Inside the Industry: In the Studio with Fingers Like Saturn
- by Amanda Dent, Tuesday, July 31st, 2007
Fingers Like Saturn recording in Sun Studio. To the right, Cori Dials belts out a song. Photos by Don Perry.
It’s a sticky July night in Memphis as the members of Fingers Like Saturn arrange their instruments in the small studio known for creating rock ‘n’ roll giants. The concept band was spawned from the fertile mind of John Michael McCarthy - most well known in these parts as a local film auteur - and inspired by two music trailblazers who share the same January 8 birthday, Elvis (’35) and Bowie (’47).
Sun Studio was the natural choice for McCarthy’s most recent project. After all, who better to keep watch over the recording of Fingers’ entrèe into the studio as a full band than rockabilly and rock ‘n’ roll pioneers. Its walls are lined with black and white photographs of Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Sam Phillips, and of course, Elvis. Next to the door of the control room sits the single-track Ampex recording machine that Sam Phillips used. In the center of the room stands an original microphone, which likely was used by the musical greats whose careers were birthed inside these very walls.
McCarthy has recruited a venerable group of local musicians, each with a “Mississippi New Wave” nom de plume. McCarthy, who plays guitar, has adopted the alter ego of Thin White Trash. Former Distemper bandmate and guitarist George Takaeda is Johnny Oddsblood. Famed local axeman Steve Selvidge, aka King’s Den, tries his hand at playing drums. Sax siren Susie Hendrix goes by Lipstick Pickup and pulls double duty on bass guitar. As Cello Biafra, Jonathan Kirkscey adds, you guessed it, cello and also plays bass. Formerly of the Clears fame, Shelby Bryant (MidSouth Con) is on the keyboard. Rounding out the all-star cast is the Splints bassist/vocalist Cori Dials or Betty Butcher, who sings lead.
McCarthy describes the seven-piece ensemble’s sound as “Mississippi Glam Rock.” “It’s about recreating yourself,” muses McCarthy. “The band has a finite purpose. We’re an amalgam of different bands formed as an experiment.”
Formed in December with just one live performance at the Madison Flame (the former Antenna Club) under their belts, Fingers has gathered at Sun to flesh out four tracks of a planned 11-song album. As Dials later says, “This is Mike’s brainchild.” And as the sole songwriter and founder, the album truly is his baby.
It’s 7:30 p.m.
The band has settled into their respective work areas. Takaeda fingers his electric guitar directly in front of a massive replica of the famous photo of “The Million Dollar Quartet,” Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, and Elvis. Bryant is next to him perched on a stool and sliding his fingers up and down the keyboard. Straddling the snare drum on a bare-bones kit, Selvidge is facing the control room window, while Kirkscey completes the semi-circle on bass.
In the front room where a desk and telephone sit, Hendrix waits, cradling her saxophone while traffic buzzes by on busy Union Avenue.
In the control room, Sun’s head engineer, James Lott, is leaning against the soundboard topped by a computer monitor. He’s been with the studio now for 21 years, and subsequently has recorded countless local and national acts. His young protÈgÈ, Matt Danger, is seated in what looks to be the driver’s seat. The leader of this brigade seems to be stowed away in a separate, roughly 4-by-4-foot room, barely enough to accommodate McCarthy and his guitar. Dials blows in the backdoor with a flurry of energy that’s palpable. She grabs a mic yells, “Yo. What’s up?” Seconds later, Selvidge counts off four beats and off they go.
Although, all the band members formed into a circle, everyone seems to be in their own individual bubble with the music funneled through their headsets. Dials growls out the last few lines: “Are we gonna be together/Forever?”. With black bangs cut straight across her forehead, scarlet lipstick, and dressed in a black vintage top and jeans cuffed all the way up to her knees, Dials undoubtedly looks the part of the glam-punk-pop sex kitten front woman. It’s now become evident that she has the vocal chops to back up that image.
A full version of the song is cut. James plays it back after a second take. Each band member is bobbing their head to the beat of the music barely heard by the three bystanders in the room. Selvidge, who’s also producing the album, lets out an audible groan, lamenting, “That bridge was wack.” Time for a third take. From the first drumbeat, there’s a renewed energy and by the time Dials comes in with vocals, it’s clear the band is tackling this one with a fierce determination.
It’s close to 8 o’clock by now, but that hasn’t deterred the Memphis humidity from seeping into the studio. There’s a note above the thermostat in the control that reads “At Night Keep at 78.” It reads 79 degrees, but it feels like 99.
With the first song in the hopper, they decide to tackle “Glam Lies,” to the chagrin of Hendrix, who says, “But I don’t play much on ‘Glam Lies.’ ” Selvidge quickly responds, “But what you play, you play like a mother fucker.”
The vantage is slightly different from the control room where walls are lined with black, ridged foam. However, the massive plexiglass window allows for a full view of the band, including Hendrix in the front room.
McCarthy, who describes “Glam Lies” as a “Lou Reed covered in barbecue sauce moment,” counts of the beat. The two guitarists lead this track with McCarthy strumming rhythm while Takaeda gently plucks out a psychedelic, distortion-riddled lead-in.
Indeed, the song crescendos with a saxophone solo leading into the chorus. Although Lott concluded the song with “nicely done,” the band collectively agrees to do a second take. After the first attempt where Takaeda’s foot doesn’t quite make it to the effects pedal in time, the band runs through “Glam Lies” for the second time. But Hendrix isn’t pleased with her solo. She and Danger go through numerous overdubs. All the while, it seems everyone has become noticeably more at ease, chatting while Hendrix belts out her solo in another room. The accompaniment on “Glam Lies” is a wrap.
8:30 p.m.
McCarthy explains the impetus of the next song, “Satnin,’” Elvis’s pet name for his mother, Gladys. Yet, as McCarthy explains it, the song is about Elvis’s twin brother, Jesse, who died at birth. As one line from the song explains it, “Satnin’” is a “pinebox lullaby.”
Once Hendrix picks up the bass guitar and Kirkscey settles into the front room with his cello, a shuffling snare ushers in this ballad with obvious nods to rockabilly, only later to break into a blistering rock chorus. Lott peeks over the soundboard through the plexiglass. He’s smiling. Despite Hendrix’s reservations about her bass solo, the band knocks out “Satnin’” in two takes.
Anchored by Hendrix saxophone, the group tackles its final track of the session, “Four Arms to Hold You.” Kirkscey switches back to bass. Danger must adjust the volume, which was cranked up for the cello, but needs to be lowered for the powerful saxophone. The band is hitting its studio stride with this obvious punk-infused ditty. Dials raspy voice sings, “I know you got another that treats you just like a mother. And sometimes you can’t help but be confused.” By the third attempt, the performance is flawless. That is, until Selvidge fumbles a drumstick, promptly scooping it up while not missing a beat. It makes for ample comedic fodder once the entire band has gathered in the control room. Selvidge is hit with a barrage of Def Leppard jokes, which he responds with “What has nine arms and sucks?” Hysteria-cal.
The next attempt, and the best effort thus far, is hampered by another equipment malfunction, the snares have fallen off of the snare drum, basically turning it into a tom. Nothing that can’t be fixed, says Lott.
9:30 p.m.
Lott is back in the control room, scanning snare sound options from his vast computer catalog. “It sounds just like his snare, by golly,” Lott says. McCarthy has long since emerged from his cubbyhole and the group is gathering on the sidewalk in front of the orange and blue neon glow of the Memphis Recording Service for a photo op. Danger and Lott methodically disassemble the microphones and other equipment. After a brief gathering in the back parking lot, the members disperse, all except McCarthy and Dials. The previous several hours of singing were merely an aid for the instrumentals, dubbed “scratch vocals.” Danger has set up a different mic with a filter to lay down the final vocals. It’s obvious that Dials is a perfectionist, but after a couple hours, there are four tracks that everyone is pleased with.
Now, McCarthy is another step closer to his vision, a musical homage to his two heroes. The album that tentatively could be named either “Something Alien in the Park” or “Tupelowie” is set to be released by the end of 2007, says McCarthy, more than likely on Selvidge’s dad Sid’s Peabody label. Until then, you can listen to demos and read more about Fingers Like Saturn at www.guerrillamonster.com.
