Mind the Gap

Today I rode the subway to get to my producer David Woodhead 's house. We've been steadily working on my third CD for more than a year now. Although the process always seems to take longer than I expect (as so many projects do), it's always a pleasure to work with David. He's efficient, inventive and generous. He's a superb musician. And he makes good coffee.

On the way there, it felt strange to be in the subway and not be playing. When I arrived at Broadview Station I instinctively reached into my pocket for some change, but no musician was there to receive it. In fact, the performance space was taken up by a metal barrier and a couple of red pylons.

I was headed to David's to re-record a song called "Crossing My Mind". We originally recorded it about a year ago, shortly after it had been written, and we spent considerable time building it up from a simple guitar-and-vocal demo to a more produced version.

Even though we'd worked patiently on this version for quite awhile, I thought it might be worthwhile to try another one: a simpler one with a stronger vocal performance.

In the original, my vocals had a sweet but slightly hesitant quality and my timing wavered all over the place. That made sense, when I thought about it. Back then, I wasn't really committed to making another record. (When do you decide you've made all the CDs you're going to make, anyway?) I was just going over to David's and casually recording new songs after I'd written them. Then at a certain point we thought we'd collect them to make another CD.

Meanwhile, I started performing more often.

And my voice got stronger.

Had I had outgrown the first recorded version of the song? I thought, let's take a few hours and find out.

Naively, I thought I'd nail it on the first take (after all, I've performed it dozens of times now). I didn't, of course. But by the third take, I could tell we had something worth keeping: something warmer than the original, more weathered-sounding. I was taking more emotional risks in my performance. It was better.

And of course, it's still not perfect, at least not to my ears. Not even "imperfect-in-that-perfect-sort-of-way"--the way I think of Emmylou Harris or Neil Young.

One of the big challenges of recording is that the way you think you sound is often different than how you actually do. Trying to correct all the "flaws" can be time-consuming, expensive and ultimately futile.

There will always be a gap between the music I hear in my head and the music I'm able to physically create.

Maybe part of the process of artistic growth--and self-acceptance at every stage of it--is to be mindful of that gap: to acknowledge it with self-acceptance, while seeking to narrow it little by little, as time goes on.