"I don't know, I think you guys should try that one more time. It's missing something," I say as I sit opposite a fully set up Deadly Nightshade while they're trying to work out the bridge in a song I'm helping them record this afternoon.
I pulled out all my recording gear and wired it up for them, which means I've got my mixers strewn across the large tables, the mics are set up, and I've somehow found myself playing producer.
Rue is sitting next to me as we're listening to the piece that sounds discordant. Like it's missing something that we just can't name. The music equivalent to that pinch of sugar in a tart tomato sauce or a little bit of extra salt. She groans in frustration. The first song we recorded went off without a hitch, and it lulled us into a false sense of triumph that isn't really serving us as well on song two.
