The Art of Listening
by Peter Mayer

To anyone who is a newcomer to the Art of Listening column, this piece of factual fiction began with some musings on music that I jotted down in the first Morning Star newsletter.

It started to include some of the incidents and accidents that collided with us on the way to wherever we are now. And, for any of you who have been along on this ride for a while, or are brand new and just a little curious, it will shed a little light on how and why and what brought the people and events together to make this music. As always, happy listening, and from experience I quote, “sometimes it’s just a smile that makes your day, sometimes a song can save your life.”

We had begun to take this story year-by-year, starting back in the mid '80s from the forming of the group PM, on to our meeting up with Jimmy Buffett, and so forth. The last newsletter was titled Green Eyed Radio, and described the events leading up to the release of my first solo record, Green Eyed Radio.

1994 came to a close with a trip up to Aspen, Colorado, to play a show with Jimmy Buffett at the Double Diamond. Jay Oliver was there to join us on the set.

After the show, Jimmy called a meeting with all of us. Jimmy, at that time, was busy with book writing projects and a play that was in the works, but the music and touring had to move forward as well and he was ready to start work on a new album.

He told us that he wanted us to be part of a writing team that would gather in late January of ‘95, at his “Fish Camp” in Key West, to write songs for a new album. Russ Kunkel would be the project coordinator, producer and co-writer. We would spend three weeks or so writing the material for the record, and then stay on in Key West for another couple of weeks to record it.

So, we downshifted, headed down the mountain, and traveled back home to head on into 1995, a turn toward Barometer Soup and the release of Green Eyed Radio. It’s probably the reason I didn’t take up juggling in a circus as a serious pursuit -- there were more then enough life events and directions to keep in the air for the most ambitious of performers.

The Group, PM, had decided to take a sabbatical from itself. I was embarking on a pseudo solo career ("pseudo" because it still tapped from the talent of my closest friends and musical allies; Jim, Roger, and people who I had been working with for years), and had finished recording most of the tracks for Green Eyed Radio, my first release.

We had just finished "Sing Joy," our first Christmas Cassette release (yes, from the dark ages). I had a busy family life back in St. Louis, Missouri, with my wife and two kids, at that time only three and six-years-old, respectively, and we had just returned home from Aspen, Colorado, where Jimmy (Buffett) had asked us to be part of a writing team for a new CD that he wanted to call Barometer Soup.

Green Eyed Radio was pretty much together musically, but was sitting on a shelf while we hunted for a record label to call home. I had sent copies of the music out to people that PM had worked with in the industry. Elliot Scheiner, the producer on the first PM album, thought the material was strong and sent it to Private Music. They, in turn, said they liked it, but thought that it could use some more “edge.”

“Edge,” defined by Merriam Webster, is “a piercing, cutting, or wounding quality, for example, of language or expression.” In addition to this definition, if we include the dictionary of a working music A&R person or executive, it could mean any one of the following:

a) my last good band tanked, so I’m looking for something a bit more shocking
b) it needs more cowbell
c) I just got my pizza in for lunch and don’t have time to finish the tape, I’ll get back to you
d) I really wish I would have signed U2

Well, that’s a little unfair, they’re actually much harsher than that. The music Jim (brother Jim Mayer, "Uncle Jim" to many) had produced had a very lush sound, it had a fair amount of keyboard pads in it, and I did recognize that this had gotten a little “Charmin” squeezably soft at times.

Here’s an entry from my daily log back then:

"Things are done with the album. I’ve got some response from Private Music for a start -- need to write and turn in a few more tunes to them. I see what they mean about the edge on one hand.

To me, more it's all about getting a sound that weathers some days of listening, that has enough edge to it to be honest and not whiny or pandering. Honesty. So, now it is time to begin phase two, which is refining and shopping seriously."

I decided, taking Elliot’s advice, to write some new songs and purposely let them lay a little more ragged on the guitar end. I went down to my basement studio and chose a few lyric ideas out of my daily writing notebook. I keep a list of song titles along the way and notes that accompany them, so that when the ideas of the day are dry, I can go back and pick up on one of these loose ends, from time to time.

The first one I wrote was called "A Little Too Happy." It was a taken from a bus ride we had taken while on the Buffett tour, where the band had had a roast session for life on the road, and the air was rife with complaints. The temperature was a little too cold, the food was too stale, bottles of wine too few, and hours to our next destination were a little too many.

I was sitting in the back listening to Seal or Pat Metheny, some of our favorite bus music, and I thought, “when do we get to be a little too happy?” I put down the parts on my 8-track cassette recorder, with drum machine, guitar, and my own feeble bass playing. Out of that session also came "Over You." I made rough mixes of both songs over the weekend and sent them out to Elliot.

Meanwhile, we got word from Jimmy that we were to come down to Key West, in late January, to start writing Barometer Soup. He had a great idea: pick a dozen or so of his favorite authors, pick specific shorts stories or novels of each, and write songs from those ideas.

Some of the authors Jimmy wanted to include were: Mark Twain, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemmingway, Thomas McGuane, Hunter Thomspon, Carl Hiassen, and many others. We started to open the covers of these books, to see what songs might fall our way.

I remember getting the call from Roger after we both started reading Twain’s Crossing the Equator. We got together that day and laid down an early version of "Barefoot Children." Russ Kunkel had set up the writing session to begin on February 6 but Roger, Jim, and I, who where still playing as PM from time to time, went down to play a week at Margaritaville, Jimmy’s club before that.

On most of our trips to Key West, we stayed at the “Fish Camp,” a little cedar paneled two bedroom bungalow (one was a three bed “Leave It To Beaver" suite) with louvered glass windows that was adjacent to Jimmy B.’s place. It was a rustic, dusty, swordfish-above- the-mantel, frogs-in-the-toilet, geckos-on-the-wall, crickets-out-your window, no-chocolates-on-the-pillow, bamboo-couches-with-mystery stains on the cushions kind of band house that was to be the headquarters for reeling in the songs that would comprise Barometer Soup.

Out the back door was a winding brick path that wove through palms and wild growing vegetation that would rustle like a cactus choir whenever a strong wind came up. Pass a hammock and the Adirondack chairs and you get to the edge of the canal.

Two kayaks were tied up there on the banks of this dark water, slow moving waterway that connected you with the open water (the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico) one way, and access to the other houses, inlets, and mangrove islands down the other. We all moved in and claimed our bedrooms.

Jay Oliver brought his keyboard and racks of recording gear down and set up his mini-studio in the living room. He was the tech guy who was to be songwriter, of course, but also responsible for recording the demos as we completed them.

Songwriting is one of those occupations that needs a delicate balance of effort - and lack of the same...deep concentration and what some might call slackardly-ness. In other words, you can be deep into your work, and at the same time lying on the couch staring at the spider in the corner, taking a walk, or having dinner with a bunch of friends (by the way, this works very well when you are eager to be excused from Saturday chores or the mounting list of honey-do's).

The common thread, though, whether you are a floor-pacer, a carouser, a solitary still-thinker, or a wild "sweat-it–out-like-Martin-Sheen-in Apocalypse Now" writer, is you must pay attention! You have to be able to pick up on “something shiny” as Joni Mitchell sings in her song Black Crow, however high you decide to fly.

Some write slowly and deliberately (I tend to fall into that category); some ramble on forever (I tend to fall into that category, if you are reading this); others are quick and spin off a lyric in 15 minutes (I tend to... oh well). However the method, though, our mission is the same: to deliver the fruit to market so it can be experienced and enjoyed by others before time and the sun, too much handling, and dropping a piece or two spoils it.

We met that first night in early February, down at Blue Heaven for dinner. It is a magical vibe at Blue Heaven; chickens pecking at your feet, a solitary jazz guitarist in the corner, some of the best seafood recipes you’ll find anywhere.

Around the table were Russ Kunkel, Jay Oliver, Roger Guth, our good friend Scott Kirby, and me. From the conversations, the jokes, the musings of that night, came many of the songs on Barometer Soup. Scott Kirby needs to be credited for the spark that brought some of these songs about. He was always there with a new angle, a story, and that sharp wit that, mixed with a melody, has made for some great songs over the years.

We spent the next three weeks or so writing together. Our typical day would have everyone up and doing their morning routines: for Roger it was a bike ride to get coffee; for me, a walk to the market, get a paper and make some oatmeal.

Mid-morning, we would check our list of titles, culled from our reading and conversations; "Bank Of Bad Habits," "Remittance Man," "The Man Who Gave Up His Own Name," etc. We spent the morning sitting around with pen and pad, guitar in hand, Jay at the keyboard, throwing out ideas musical and lyrical.

Some songs happened really quickly. "Blue Heaven Rendezvous" came together in an hour or two. Some, like "Bank of Bad Habits," stretched out over a few days. Once we thought we had gotten a spark going on a song, we would multi-task.

Jay might assemble some of the demo pieces we had put down on a near finished track, or would start on a fresh musical direction for a song that we had been searching on. Roger, Russ, and I would go and work out lyrics to the melody we had started that morning. Sometimes, we had five or six songs going at once; I was out on the dock working up a twelve-string version of "Bank Of Bad Habits," or Roger was busy on the piano working out "Night I Painted the Sky."

A journal entry from Feb. of ’95

"Jimmy came in today; finished "Remittance Man" (laid down guitar scratch) Worked on Barometer Soup and it went really well. Everybody is really thrilled with how things are going. It's running smoothly and it seems if we keep up this pace we'll have more than enough great tunes for the album. He laid down some vocals and we put together some changes and in about an hour and a half we had the thing smoking."

Once or twice a week, Jimmy would come in and listen to the songs that we had worked on so far. He would then take the lyrics and tweak them with his own distinctive lyric style.

The speed that he could spin out a verse always amazed me. I still remember Jimmy and Roger sitting out back of the "Fish Camp," Jimmy telling Roger the story of a wild 4th of July in St. Marten, when he helped set off the fireworks for the Independence Day celebration. That story became the song, "The Night I Painted The Sky."

Jimmy kept it in focus; was the overseer, but did not do it heavy-handedly. He had assembled a group of people, with different styles and strengths, taken some great stories and ideas and given us (and the ‘Muse’) license to “run with it.” Sometimes you don’t see these things until they are in your rear view mirror, but I know now it was a rare opportunity for all of us to be a part of the Barometer Soup experience.

I was, in the meantime, waiting on a response from Elliot Scheiner on the Green Eyed Radio songs, from Private Music. I was getting frustrated. I really had it in mind to find a label to be a home for the new music.

Tommy Kennedy, an incredible bass player from St. Louis who had done the bass tracks for Green Eyed Radio, had worked with a man named Eric Kressman, who had managed a few recording acts and had worked with several record companies. I gave him a call and he asked me to send the music to him. He called me back a few days later and said he really loved the sound and told me he had a few ideas for me.

Over the next couple of weeks, Eric and I talked and he managed to set up an audition at Capitol Records, with Executive Producer Bruce Lundvall. This was a big break, and I was really excited. In the week before we started tracking Barometer Soup, I packed my bags and got ready to head to the Big Apple.

Tune in next time for “Success: A definition”.

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