Studio Session w/Staylefish

June 5th, 2009.

Some music makes you want to dance. Some music makes you want to run. The music being made right before my eyes, right now as I type makes me want to chill the FUCK out. Yes, the rock-reggae fusion of Staylefish is wrapping up the final mix for their third EP, Color By Numbers, in the shadiest part of a nowhere industrial area, away from the bright lights and screaming fans that are sure to follow in the coming months. Just the UNmixed tracks sound retardedly amazing. I can't wait for the world to join in on this awesomeness. They will soon.

Their new direction pops. The sound is clean, punctual, vibrant, catchy as hell and dripping with good vibes. I wish I had a car and it was back in the mid-nineties when cruising was still an acceptable past time. Oh well, an iPod will do just as well.

It's an incredible process to watch the layers of vocals, guitars, drums, keys and bass, mixed, faded, added & subtracted; in this music factory, sound is pulled apart and reassembled in seconds. The level of manipulation that current 21st century digital technology offers is so overwhelming to a non-musician, I understand that the limitless tech options are only made valuable by the level of artistic ability each man possesses before me. It doesn't hurt that producer John Nazario has gold and platinum albums hanging on his studio walls with the likes of Nelly Furtado and FA, BO, LO, US. Simply put, this shit is serious.

I'm sitting on a most comfortable black leather couch, being served double espressos, joking and laughing with the band, while they grapple with technological issues Bob Marley never had to think about. As the film guy who toils into the night, alone, it is very refreshing to watch the continuous collaborative effort put forth by the entire band. They work cohesively, intuitively and respectfully. There is also a lot of farting, which I am more than happy to contribute; this is as far as my musical abilities will take me today.

They play with their iPhones and guitars alike, listening to their tracks over and over, refining their sound down to a fine art. These guys are musicians and I can't wipe the big stupid grin off my face; it is such an honor to watch them create what will invariably launch them into the next stage of their career. This album, in all probability should put them into the commercial mainstream with MuchMusic, a new tour, album release parties and hopefully, a big label rep. Here's me crossing my fingers.

To give you an idea of the daily goings on, I've just watched them text a percussionist in London, Ontario, to record a conga drum track, then wait an hour, then download a 70MB file through a totally not stolen internet connection, and seamlessly blend it into their rough track. John the producer swears it was worth every last-minute-penny they spent on this last minute addition. They bribed the guy with 100 bucks for about 15 minutes of work. I'm just amazed that some guy banging away on conga drums, two hours away, can just send that through interspace and bam, presto - they've got the exact flourish of color the track required. This is the impulsive, last minute tinkering that Staylefish is engaged in. Half the shit they talk about, I can't hear the difference anyway. But I understand.

My good friend Dan Tran is a Vietnamese rock star with a heart of solid gold. He gives the best hugs. He plays face melting solos on his hollow-body Fender telecaster; the envy of all who see it. He let me play it today and it was every bit as gratifying as I had imagined. Thanks buddy. I don't think I've ever met someone so warm and inviting to all that he meets. Most definitely, a rarity.

Brent Chenier, the band's newest acquisition, rocks out by sloppin da basss mon, his body moves to the beat, subconsciously integrating his natural rhythm into everything he does. Even drinking a Corona-espresso. He's been with the band for three months now, but it's as if he's been with them from the beginning. They're really just a big, happy, family.

Chad Kivisto, the lead singer and rhythm guitarist passes me a stereo headset to listen to the current track they're playing with, The Good Times, and it is indeed, a good time. Soaring lead solos, cool laid back vocals, reggae influenced freestyle jams and a catchy beat that works perfectly for sitting on a beach, smoking a spliff. I can't wait for this album to drop. SOON.

Richard Howard, the other lead vocalist and token black-guy-that-gives-them-street-cred is back in London sleeping on a couch somewhere. I will see him the next day at their show, and we will indeed have a four hour van ride to the American border, drinking, laughing, filming, and other things I can't talk about here. He's a good shit.

Jon Bacon, the bands drummer, is somewhere causing trouble. That's all I'll say. :)

Tonight we drive to London in the band's van in preparation for their show tomorrow night. I'm "going on the road" to shoot their performance as part of our plans for their promotional material, and possibly, what could become part of an indie music video. We'll see. Hanging out with rock stars isn't like the movies; it's actually kind of better because these guys are caring and fun to be around. That's all I feel like mentioning right now, because I have some living to do. I feel like I'm Patrick Fugit in Almost Famous. All I needs now is my Penny Lane.

Off I go...

Thanks for reading. D.