Photo by MARC LESTER / Anchorage Daily News
Delmag hammers out a tune at Chilkoot Charlie's. Band members have been relentlessly perfecting their sound with talented producer Sal Villanueva. The band will travel to New Jersey in April to record their next album with Villanueva's help
Delmag gives every last ounce
Published: March 22, 2006
Last Modified: March 27, 2006 at 03:24 AM
Delmag can't find its $20,000 investment.
The members of Anchorage's favorite rock trio are sitting in guitarist Ryan Brownell's new Airport Heights studio, waiting for studio wiz Sal Villanueva to walk through the door. He was supposed to arrive at 4:30 p.m.
It's just past 6.
Brownell reaches for his Motorola and dials ... again. A series of rings is followed by Villanueva's voicemail. Brownell hangs up. Undeterred and hardheaded, drummer Eric Kross pulls out his cell and tries Villanueva. Voicemail answers again. Kross leaves a dirty message.
As frustrating as this scene is, the boys have to laugh. They showed their New Jersey visitor a little too much love the night before, celebrating Villanueva's 34th birthday at Pioneer Bar. Front man Mike Gorder mentions something about a "shots war." Kross boasts "We got him crushed Alaska style." Brownell smirks.
Cell phones are put down, instruments picked up. The band starts into a new song, one they've been working on since Villanueva showed up four days ago and started a string of six-to eight-hour rehearsals.
Villanueva was once a member of the influential, if not notorious, punk band Murphy's Law. Now, he's a producer who works with bands such as Thursday, Taking Back Sunday and New Zealand sensation Elemeno P. Earlier this winter, he wrapped production on 36 Crazyfists' new album. Brock Lindow, 36's singer and a close friend of the Delmag crew, shared Delmag's music with Villanueva. Villanueva was impressed.
After months of long-distance wooing, Delmag persuaded Villanueva to produce its long-awaited new album. The process starts here with a week of preproduction. It continues into April at Jersey City's Big Blue Meenie Studios, where Delmag will record for three weeks. Brownell estimates this venture will cost the band about $20,000.
Boot camp wasn't part of the deal.
After agreeing to the project, Villanueva sorted through the Delmag library and selected six songs. He came to town and promptly deconstructed the songs, broke down and picked apart, all with Delmag's approval.
He's done the same with the band. Respected statewide as performance warriors who often roll out three-hour sets, Villanueva reduced Delmag to rocking wounded. Now Gorder is having difficulty singing, his voice occasionally cracking, and claims he needs "a three-day break." Brownell says his hands ache. Even the ever-hyper Kross is seemingly subdued, only offering the occasional wisecrack. He'll later admit he's exhausted.
There isn't a drop of alcohol in the building. This is a revelation for a band of infamous lushes who often fuel rehearsals with Coors Light and gigs with the hard stuff. Silver Bullets have been replaced by empty water bottles and a few Diet Coke cans.
There's an emotional toll setting in as well. The band hardly recognizes its own songs, though most were written years ago. "Never Quite That Low" and "22nd Hour," sing-along popular with local fans, sound different top to bottom. Villanueva has hacked away excess, weighed in on flow, listened to every instrument and introduced changes subtle and not-so-subtle. He's even assigned homework.
Rehearsal stops when Gorder stumbles on a bass line. He starts over. Then again. He can't nail it.
"We'll definitely be more anal about writing songs from now on," Brownell says.
"I don't know if we'll be more anal," Kross chimes from behind his drum set.
"We'll definitely be more critical of how we write songs from now on," Brownell replies, not missing a beat.
A cellphone rings at 6:12 and Brownell announces the caller ID says "Sal Producer."
"He said he's on his way," Brownell says.
At 6:33 p.m., a cool draft rushes into the studio. Someone has opened the front door. Kross shouts "It's your birthday again!"
A gruff voice shouts back, in a New Yorker's accent, "Oh no it's not!"
Villanueva is in the house.
After five minutes of back-and-forth ball-breaking, Villanueva takes over and confidently lays out the evening's goals. Delmag buys in and starts playing.
Villanueva walks into the other room, dims the lights, sits at the soundboard and empties a shopping bag on the counter: a bottle of iced tea, a small sack of Cheetos and two packs of Camels are within reach. The band stops playing. Villanueva pulls out a notebook and Dr. Beat metronome, then speaks into his talkback remote.
"C'mon," he says, "less talky, more worky."
Kross counts off, and Delmag plays again. Villanueva knows he's been tough on the group but says it's a necessary grind for Delmag to be sharp in the real studio next week.
"I've kicked over a million little stones," Villanueva says.
He looks up from his notebook and compares Delmag's sound to Green Day and The Police, adding the band is perfect for modern rock radio.
Villanueva says he gets more satisfaction out of helping unknown bands like Delmag break through than making big cash recording established acts. He's had success doing both. He expects to break Delmag.
"Personally, I think I can get them a deal," Villanueva says. "I can get people to listen it them."
Right now, Delmag wants Villanueva to listen to them. Just before beginning the next song, Gorder talks into his mic.
"This one's for Sal," he says, "if you're out there buddy."
Laughs fill both rooms. Villanueva smiles, puts his finger on the remote and tells the band to get back to work.
Daily News reporter Josh Niva can be reached atjniva@adn.com.
