Changes

By the time we were in the final stages of tracking the new Ozean Horizon album, the familiar New England snow had made its presence felt. Kiia and I spent countless nights by lowlighting listening to the first and second round of demos for their album, meticulously critiquing and editing the arrangements.

Sitting up in our new, shared, home in Barrington on a cold night in late November, we couldn’t sleep as the deadline for completing the recording was rapidly approaching.

“Kiia, I don’t think there’s much left we can do to these songs without tearing it down and starting from the beginning,” I said after completing our sixth consecutive listen to the record.

She leaned back, sitting on the floor next to me, casting her eyes outside of the bay window, monitoring the steady fall of the transparent snowflakes that were barely more than raindrops.

“Probably, I just don’t know if this is the album I want it to be at this point…it doesn’t feel like a reflection of who I am right now, but it also doesn’t feel like who I was before either.”

She continued to watch the snow, trying to construct her opinion as the album began to loop for a seventh time.

“It all just feels incomplete to me… I’ve never thought our music sounded so unsure before.”

“Well, it makes sense for this album to sound like that. You’re allowed to make music that isn’t confident,” I said, knowing she wasn’t listening.

I don’t think I made any progress that night, but that was alright. As unsure as she was, I knew that she was going to be her usual self once she stepped into the studio.

***

“Okay, Kiia, that’s a wrap on your guitar parts. Cy and I will spend some more time on the console tonight, but we’ll work on vocals tomorrow,” Dave’s voice carried into the recording booth.

“Thanks, are you sure you don’t want me to stick around?” She asked as she was packing up her guitar.

“Yeah, I think a night away from the songs will help you focus ahead of tomorrow,” Dave answered, turning his attention to me. “If anything needs to be adjusted, we’ll make a note to come back to it by the end of the week.”

She didn’t answer until she entered the control room.

“Okay,” she said, approaching me. We shared a kiss. “Text me if you’ll be home after eleven.”

“Of course,” I answered as we pulled apart. “I don’t think we’ll be too long.”

Her expression was unreadable as she exited the studio.

“This is a phenomenal record, Cy. She seemed unsure at times during tracking, but I have no idea why.”

“Yeah… I think the issue is she wants it to be a perfect record more than anything else,” I said, avoiding eye contact.

“In my years doing this, there is no such thing as a perfect recording,” Dave paused. “Of course, everything is subjective in music, so people will disagree with me, but it’s impossible to create something that you’re one-hundred percent satisfied with as an artist.”

He awkwardly laughed to himself.

“That’s why I became an engineer. This is a science more than an art form. You can convince someone an album is mixed perfectly if nothing else.”

“Do you think this album will have a perfect mix?” I asked, taking his bait.

“Cy, we’ve made six albums together, you know I never settle for anything less… speaking of which, you did the mix on your last release, right?”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to burden you with it.”

“You should have. The songs are great, but the mix is garbage,” he smiled, not pulling any punches.

“Well, I wanted to showcase my vulnerability more than making a transcendent record. I’d never released something raw before, the label denied me that phase of my career,” I said with a trace of whimsy in my voice.

“So, basically, you and Kiia are in the middle of a role reversal?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” my voice trailed off as we immersed ourselves in listening to the playback of the record.

***

“Alright, Kiia, we’re almost done, and I know you’re tired, but you need to watch that vocal slide… you’re pushing too much and you’re missing the pitch,” Dave said calmly. “I can fix it in post, because you’re close if you want to.”

“No,” she said, clearly frustrated. “This is the last song, and I don’t want to use any pitch correction.”

“Fine,” he said back. “But I’m really good at it. Cy and Tony’s vocals on all of the BTR records were touched up in post.”

“Yeah, but my fans will know,” she pushed back. “After three albums, they know what my voice sounds like.”

Dave rolled his eyes, but she wasn’t looking at him.

“Fine, I’m going to punch you in four measures out.”

Kiia sang the same pass. Her power was weaker than the last nine takes, but she hit the pitches on the slide this time.

“Alright, you got it,” Dave said without a hint of emotion.

“Yeah, but it’s missing the heart,” she pushed back.

“How about we listen back to it?” Dave asked.

She nodded at him, more frustrated.

“No, I think we’re good with that take,” I said, my first contribution in over an hour.

“What do you mean?” Kiia snapped at me.

“This song, In Vain, is wistful and resentful about wasted years and effort… the vocal slide here being cathartic and weaker than the rest of the vocals feels like a hollow moment that conveys your feelings well,” I said, not breaking eye contact.

I could see she was frustrated to tears because she couldn’t hit the part the way she envisioned.

“Okay, we can keep that take, but I’d like to try it the right way one more time.”

“Fine,” Dave said. “We’re coming in from four measures out again.”

She did the take again, and sang it perfectly as she wrote it.

“Okay,” she said, giddy. “Play that back for me now.”

“Got it,” Dave answered.

The three of us sat in silence, listening.

I could see the tears falling from her eyes in the booth.

“Fine,” she snapped, throwing her headphones on the floor. “We’ll go with the other take.” The disgust in her voice hurt me.

She stormed through the control room and into the main lobby of the studio, not giving me so much as a stray glance. I followed her out.

“Kiia, are you… okay?” I asked.

“No,” she yelled, the tears flowing freely. “Why? Why is it that everything that’s gone wrong on this album sounds better than if it went right? Why do I not know what’s best for my own music anymore?”

“It’s okay Kiia,” I said, trying to embrace her. “It takes a lot of maturity to realize that. It’s still your art. Even though it’s not what you intended, it’s still what you created.”

After close to an hour, she calmed down.

“I know you’re right, but I’m so scared. I just don’t want to let anyone, or myself down,” she admitted.

“Well, how do you feel about the album now that it’s been tracked?” I asked, still holding her.

“It’s easily the best work of my life… I’m so proud of the songs, and how it sounds, but it’s not the Ozean Horizon that’s gotten me here,” she said, struggling to find the right words.

“If that’s how you feel, that’s okay. It’s okay to change over sixteen years, Kiia.”

We sat in silence in the lobby until she was ready to go home. I could tell my words resonated with her.