These past few weeks, Barry and I have been reminiscing about old recordings of ours. As we have been preparing to write and record again, I have been thinking back to what that process used to look like for me as a mother of small children. Being a working musician and a mother takes precision planning, determination, improvisation, patience, levity and hefty doses of insanity. In my mind, I have a comic book of memories of what it looked like for me to try to write songs, sing them, record and perform them while simultaneously being responsible for 4 small humans 24/7.
For whatever reason, our creative and reproductive calendars were in sync and for the recording of our first three albums, I was pregnant. Pregnancy does one really helpful thing for your recording process: it gives you easy access to your emotions. If a song calls for a certain flavor of angst or reverie, you can get there in a flash. If your husband says that the last take was a little too “Cher” you can easily access your anger/hatred and communicate that to him. If the studio you are using has forgotten to pay their power bill and the power goes out in the middle of the best take of your entire life, you can easily express your distress by laying on the floor and crying until your eyes swell shut. It just makes the whole process so much more…feely.
Trying to record with babies on premises is quite the “herding cats” type of musical experience as well. I remember one night in particular when we had reserved after hours (cheaper) time at a local studio and our babysitter cancelled at the last minute. We didn’t want to lose the slot so we brought our (then) two babies with us. We sat 3 year old Russell in the sitting room with quiet-ish types of toys, told him we were right in the next room and brought baby Ivy in with us. The mic kept picking up her little baby sounds so, as a last resort, I stood, held her and nursed her while I recorded the song. The stars aligned and both kids stayed happy and quiet long enough to get a complete take. I still can’t believe it worked.
Recording in our own studio proved to be a unique challenge. Our studio was in a separate building on our property and the kids had to be well entertained in the house to keep them from knocking on the door…in the middle of the best takes ever. We would rent bunches of movies, show the kids how to safely make microwave popcorn and tell them mommy and daddy were just outside in the studio if they needed us. Well, Sam usually “needed” us within five minutes of us leaving the house. On our Long Straight Uphill Climb project, we just decided to stop fighting the intrusions and find a way to work them into the songs. One of our collaborators, Ryan Lott, actually worked Sam’s little voice into a loop for the song “Abyss” and if you listen all the way to the end of “Stay” you can hear Sam’s sweet little whisper as he opened the door during the last bar of tracking. Swoon.
Writing songs as a mother of small children has made me a better writer. Ever since Russell hit the ground running in 1997 I have had to learn to write in a way that takes no heed of “conditions.” There will never be a quiet enough, inspiring enough, well-rested enough moment. Inspiration will come whenever it wants to, and it won’t matter if I am in the middle of cutting out jello-jiggler guys or not. The best, most inspired song I have ever written, “Smoke“, was written with baby Elliott on one hip and frantic scribbles on sticky notes on my mom’s counter.
My non-stop-mom life has taught me how to turn on creativity like a faucet. If a song is due and a deadline is pending, I have had to learn how to focus and access my own creativity like the flip of a switch, conditions notwithstanding. Would I prefer for there to be incense, sushi and quiet and to have a deep tissue massage before I ever tried to compose? Of course. But do I need that? Nope, not anymore. I am grateful to my life as a mother for launching me out of my precious, “I’m just not feeling it” excuse.
I would have to say the best kid-riddled recording moment in our history is when we enlisted our three youngest to be the first version of the “stomp-clap” crew on Recession Song. Sam took his job so very seriously and let his dance flag fly.
We could never have asked for more from a paid studio stomp-clapper. Do yourself a favor and watch Sam put his extreme stomp/clap skills to use here (he’s the little one in the middle.)
Nowadays, my kids do their own recordings. I have toyed with the idea of crying or pooping my pants in the middle of the studio at of one of their serious creative sessions, just to even up the score. Wouldn’t that be sooooooo funny?
My brother and my sister-in-law are the parents of two tinies. They live an intense, sacrificial life on any given day. For the past few years they have stepped back from their passion of writing and performing music to hang out in Babyland. Like all driven creatives, their hiatus must come to a close and they have decided not to wait until conditions are perfect to return to the thing they love to do together. Last week, they relaunched as “Mercy Club” and tried to record a video of one of their latest offerings. This video cracked me up because there was no stopping the chaos. The song must go on. Kudos to you, Darren & Melissa, for your foray back into creativity, no matter the circus that occurs. Welcome back! We want ya!
The chaos, in fact, is endearing and nostalgic for me. My own kids have always been folded into the music in our life. Being parents never stopped us from being creative, it just made us more resilient, strategic and determined creative types. I am glad I have the kind of career that my children have access to. They are a part of the process, the reason for the hustle and the stars of the show. Russell, Ivy, Elliott & Samwise, I love you and I am so grateful for you and how you have made me better at what I am made to do.
PS I would love to hear your stories of musician family circus. Surely I am not alone! Talk to me, Ringmasters!
