'd need a week to mix it. It was during these mixing sessions, that Nixon felt he was less required, as Gil's technical approach suited the task better. He decided to leave him alone, and went next door and asked Isabella if she was ready to teach him some French.

“Don't forget, it works two ways. The price is that you teach me something about music.”

“Of course, it would be a pleasure, but you may find my methods unconventional”

“Not a problem. I think I might be the same.”

And she was. Nixon sat and listened, as Isabella explained how she thought that many conventional teaching techniques were flawed.

“I suppose when you think about it, there are very few experts on anything, and so most teachers, are probably not so far in advance of their students as we might think. This most likely creates a psychological fear of being found out. What better reason then to protect their advantage, by slowing everything down, and forcing us to learn all the minutiae up front.”

“Minutiae ?”

“Think of young children, and how they learn. They don't have the capacity to take too much information at once, so instead they learn the raw data first, then fill in the detail later.”

“So you're going to get me to speak like a baby ?”

“In a way......” she laughed .... “but at least you'll be communicating very quickly. That will build your confidence, which will then allow you to teach yourself the detail later”

Isabella then dropped her normal flawless English accent, for an exaggerated, stereotypical, French one. She asked Nixon to do the same.

“Talk to me about ze music, but try to do eet wiz un accent, Francais” 

He felt slightly ridiculous, but every time he let it drop, she pushed him to continue.

“Before you learn any French, you need to sound French” She went on to explain the different vowel sounds, characteristics and mouth shapes that gave the language its accent.

Nixon liked her tack. Isabella, being expertly bilingual, had a natural feel for both languages, which was better than most language teachers could ever hope for. The afternoon passed quickly in a bizarre, comic whirl of exchanged information. Nixon, after gradually coming to turns with his newly acquired accent, dispensed with the minutiae, and painted the larger picture of music theory.

And so, even before Gil entered the room, to find out how things were progressing, the sound of merriment told him in advance. As he entered, for a moment, he felt the slightest sense of disappointment that he'd disturbed the fun. Nixon quickly broke the silence.

“She's learned all 'er Blues chords.....and on 'er first day”

“...et tu comprends Francais, encore....alors ?”

“Oui, Je crois, par le weekend, capitain....Le weekend”

“You wouldn't know he wasn't French, would you ?......admit it !”

Gil smiled, grudgingly “Anyway, do you want to come and listen ?”   

The three of them made their way to the studio, and sat down in the control room. By the end of the song, nobody spoke for a few seconds. Finally, Gil span around in his producers chair, and looked directly at Nixon. Isabella responded.

“I can't believe what you've done, Gil......well.........both of you.....I think it sounds fabulous......Nixon........what do you think ?”

Gil and Isabella looked at Nixon, as he slowly rolled a cigarette. He lit it, took a lengthy draw, and exhaled a long trail, of blue smoke................The three of them watched it cloud into the middle of the room, then Nixon smiled, and announced in his best French..............

“Excellent.........Gil, c'est vraiment excellent !”