Blood and Guitars by Heather Jensen Page A

Karatz said with a chuckle. “It hasn’t
been that long since we recorded ‘Recycled Coma’ and this ain’t my
first rodeo.”
    “Did someone say something about a rodeo?”
Jonas asked from behind.
    “Good, you’re all here.” Karatz ushered us
into the control room. There were a few plush chairs on wheels in
front of the soundboard, and one long sofa against the back wall.
The monitors mounted at angles toward the front of the room were
modest in size but top of the line. Chase and Jonas plopped down
onto the couch and I walked up to the soundboard, coveting the
equipment as I scanned it with my eyes.
    “So, what do you think?” Karatz handed me a
bottle of water.
    I gave an impressed whistle and opened the
water, taking a sip. “We’re obviously paying you too much,” I
said.
    “Probably true.” He laughed.
    “Enough drooling all over the place,” O’Shea
called from the doorway. “Let’s see what kind of damage we can do
with all this equipment.”
    “Well, what are you all waiting for?” Karatz
asked. “Get your stuff and let’s get to work.”
    It took a while for all of us to get our gear
and haul it into the live room, especially since Chase had brought
his own drum kit. That was the only thing Karatz didn’t have, and I
was sure that wouldn’t be the case forever, but Chase has a thing
about recording on his own kit so it worked out fine.
    Once our guitars were tuned and Karatz had
set up a few microphones on stands for O’Shea and I, he leaned
against the doorway and said, “Let’s hear it.”
    I smiled, feeling like everything might just
be falling into place after all. I nodded to Chase who counted us
off. We played “Midnight Poison” all the way through, and managed
to have a pretty smooth take, despite the song being so fresh to
us.
    Karatz, who is always hard to read, stood in
the doorway with his poker face on, listening intently to the song.
The last note rang out until Chase muted his cymbals, and I looked
up at Karatz, curious for his reaction.
    He clapped his hands together a few times and
smiled at me. “Not bad, guys.”
    I sighed, breathing easier now that Karatz
was on board with the song. He suggested a few changes in the
timing and we played it through again, finding that it the
transitions from verse to chorus went much smoother. We were just
getting started but already the song was starting to flesh out and
become what I had hoped it could be.
    Karatz, who is a musical genius with perfect
pitch, is a perfectionist in every sense of the word when it comes
to producing music. For this reason, we played around with the song
for another hour, starting and stopping whenever he signaled us,
and making whatever changes he insisted were necessary. We’d
learned with ‘Recycled Coma’ not to question Karatz’s M.O. and the
fact that we already had a relationship with him made the work that
much easier. When Karatz had done all he could with us as a group,
and we were confident about the way the song sounded, he told us
all to take a fifteen minute break. I set Liza down on a stand and
made my way back to the lounge. I’d only been sitting there for a
minute or two when a beautiful woman with blonde hair came waltzing
in with a baby in one arm and a basket of fruit and pastries in her
free hand.
    “Hey guys,” she said. “I thought you might
enjoy some breakfast.”
    “Serena!” I grinned and jumped to my feet to
greet her.
    “Trey, it’s great to see you.”
    I took the basket from her and gave her a
quick hug before admiring the sleeping baby.
    “Wow, he’s cute.”
    “Did you just use the word cute?” O’Shea said
as he walked into the lounge just then. He looked up and saw Serena
standing there and grinned, walking over to peek at the baby
himself. “You’re right. He is cute.”
    I laughed as Karatz approached and lifted the
sleeping baby out of his wife’s arms.
    “Serena, you’re the best.” I began sifting
through the basket of food she’d