I officially began singing keeper vocals this abnormally cold April morning at The Bee Hive. With Ben dialing in the vocal sound and giving me that sweet, tonic reverb inside my headphones, I sang through "Chrome" (or "Krome" as Ben likes to spell it with his direct sort of whimsy) six or seven times. I could feel my voice warming and settling down with each new pass, and by the final take, felt that we had much goodness to work with.
We then comped the vocal, a process by which the engineer/producer goes through each and every line (sometimes isolating individual words) with a fine-toothed comb (i.e., ears) and picks out the best, most pleasing versions. It might be a certain whisper or the way a vowel is uttered, or it might be the plaintive delivery confirming a sad mood. The producer/engineer then cuts and pastes each of these selected takes into one mothership of a vocal. Purists might argue that this process is fraudulent stating that it's not an actual take, but an amalgamation of several takes. I figure, it's still my voice singing, not someone else's (reference Milli Vanilli), and I'm a fraud already. Nobody's perfect.
I really, really like this song. The more I listen to the roughs Ben sent me, the more the song resonates with me, especially in these dark days of uncertainty and fear. I can't help but feel this song is at the center of what I'm trying to state with this album.
Chrome for my heart
Chrome for my skin
Chrome becomes a part of me like God inside of men
I want chrome