Boulder, CO – “Putting the Band Back Together” – April 11, 2001

“You’ve Got a friend” is playing in the café I’m writing in.  The soothing chords of dad’s guitar seem to bounce like light off the honey shelacked floor boards.  Hearing either of my parents on the radio always feels like a sign that I’m on the right path somehow.  There are six other people in the cafe this morning and each of them is humming or all out singing along to my dad, unaware of my relation.  How amazing it is to know what an impact my little ol’ daddy and mommy have had on the world.  It’s amazingly heartwrming to know, as he sings “You just call out my name,” that I am one of the few people he’d actually come running for.  The thought is particularly potent and a tear comes to my eye as I type.  I am, indeed, in need of a friend this morning.

In the middle of mixing Shotgun yesterday, I got a call from Kyle saying he never wanted to go on tour again, that he wanted to raise a family, and that he was sorry.  I managed to remain calm and accept the news as something that could be for the best, but by evening I was panicked.  With our May tour only three weeks away, I called Johnathan Shank, our agent, to see if we could postpone it.  This was a big ask.  I know what goes into booking a tour. It’s a nightmare having to juggle routing, negotiate offers and hold available dates. I’ve booked enough gigs to easily want to give up %10 of every show to never have to do it again.  I held the phone and cringed as I relayed the news to Jonathan of Kyle’s departure and the need to find another drummer before our spring dates.

“Give me a second,” Johnathan said, cool as a cucumber.  I held my breath as he shuffled papers on what I imagined to be his very messy desk.  “I had an offer for you to open for Even & Jaron solo for their tour starting on the 15th but turned it down as it ran into your first week of dates.”

“Who are Even & Jarod?”

“Jaron,” Shank corrected.  “They’re a pair of twin orthodox Jewish brothers — had a couple hits from soundtracks — Runaway Bride and Dawson’s Creek last year, and they have a new song on a John Cusack movie coming out this summer.  You want it as a buffer, and I’ll rebook your spring tour for summer?”

“God damn Jonathan, you’re good.  But, that means starting in four days, right?  What are the logistics?”

“Starts in Seattle. It doesn’t pay well — $100 bucks a gig, you’d barely make enough to cover gas and lodging.  It would mean playing solo and you’d have to drive yourself between gigs.  Evan and Jaron don’t play on Friday nights, they observe the Sabbath and no soundchecks before sundown on Saturdays.  You’d pretty much be playing two shows on the weekends with an occasional midweek gig for a month through May 15th.”

“Man, that sounds totally shity.  Can I bring Soucy?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Ok, book it and send me deets on the first gig. I’ll see who has couches I can crash on.”

“Done,” said Jonathan and hung up the phone.  What a pro. 

My next call was to Soucy to get him on board and by the end of the night, I’d put our mixing schedule on the fast track and asked the rest of the band to start fishing around for drummers to audition mid-May.  This morning, before I came to this cafe to write, I took my little purple Rav 4 in for a check-up and threw together some set list ideas. 

This could be good, I thought to myself as “You’ve got a Friend,” concluded.  I’m on the right path.  Maybe we’ll find an even better drummer. Maybe we’ll make gas money in CD sales.  Maybe Evan & Jaron’s audience will become our audience.  Maybe Evan and Jaron will hook us up with their soundtrack agents and we can get a song in a movie.  Maybe—uh oh Fire and Rain just came on.  How funny. They must have dad on shuffle. 

Maybe that’s MORE of a sign I’m on the right track!!

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Fourth Stage Studio, Boulder – “7 Days & A Shotgun Record” – March 14, 2001

Jack and I drove to Estes Park over the weekend. Elk meandered down Main Street as casually as tourist trying to decide what restaurant to try. Jack and I were late for our appointment at Real West Old Time Photos and I was worried we wouldn’t make it before the studio closed —we were the last appointment of the day. Sandy, a buxsom blond, costumed in chaps and spurs greeted us with a smile and locked the door behind us with a click. She helped me into the authentic, lacy turn-of-the-century wedding gown she’d mentioned when I’d called to make the appointment last week. Her energy was contagious, and I couldn’t help but beam as I glanced at my reflection.

I wanted a sepia photo of a shotgun wedding for the back cover of the CD and was overjoyed my new boyfriend, Jack, was game to play the role of my groom. He looked handsome in the trench coat and suspenders on loan and stood by my side holding a shotgun. He set his face in mock resignation like he’d drawn the short straw on “husband” to me, his knocked up girlfriend. I grabbed a cowboy hat to fashion a makeshift baby bump, shoving it snugly under my dress. The hat tilted comically as I adjusted it, and by the time we stood posed in front of the camera, we both found it hard to maintain a stoic façade due to laughter as the hat fell again and again.

We moved into the studio a few days later, on March 11th. I was edgy — worried about recording again and this time, without a producer—just us, the instruments, and a raw vision. It was both exhilarating and daunting. Having two albums under my belt helped ease some of my anxiety; I knew what the next month would look like. There’d be calendars to coordinate, budgets to tighten, instruments to lug back and forth, and every little detail, from album design to mastering, demanding attention. With only seven days to track, there was no room for error.

I came prepared. The eligible songs had all been charted, and instrumentation was planned down to the last beat. On the first two days, Mike and Paul, our engineers, worked on laying down Kyle and Kenny’s drum and bass tracks while I spent hours on the phone, calling in favors from my circle of session player friends. They arrived intermitently, like the soundtrack to a snowfall, their smiling faces popped into the studio, hats and scarves wet from the spring snowstorm. Their footsteps made wet puddles across the floorboards as they dragged in keyboards, cellos, and various percussion instruments tucked under arms. They warmed up their instruments with the same enthusiasm they warmed themselves. They laid down expensive sounding parts only ever asking for bus money or dinner as payment.

While the band waited for their turn between takes, I perched at the edge of the control board, sketching rough ideas for CD artwork. I was interested in using all the versions of “Shotgun” we’d come up with during our band meeting — fascinated by how much one thing can mean. Everything connects. Everything is everything. I meditated on that while my pencil traced shapes on my note pad.

Different versions of “Shotgun”—Gun, Wedding, Bucket Seat, Beer Guzzling.

I dragged out early drafts of Tomboy Bride for layout for reference:

And as the day drew long, I wrote a new tune called Justin Tyme:

By the time we finished tracking in the late evening, the notes were crisp, yet the atmosphere in the studio hummed, warm like spring crocuses just under the snow. As I took Hannah, the cello player, out to dinner across the street I could envision the album in my hand—a project, not created in a single stroke of genius; but a tapestry, woven by everyone who laughed, played, and added their flavorful twist to the mix. Together, we weren’t just creating an album—we were crafting a memory, one track, one artwork idea, one laugh at a time.

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Boulder, CO – “Re-rooting and Recording” – February 28, 2001

Back in Boulder after attending my dad and Kim’s wedding in Boston, I called a band meeting in my living room.  We hadn’t seen each other as a group since December and everyone except Soucy and I looked well-rested. 

“My plants are dead,” I said shaking one in my outstretched hand.  “Even the succulents,” I continued somewhat exasperated placing the skeleton of a jade on the table.   “I don’t know about you guys, but I need a break from the road.”  The rest of the band shuffled uncomfortably in their seats, unsure of what to say.  No one could deny that our last tour had been emotionally challenging and it was no wonder why. In 2000 alone we’d wracked up over 180 shows and whittled each other down to our very last nerve. 

“There’s no doubt in my mind it’s paid off to tour so rigorously.  We’re playing bigger venues, getting better pay and better interviews but It’s too much.  I’m exhausted.”

“So what’s the plan?” asked Delucchi, always on the lookout for the solution.  I took a deep breath.

“The plan is to sleep for the next week.   Then make a record and book a tour in May to promote it.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Kenny “You want me to hang out with my wife?!?  She’s gonna divorce me in less than a month if she has to actually live with me.”  I was grateful for the comic relief.

“Why do we need another record?  6S is only a year old,” Soucy pointed out.

“I know, but we need new material to sell at shows.   Our fans aren’t going to buy the same ol’ albums again and again.  We’ve got a ton of new tunes—”

“Thanks Sam,” Soucy rolled his eyes at me.

“—And the plan is to record the whole thing in a week.  It’ll be a demo* with a mail insert offering fans the opportunity to get involved in our music.  We’ll let them vote on their favorite tunes, offer production ideas and feel part of the whole record-making process.  After we tour with the demo for a year or so, we can gather everyone’s ideas and make a professional version of the songs and retire the demo.  It’ll be like a special limited edition.  What do you think?”


“Why don’t we just make the professional version now?” asked Soucy.

“I still haven’t recouped what I spent on the last album.  I can’t justify spending more than 10G on a new record.” The plan excited to me—something that would give us a chance to regrow our roots at home, get some well needed rest all while ensuring the band gets paid without breaking the bank.  So I was dismayed to see their heads bobbing unenthusiastically in response.

“I booked a studio downtown called Fourth Stage for the week of March 11th. We’ll call the demo Shotgun—as in shotgun wedding to represent the record as a fast and furious effort.”

“Like shotgunning a beer,” said Kenny.

“Like sitting shotgun,” suggested Soucy.

“Who’s goanna produce it?” asked Delucchi.

“No one — I will.  Mike Gworek is gonna engineer it.”  Kyle Commerford hadn’t said a word all meeting so when everyone agreed to my proposal except him, he announced he had big news.

“Traci’s pregnant,” he said “I’m having a baby.  To be honest, I’m not sure I can commit to recording in March and I’ll definitely need to take August and September off.  I’ll let you know. But whatever you need to do, I’ll understand.”

Left to right: Kenny Castro, Sally, Chris Delucchi, Chris Soucy, Kyle Comerford

While we were obviously excited about Traci’s pregnancy and the prospect of a baby Drumerford, the prospect of an alteration in the band lineup was daunting at best.  I couldn’t bring myself to contemplate the idea of having to find and rehearse a new drummer so I let the matter be a problem for another day and the band meeting concluded with slaps on the father-to-be’s back and a march down to the local pub to celebrate. 

In the most recent issue of 5280, Denver’s most prestigious magazine, I somehow ended up on “Denver’s most eligible bachelors” list and have been getting endless shit for it from all my friends as well as endless attention from random strangers.  Yesterday, someone I’d never met sent me flowers and the guy who delivered them asked me out on a date!  It was surreal.  But I’ve started dating a handsome young waiter, we’ll call him Jack, who happens to share Sam’s last name (an annoying coincidence) and works at my favorite restaurant Jax downtown.  Though my heart is still closed for renovations, I’ll opened it a crack for Jack.

*Footnote:

Demo: A music demo is a recording of a song or group of songs that is usually not ready for public release. It’s a rough draft or sample that showcases the core elements of a series of songs and gives listeners an idea of what the final product will sound like.

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