threedimensions (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
threedimensions) wrote2020-04-11 12:54 pm
threedimensions) wrote2020-04-11 12:54 pm
[1-2] WHAT'S THIS BUTTON DO?
Dimensions: [1-2]
Timeline: Late summer 2013
Title: What's This Button Do?
Summary: Brandon gets obsessive when it comes to recording/mixing their first EP.
~2.5k
Notes: I know very little about recording and studios and the process, so I make it up. If you know better, please let me know so that I can rewrite and incorporate something more realistic.
Mark parked his car in the recording studio lot, got out and headed for the door. He met Andrew and Keith in the lounge at the front of the building, and all three showed their passes to the guard behind the desk, who barely glanced up before waving at them; he was used to seeing them by now. They walked down a short hall, where they hooked a left and finally slowed toward the last door in the corridor, Keith deliberately hanging back and Andrew looking at Mark like I dare you and glancing at the handle. Mark almost laughed and almost sighed, pretty sure they all knew what they were going to find.
Sure enough, he sighed to himself when he saw Brandon, hunched over the mixing board, elbows on the edge of the panel and head in his hands. They could hear music blasting through the headset he was wearing, and the amount of stress and pressure emanating from him gave Mark a headache instantly—he winced and quickly blocked off all that he could, turning his head slightly and taking in the dozen or so coffee cups and energy drinks overflowing the small wastebasket.
The studio manager came in behind them, looking annoyed. "Are you guys the rest of that No Name Band, or whatever?"
"That depends on what that guy did," Andrew said, nodding at Brandon.
Mark snorted. "We are," he told the manager. He paused. "What did he do?"
The manager, who Mark was pretty sure was called Chris, rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "Brandon Hayes? He spends night and fucking day in here ever since I showed him how to track and mix," he complained. "I should've never told that tenacious little fuck what each goddamn button and switch does. We do have other artists and clients and shit that needs doing, not just your cut. Can any of you do something about him?"
Andrew and Keith both looked at Mark. Mark wanted to laugh, but the dark look on the manager's face kept him serious. "I can try," he offered.
"Better than nothing." Andrew shrugged. "If anyone can, Mark can."
"Just get him out of here. I don't want to see his face or listen to his fucking bellyaching until Monday."
Mark thought that part was going to be a problem, as this was only Thursday. However, he just nodded at Chris, who shot a final glare in their lead guitarist's direction, and went down the hall towards another studio. Mark then looked at his bandmates, only to see them looking expectantly back at him. "Okay," he said. "But I'm still going to need backup."
Suddenly, Brandon ripped the overears off his head and chucked them down at the levels, dials, and readouts on the board. "Fuck!"
"Yeah, I'm going home," Keith said.
"I'm going to Mom and Dad's too," Andrew added.
Brandon turned around and seemed both glad and irritated to see them. "Come over here," he demanded. "Listen to this."
Mark led the other two over to the board as Brandon tugged on the cord for the headset so that sound came through the surround speakers. One of their songs started up, and Brandon moved his fingers on a touch pad until he found the first guitar solo. He watched them stonily as they listened, then he shut it off and sat back, disgusted.
"What's wrong with it?" Andrew asked. "It sounded fine to me."
"You can't hear what I did?" Brandon said indignantly, then he swiveled his chair around to play it again. Andrew looked at Mark pointedly.
"Brandon," Mark said, but he ignored him. The clip played again, but Andrew and Keith weren't listening at all, and Mark didn't put forth much effort to concentrate. "It sounds all right to me too," he said, when it was quiet again.
"Dude, it's fine," Andrew said.
Brandon glared at him. "Fine is not good enough. We're not doing this to be fine. You want to be mediocre, you're in the wrong fucking business."
"Actually, dude, there are a lot of mediocre bands."
"Did you forget the name of ours?" Keith muttered.
"That's a joke, in case you forgot," Brandon said, impatient. "We're using it ironically. It wasn't even my idea, in case you also forgot. We are not mediocre, at least not if we try. And actually play our fucking songs right."
"What's wrong with the track?" Mark asked. He was sure it was going to be something minuscule—the other three of them hadn't even picked up on anything out of whack.
"I fucking slipped!" Brandon exploded, throwing his arms into the air. "I can hear it. Twelve to thirteen, B string. It's fucking sloppy. I've got to do the goddamn solo again." He stood up abruptly.
Mark rose with him, then held his hands up when he saw that he intended to record the goddamn solo again right that second. "Man, chill. I know," he said as Brandon opened his mouth. "You can fix it later if you want. You need to get some sleep."
"I'd sleep if I was sleepy. Which I'm not."
"Really?" Andrew asked, looking pointedly at the trash can. Keith muttered something again, which neither Brandon or Mark heard, but made Andrew snicker.
"I still think you need a break," Mark said, ignoring them. "And hey, maybe Jack would like to see you more than five minutes a week, too."
"No, actually, he likes it better when I'm not home," Brandon snapped. Mark raised his eyebrows. Brandon seemed to reconsider what he'd said, though he didn't take it back. He sat back down instead, and Mark sat also. "We're paying to record and mix this EP so that maybe someday we can actually get signed," Brandon said after a moment. "We should make sure it's right."
"Sure," Mark said. "But you've been almost nonstop. It's okay to take a couple of days or a weekend off."
Brandon seemed on the edge of reluctant agreement, but then he looked back at Mark quickly. "Tomorrow."
"Monday," he replied lightly.
Brandon raised his eyebrows, then glanced back toward the door they had come through and scowled. "Was that asshole Curtis bitching about me actually wanting to work again?"
"A little. He says they have a lot of other shit to work on, and you're never out of here."
"He's just pissed because I told him to fuck off when he kept telling me to change shit I didn't want changed." He snorted. "Like I don't know how our own fucking songs are supposed to sound."
"Control S," Andrew said. "Save it for now. Put it on the shelf. We can pick it back up after the weekend. We still have time."
"Yeah, but the more we put the time in on it, the better we can make sure it is. And the sooner it's done, the sooner we can get it out—to that woman from the one label that got in touch, everyone we know, online..."
"An extra few days aren't going to hurt our chances," Mark said, and then stood. "C'mon. Let's go fucking pow-wow or something; it's been forever."
Brandon sulked. Mark waited patiently, and then, at long last, Brandon turned back to the board and began saving their band's tracks and logging out of the system. "So, I'm banned until Monday?" he asked, not looking up.
Mark shrugged. "It's as good a day as any to get back. They'll need the rest of today and tomorrow to work on other shit in here, no one likes to work on Saturday, and they're closed Sunday."
"I'd work on Saturday. I worked last Saturday."
"Which is why you're getting this one off."
"Now you can go home and get off!" Andrew said brightly.
Brandon snorted, then stood and collected his phone and his drink. "You guys want to go smoke?"
"Sure," Mark said. "Your place, Eddie's, come back with us?”
"Are you guys coming?" Brandon looked at Andrew and Keith.
Keith shook his head, but Andrew considered. "Nah," he said finally. "I think I'll look up Angelina. Maybe have our own smoke-up."
"If it's just us, we can go back to my place," Brandon said to Mark.
"Yeah, Jack won't like too many people anyway," Andrew said.
"He doesn't mind any of you guys."
Andrew shrugged. "It's still four people instead of two. Nope, you can catch us next time. And hey, man." He slapped Brandon on the shoulder. "I'll even come in with you on Monday. We all should." He glanced quickly at Mark and then his brother. "So we can all decide on how our songs should sound, and if we need to change shit around or whatever."
"I'll be here," Mark said. Keith shrugged, and he and Andrew left. Mark looked at Brandon, who made a face, but followed him when he headed out. "Where's your car?" Mark asked Brandon once they were in the parking lot and only Mark's car and a couple of others, none of which were Brandon's, remained.
He shrugged. "Something wrong with it—the right front wheel sounded thumpy and fucked up. Jack said not to drive it, and he ordered something for it. I didn't pay attention to what. He can handle it—he said he knew where he could get it fixed for cheap if we provided the parts. I don't care. I took a cab here earlier."
"You gonna need to be picked up on Monday?" Mark unlocked his car and he and Brandon slid into it.
"Maybe, I'll let you know." Brandon fastened his seat belt as Mark started the car and pulled out. He gave the radio two seconds before jabbing his fingers at the controls and flipping stations fast, starting to get pissed off when all he found were commercials. "Why don't you have Sirius yet?" he demanded.
"Dunno."
Brandon slammed his hand on the power button, silencing a rallying cry for lower mortgage rates. He flung himself back in the seat and jabbed at his phone's screen to bring up his notes. "Andrew needs to fix the bass line in 'Stop'," he announced. "Don't let me forget. I hate it. I let him lay it down because he said it would work once everything was layered together, but it doesn't and he's fixing it or I am." He scrolled and swiped for a second, then typed, then frowned again. "I need to redo the second solo in 'Match' along with the first one in 'Drain'. Keith needs to lay off the crash cymbal or I'm going to make him fucking eat it."
"Yeah?" A few more jabs like that, and Keith would walk. He was too close already.
"And you."
Mark stopped at a red light and looked at Brandon, eyebrows raised.
After a second, Brandon glanced back at him and dropped the furious, irritated look on his face to a sulky glower again. "How attached are you to the lyrics in 'Fade'?"
Mark tried to remember which one that was—all of the song titles he had lead vocals on were one word, and there was a 'Fade', a 'Fire', and a 'Fail', and at the moment he wasn't even sure which of those were even going to end up on the EP. There might have even been a 'Fuck Froot Loops' at this point and he wouldn't have noticed. "Not very much," he said, knowing not to let Brandon know that he'd temporarily forgotten anything about one of their songs.
Brandon nodded. "Okay. All right. I'm changing them. You'll have to redo the vocals, but it shouldn't be that bad since we already fixed the melody."
"Sure."
"Good." Brandon looked up again, still frustrated. "Why can't the other two realize how important this is? You know. I'm only doing this so that it can be the best it can be. Right now, it's not even close. I already redid the bass on two tracks because Andrew couldn't get his lazy fucking ass out there. I can't do shit for drums so I keep telling Keith to please just try to make it over at least one day when he can and he says okay but then never does. I'm working my ass off and all they can do is fucking complain."
"We're all working pretty hard," Mark said patiently. "I got two jobs, Andrew has one, and we're trying. It's not 'never', man. We were all recording for hours earlier this week. Keith didn't make it last weekend, but Andrew and I were both out for a least a little bit, and Andrew did some drumwork last week. We know you're doing the most, but you have the most drive. We're riding along with you, okay? Let's just chill a little bit. We're not up on our deadline yet. We have time to get it right."
"That's what everyone says. We still have to use our time wisely. I'm not spending any of it fucking off when it's going to come back and bite us later," Brandon said grimly.
"Yeah," Mark said, trying not to sigh. They were going to have the same fights again.
Back at Brandon and Jack's apartment, exhaustion fell on Brandon quickly. The studio itself was more amphetamine than the caffeine in the coffee and energy drinks he'd been pounding, but now that he was out of it, one joint shared between him and Mark seemed to put Brandon out to Jupiter in a hurry. Jack was at his computer, back to them and his own headphones on while they watched TV, and toward the end of an old episode of The Simpsons, Mark glanced over and saw that Brandon had fallen asleep, leaned back into the corner of the sofa. He wondered how long it'd been since he'd actually slept, and not his little twenty-minute cat naps which were all he'd allow himself when he got like this.
Mark been sitting with one ankle resting on top of his opposite knee; he crushed the smoking end of the joint against the sole of his shoe and leaned forward to put it into the ashtray on the table. He shut the television off, knowing Jack didn't even like it in his living room (although Brandon had talked him into allowing it when he had moved in), so it wouldn't be annoying. Brandon didn't move; he was apparently quite dead to the world. Mark glanced over at Jack's desk area and saw that he was turned around in his chair, facing Brandon, so he held up a hand to him before getting up to let himself out. As he pulled the sliding door closed, he saw Jack going over to the couch and sitting down next to Brandon.
Mark headed down the long flight of steps down to the parking lot, hoping first that Brandon would sleep for a good, long while, and hoping second that he wouldn't be getting calls from that Curtis guy or their bandmates about Brandon further living in the studio—he wouldn't be surprised if he did, though. He pretty much expected it. Everyone promising to go back with him Monday, and the forced break, had at least a chance of chilling out their frenzied lead guitarist...but Mark wasn't going to bet the bank on it.
Timeline: Late summer 2013
Title: What's This Button Do?
Summary: Brandon gets obsessive when it comes to recording/mixing their first EP.
~2.5k
Notes: I know very little about recording and studios and the process, so I make it up. If you know better, please let me know so that I can rewrite and incorporate something more realistic.
Mark parked his car in the recording studio lot, got out and headed for the door. He met Andrew and Keith in the lounge at the front of the building, and all three showed their passes to the guard behind the desk, who barely glanced up before waving at them; he was used to seeing them by now. They walked down a short hall, where they hooked a left and finally slowed toward the last door in the corridor, Keith deliberately hanging back and Andrew looking at Mark like I dare you and glancing at the handle. Mark almost laughed and almost sighed, pretty sure they all knew what they were going to find.
Sure enough, he sighed to himself when he saw Brandon, hunched over the mixing board, elbows on the edge of the panel and head in his hands. They could hear music blasting through the headset he was wearing, and the amount of stress and pressure emanating from him gave Mark a headache instantly—he winced and quickly blocked off all that he could, turning his head slightly and taking in the dozen or so coffee cups and energy drinks overflowing the small wastebasket.
The studio manager came in behind them, looking annoyed. "Are you guys the rest of that No Name Band, or whatever?"
"That depends on what that guy did," Andrew said, nodding at Brandon.
Mark snorted. "We are," he told the manager. He paused. "What did he do?"
The manager, who Mark was pretty sure was called Chris, rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "Brandon Hayes? He spends night and fucking day in here ever since I showed him how to track and mix," he complained. "I should've never told that tenacious little fuck what each goddamn button and switch does. We do have other artists and clients and shit that needs doing, not just your cut. Can any of you do something about him?"
Andrew and Keith both looked at Mark. Mark wanted to laugh, but the dark look on the manager's face kept him serious. "I can try," he offered.
"Better than nothing." Andrew shrugged. "If anyone can, Mark can."
"Just get him out of here. I don't want to see his face or listen to his fucking bellyaching until Monday."
Mark thought that part was going to be a problem, as this was only Thursday. However, he just nodded at Chris, who shot a final glare in their lead guitarist's direction, and went down the hall towards another studio. Mark then looked at his bandmates, only to see them looking expectantly back at him. "Okay," he said. "But I'm still going to need backup."
Suddenly, Brandon ripped the overears off his head and chucked them down at the levels, dials, and readouts on the board. "Fuck!"
"Yeah, I'm going home," Keith said.
"I'm going to Mom and Dad's too," Andrew added.
Brandon turned around and seemed both glad and irritated to see them. "Come over here," he demanded. "Listen to this."
Mark led the other two over to the board as Brandon tugged on the cord for the headset so that sound came through the surround speakers. One of their songs started up, and Brandon moved his fingers on a touch pad until he found the first guitar solo. He watched them stonily as they listened, then he shut it off and sat back, disgusted.
"What's wrong with it?" Andrew asked. "It sounded fine to me."
"You can't hear what I did?" Brandon said indignantly, then he swiveled his chair around to play it again. Andrew looked at Mark pointedly.
"Brandon," Mark said, but he ignored him. The clip played again, but Andrew and Keith weren't listening at all, and Mark didn't put forth much effort to concentrate. "It sounds all right to me too," he said, when it was quiet again.
"Dude, it's fine," Andrew said.
Brandon glared at him. "Fine is not good enough. We're not doing this to be fine. You want to be mediocre, you're in the wrong fucking business."
"Actually, dude, there are a lot of mediocre bands."
"Did you forget the name of ours?" Keith muttered.
"That's a joke, in case you forgot," Brandon said, impatient. "We're using it ironically. It wasn't even my idea, in case you also forgot. We are not mediocre, at least not if we try. And actually play our fucking songs right."
"What's wrong with the track?" Mark asked. He was sure it was going to be something minuscule—the other three of them hadn't even picked up on anything out of whack.
"I fucking slipped!" Brandon exploded, throwing his arms into the air. "I can hear it. Twelve to thirteen, B string. It's fucking sloppy. I've got to do the goddamn solo again." He stood up abruptly.
Mark rose with him, then held his hands up when he saw that he intended to record the goddamn solo again right that second. "Man, chill. I know," he said as Brandon opened his mouth. "You can fix it later if you want. You need to get some sleep."
"I'd sleep if I was sleepy. Which I'm not."
"Really?" Andrew asked, looking pointedly at the trash can. Keith muttered something again, which neither Brandon or Mark heard, but made Andrew snicker.
"I still think you need a break," Mark said, ignoring them. "And hey, maybe Jack would like to see you more than five minutes a week, too."
"No, actually, he likes it better when I'm not home," Brandon snapped. Mark raised his eyebrows. Brandon seemed to reconsider what he'd said, though he didn't take it back. He sat back down instead, and Mark sat also. "We're paying to record and mix this EP so that maybe someday we can actually get signed," Brandon said after a moment. "We should make sure it's right."
"Sure," Mark said. "But you've been almost nonstop. It's okay to take a couple of days or a weekend off."
Brandon seemed on the edge of reluctant agreement, but then he looked back at Mark quickly. "Tomorrow."
"Monday," he replied lightly.
Brandon raised his eyebrows, then glanced back toward the door they had come through and scowled. "Was that asshole Curtis bitching about me actually wanting to work again?"
"A little. He says they have a lot of other shit to work on, and you're never out of here."
"He's just pissed because I told him to fuck off when he kept telling me to change shit I didn't want changed." He snorted. "Like I don't know how our own fucking songs are supposed to sound."
"Control S," Andrew said. "Save it for now. Put it on the shelf. We can pick it back up after the weekend. We still have time."
"Yeah, but the more we put the time in on it, the better we can make sure it is. And the sooner it's done, the sooner we can get it out—to that woman from the one label that got in touch, everyone we know, online..."
"An extra few days aren't going to hurt our chances," Mark said, and then stood. "C'mon. Let's go fucking pow-wow or something; it's been forever."
Brandon sulked. Mark waited patiently, and then, at long last, Brandon turned back to the board and began saving their band's tracks and logging out of the system. "So, I'm banned until Monday?" he asked, not looking up.
Mark shrugged. "It's as good a day as any to get back. They'll need the rest of today and tomorrow to work on other shit in here, no one likes to work on Saturday, and they're closed Sunday."
"I'd work on Saturday. I worked last Saturday."
"Which is why you're getting this one off."
"Now you can go home and get off!" Andrew said brightly.
Brandon snorted, then stood and collected his phone and his drink. "You guys want to go smoke?"
"Sure," Mark said. "Your place, Eddie's, come back with us?”
"Are you guys coming?" Brandon looked at Andrew and Keith.
Keith shook his head, but Andrew considered. "Nah," he said finally. "I think I'll look up Angelina. Maybe have our own smoke-up."
"If it's just us, we can go back to my place," Brandon said to Mark.
"Yeah, Jack won't like too many people anyway," Andrew said.
"He doesn't mind any of you guys."
Andrew shrugged. "It's still four people instead of two. Nope, you can catch us next time. And hey, man." He slapped Brandon on the shoulder. "I'll even come in with you on Monday. We all should." He glanced quickly at Mark and then his brother. "So we can all decide on how our songs should sound, and if we need to change shit around or whatever."
"I'll be here," Mark said. Keith shrugged, and he and Andrew left. Mark looked at Brandon, who made a face, but followed him when he headed out. "Where's your car?" Mark asked Brandon once they were in the parking lot and only Mark's car and a couple of others, none of which were Brandon's, remained.
He shrugged. "Something wrong with it—the right front wheel sounded thumpy and fucked up. Jack said not to drive it, and he ordered something for it. I didn't pay attention to what. He can handle it—he said he knew where he could get it fixed for cheap if we provided the parts. I don't care. I took a cab here earlier."
"You gonna need to be picked up on Monday?" Mark unlocked his car and he and Brandon slid into it.
"Maybe, I'll let you know." Brandon fastened his seat belt as Mark started the car and pulled out. He gave the radio two seconds before jabbing his fingers at the controls and flipping stations fast, starting to get pissed off when all he found were commercials. "Why don't you have Sirius yet?" he demanded.
"Dunno."
Brandon slammed his hand on the power button, silencing a rallying cry for lower mortgage rates. He flung himself back in the seat and jabbed at his phone's screen to bring up his notes. "Andrew needs to fix the bass line in 'Stop'," he announced. "Don't let me forget. I hate it. I let him lay it down because he said it would work once everything was layered together, but it doesn't and he's fixing it or I am." He scrolled and swiped for a second, then typed, then frowned again. "I need to redo the second solo in 'Match' along with the first one in 'Drain'. Keith needs to lay off the crash cymbal or I'm going to make him fucking eat it."
"Yeah?" A few more jabs like that, and Keith would walk. He was too close already.
"And you."
Mark stopped at a red light and looked at Brandon, eyebrows raised.
After a second, Brandon glanced back at him and dropped the furious, irritated look on his face to a sulky glower again. "How attached are you to the lyrics in 'Fade'?"
Mark tried to remember which one that was—all of the song titles he had lead vocals on were one word, and there was a 'Fade', a 'Fire', and a 'Fail', and at the moment he wasn't even sure which of those were even going to end up on the EP. There might have even been a 'Fuck Froot Loops' at this point and he wouldn't have noticed. "Not very much," he said, knowing not to let Brandon know that he'd temporarily forgotten anything about one of their songs.
Brandon nodded. "Okay. All right. I'm changing them. You'll have to redo the vocals, but it shouldn't be that bad since we already fixed the melody."
"Sure."
"Good." Brandon looked up again, still frustrated. "Why can't the other two realize how important this is? You know. I'm only doing this so that it can be the best it can be. Right now, it's not even close. I already redid the bass on two tracks because Andrew couldn't get his lazy fucking ass out there. I can't do shit for drums so I keep telling Keith to please just try to make it over at least one day when he can and he says okay but then never does. I'm working my ass off and all they can do is fucking complain."
"We're all working pretty hard," Mark said patiently. "I got two jobs, Andrew has one, and we're trying. It's not 'never', man. We were all recording for hours earlier this week. Keith didn't make it last weekend, but Andrew and I were both out for a least a little bit, and Andrew did some drumwork last week. We know you're doing the most, but you have the most drive. We're riding along with you, okay? Let's just chill a little bit. We're not up on our deadline yet. We have time to get it right."
"That's what everyone says. We still have to use our time wisely. I'm not spending any of it fucking off when it's going to come back and bite us later," Brandon said grimly.
"Yeah," Mark said, trying not to sigh. They were going to have the same fights again.
Back at Brandon and Jack's apartment, exhaustion fell on Brandon quickly. The studio itself was more amphetamine than the caffeine in the coffee and energy drinks he'd been pounding, but now that he was out of it, one joint shared between him and Mark seemed to put Brandon out to Jupiter in a hurry. Jack was at his computer, back to them and his own headphones on while they watched TV, and toward the end of an old episode of The Simpsons, Mark glanced over and saw that Brandon had fallen asleep, leaned back into the corner of the sofa. He wondered how long it'd been since he'd actually slept, and not his little twenty-minute cat naps which were all he'd allow himself when he got like this.
Mark been sitting with one ankle resting on top of his opposite knee; he crushed the smoking end of the joint against the sole of his shoe and leaned forward to put it into the ashtray on the table. He shut the television off, knowing Jack didn't even like it in his living room (although Brandon had talked him into allowing it when he had moved in), so it wouldn't be annoying. Brandon didn't move; he was apparently quite dead to the world. Mark glanced over at Jack's desk area and saw that he was turned around in his chair, facing Brandon, so he held up a hand to him before getting up to let himself out. As he pulled the sliding door closed, he saw Jack going over to the couch and sitting down next to Brandon.
Mark headed down the long flight of steps down to the parking lot, hoping first that Brandon would sleep for a good, long while, and hoping second that he wouldn't be getting calls from that Curtis guy or their bandmates about Brandon further living in the studio—he wouldn't be surprised if he did, though. He pretty much expected it. Everyone promising to go back with him Monday, and the forced break, had at least a chance of chilling out their frenzied lead guitarist...but Mark wasn't going to bet the bank on it.