Since they would be playing Ocean View to the prerecorded rhythm laid down by Coop and Charlie weeks ago, and since both Jake and Celia would be playing electric instruments which had their amps enclosed and microphoned in isolation boxes, and since there were no other musicians or instruments that needed to be played in order to capture the primary riffs, there was no need to use the isolation booths. A microphone stand was set up in the center of the main studio and Jake took position there, sitting on one of the stools with his Brogan Les Paul knockoff in hand. Celia had no microphone or need of one (Charlie and Pauline would be Jake’s backup singers on the tune’s choruses, but they were a long way away from needing them at this point). She took up position directly in front of Jake, so they could see each other. She too sat on a stool. Her weapon of choice for her part of the tune was a purple Fender Stratocaster tuned to drop-d and running through a set of effects pedals that would allow her to change the level of distortion as the riff progressed.
“All right,” said Sharon from her position at the soundboard. They had just finished the lengthy sound check process. “Should we do the run-through?”
Jake and Celia both gave a thumbs up.
“All right, everyone,” Sharon said into her mounted microphone. “Quiet in the studio, please.”
Mary, Dexter, Cindy, and Nerdly were all clustered around the sound board with her. They all acknowledged her command silently.
“Cueing up the rhythm tracks for Ocean View,” she said. She fiddled with controls and the computer mouse for a few moments and then looked over at Jake, pointing a finger at him.
Jake nodded and then began to play. The tune opened with his guitar only, playing out the primary riff, only moderately distorted and at a tempo of ninety without any rhythm backing as of yet. He ran through the first rep and then, as it recycled, he began to sing.
“I’m so tired of dirty old LA
I think it’s time to find a new way
Someplace quiet where I can be alone
Someplace high above the crashing foam
Someplace a man can stretch his wings
It’s time to reap what this life brings”
With the first verse complete, Sharon pushed a button on her panel and the recorded tracks of bass and drum sounded in everyone’s headphones, picking up just where they were needed. At the same time, Celia began to play her guitar, duplicating Jake’s riff but deliberately playing it slightly out of synch with him.
Jake sang out the second verse, increasing the strength of his voice, projecting a little more power as he spoke of a big empty hillside, of the sparking blue of the ocean, of the solitude he desired. He brought them through the first chorus, Celia keeping up her slightly out of synch harmony, and then, for the third verse, they picked up the tempo and increased the distortion. As they powered through this part, heading for the bridge section, they looked at each other, smiles of satisfaction on their faces. They were nailing the tune and they both knew it.
At the sound board, everyone watched them and tapped or nodded to the heavy rhythm. Though the tune was not exactly Tom’s or Mary’s or Stan’s or Cindy’s cup of tea, they could all appreciate the energy and the power of it, could easily pick up the meaning of Jake’s lyrics. He hated LA and wanted to get away from it, to live on the ocean and be able to look out and see nothing but the ocean and empty land that belonged to him.
They transitioned into the bridge section and powered through it. Jake then laid down an impressive guitar solo while Celia continued to grind out the primary riff, now with heavy distortion and at the tempo of 120. They maintained this tempo during the transition out of the solo and then Jake sang out the last verse, his voice now projecting powerfully, forcefully, at almost a scream while both guitars went back to playing their heaviest version of the riff yet. From there, they went into the outro, which featured another guitar solo and then, finally, a grinding finale of drums and guitar that cut off suddenly instead of being prepped for a fade to black in the post-production.
“All right!” Jake said with a smile once the instruments were silenced. “That was badass, C!” He stood from his stool and walked over to her, holding his right hand up in the air, palm toward her.
She slapped a high-five on him and gave him a genuine Celia smile. She did not say anything, however, because he probably would not have heard her with his cans on his ears.
“I’d call that a good run-through,” Sharon said. “A little off initially on the timing of the rhythm cut-in, but that was probably more me than you two.”
Jake shrugged. He hadn’t noticed any timing issues, but then he wasn’t a Nerdly.
“Shall we try it for real now?” Sharon asked them.
Jake sat back down and gave her a thumbs up. Celia gave one as well.
“All right then,” Sharon said. “Ocean View by Jake Kingsley, basic guitar tracks, take one. I’m cued up over here. Play when ready.”
They played when ready. Jake did not even make it to the first vocals before Sharon stopped him and made him start take two.
The tedium had begun once again.
“Thanks, Jake,” Celia told him in the cafeteria a little past 1:00 PM. They had just broken for lunch after managing to lay down acceptable guitar tracks for Ocean View all the way through the second verse. They were now sitting at one of the tables, Jake with a turkey sandwich and a Sprite before him, Celia with small salad she’d made at the salad bar. She was actually eating some of it too.
“Thanks for what?” Jake asked her.
“For making me come in here today instead of letting me stay back at the house with Coop and Charlie and the dads, feeling sorry for myself.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “I didn’t think hanging with Charlie for the day was going to improve your mood much.”
“No, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have,” she agreed. “And getting me to play Ocean View with you ... that was pretty ingenious. You know that playing the hard stuff always gets my blood moving.”
He shrugged. “I thought it might be just the thing you needed today.” He looked at her pointedly. “How are you doing now? Feeling any better?”
“I still have one of the worst hangovers of my life—even worse than that one the day after my wedding. Remember how trashed I was that night?”
“I remember,” he said with a smile. That had been quite a night all right.
“And I’m still kicking myself in mi culo for destroying the guitar papa gave me, but ... all in all, I feel a little better having put in some honest work today.”
“We’ll get you a new guitar,” Jake promised.
“When?” she asked.
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” he said. “No studio time is scheduled. We can fly over to Portland and hit that music shop. I’ll give them a call and see if they’d be willing to open up an hour early for us.”
“Play the celebrity card?” she asked. “That’s not like you, Jake.”
“Not just the celebrity card, but the celebrities who are going to be spending a couple thousand dollars on an instrument card,” he corrected. “I have no problem playing that one if it keeps every Tom, Dick and Harry in the shop from mobbing us while we try to conduct business.”
“All right,” she said with a nod. “To Portland we go. This has the feel of a two-day hangover, but hopefully I’ll be reasonably human for the flight.”
“Hopefully,” Jake said. “We might even take the long way home along the river and the coast.”
“No no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve certainly gotten more comfortable flying since you took me up that first time—I mean, really, I actually volunteered to go up with you when Greg did his little publicity shoot—but I’d still rather not be off the ground any longer than is strictly necessary.”