Heaven and Hell by Don Felder

Heaven and Hell by Don Felder

Author:Don Felder
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
Published: 2010-05-10T16:00:00+00:00


The record company was pushing us to get going on the new album. We relocated to a ranch out near Calabasas, just outside Los Angeles, to listen to what new material everyone had and to rehearse. The actual recording was to be done and mixed later by Bill, the Soul Pole, at the Record Plant in L.A. and at Criteria Studios in Miami.

I’d put together a demo cassette with about ten or fifteen different tracks, including that glorious summer day’s offering, fully expecting most of them to be dispatched to outtake heaven by “The Gods.” Some had been milling around in my head that whole summer; some were even older. I was always tinkering around with sounds, singing into a Dictaphone in the car, laying down half-tracks, stray chords, or melodies that ran through my head, hoping that one of them might develop into something. More often than not, when I listened to them later, they were stillborns. The original concept had evaporated, the feeling had gone, and so had the glimpse of inspiration, so I’d erase them and start again. Some people work very methodically at creating music, putting in regular hours, but I can’t work that way. I need to feel like it’s a lover I haven’t seen for a while and be excited and enthusiastic about our reunion. You can’t force inspiration. If there’s something in there to be released, it’ll find its own way out.

We were at the Calabasas ranch, with old wagons in the yard. Photographer David Alexander was taking our photos for the new album sleeve, when Don, the Sonic Bat, put my demo tape onto a little blaster he had and started listening. Song after song came and went without much reaction from the bat cave, and I was beginning to feel a little dispirited.

When the one I wrote that fine day in Malibu came on, however, Don sat up, listened carefully, stopped the tape, rewound, and played it again. I’d pretty much worked out the entire arrangement. I’d added some harmony and electric guitar parts, and the whole thing was underscored by this reggae beat. At the very end, I had two guitar solos, trading between a Stratocaster and my favorite ’59 Les Paul Starburst, as if Joe and I were going toe-to-toe. I could tell from Glenn’s face that he liked that part the best.

“Hey, I love this track, Fingers,” Don said, with a rare smile. “It sounds Spanish, like a matador or something. Very Latino.”

Glenn nodded his approval. “Yeah.”

“Oh, good,” I said, feeling like a puppy that had just been patted for peeing outside.

“Let’s call it ‘Mexican Bolero,’ ” Don said.

“OK,” I said, grinning. The fact that Don had granted it a name was a very good sign.

I originally recorded the track in E minor, which was great. The electric guitars were big and fat, and the twelve-string sounded nice and full. We continued playing it in that key right up until Don had to sing the lyrics and realized it was too high for him.



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