The Return Of THE GREAT BELOW: Making A Record In NY!

It's really difficult for me to articulate in words what it was like to go back to the East Coast with the sole purpose of attempting to "make a record." All I can say is on November 1st, my best friend AJ dropped me off at the Burbank airport and then picked me up on the evening of November 18th. Everything in between those dates feels like a fever dream! But in a good way. The last time I was in NY was in February of this year, helping my folks gather their belongings as they prepped to make the move across the country to Arizona and at that time I vowed never to return. A bit over dramatic, I know, but true. Back then, I also was under the impression that I'd probably never play a gig again, would never be in a band again, let alone write a new song. Yet, all three of those things happened in the span of the last month proving yet again that ya just never know.

So, the main question. Why now? Well, why not? But in actuality, it was just timing.

The photo above is The Great Below circa 1999 at the Classic Cafe in Islip, NY. My primarily band for approximately 10 or so years of my life was Pretty Polly, but back in 1999 through early 2001, Pretty Polly was on a break and I wanted to do something different. I'd grown up with and always respected Jay Catropa as a friend and musician. I'd seen him play in a bunch of local bands and decided it'd be fun to play with a drummer completely different in style from Steve. I recruited Pete McGeary, my friend and record-shopping/ show-going buddy since the 5th grade to join us on electric guitar. Pete was one of the first Pretty Polly bassists and it just seemed like a good & ideal combo. And it was! I wanted to do this weird semi-acoustic band that had loud, pounding drums (to match the emotional intensity of what I was doing lyrically and musically) and add an electric guitarist to bring out the poppy melodies and transform it into an unlikely rock band. No bassist. We didn't need it. My acoustic guitar tended to pick up enough low end and act as a bass anyways and because of that, it made us sound very unique. I naively thought we'd play coffee houses and venues that catered to "acoustic" acts. But I remember sending an audition tape to the CB's Gallery, a joint right next door to CBGB in NYC that booked less rockin' bands and to my surprise, they replied with "you're too loud for the Gallery. Just play CBGB's again." Which we did. Twice!

Fast forward to 14 years later, I found all of our old demos and live tapes & when listening back, in retrospect I felt like... wow, these might be the best songs I've ever written! I didn't think so at the time. You're just kind of in the moment and doing what comes naturally. It's difficult to be objective when you're in the thick of it, but now with a little perspective, I grew to be very proud of this particular band and these particular songs. Which made it all the more disheartening when I realized we never properly recorded any of it. All we had were some bootleg demos. Thankfully, when I sent everything to the guys, they felt the same way and also had the strong desire to rectify this. We had unfinished business. And again, we didn't have some bad, messy break-up or anything. Life just got in the way and pulled us all in different directions, personally. So since I was in between jobs and had a small pocket of time open, Jay invited me to crash with him at his place back on Long Island and record a Great Below album in his basement where he'd built himself a modest little studio. That first Sunday back was very surreal. I don't think I'd seen Jay for about 10 years or so. But when you grow up with someone, it never feels like that when you finally get back together. And right on that first night, Pete came over, we fired up the amps and practiced in Jay's basement for the first time in 14 years. And it felt like we hadn't missed a beat, or a day. It was all still there.

So the battle plan quickly fell into place. We were going to spend about 3 nights consecutively rehearsing and re-familiarizing ourselves with the old songs. Then Jay had booked a gig for Friday, November 7th at a local Long Island pub. The place was under new management and this was their grand re-opening, so we were to provide the entertainment for the evening. Pete had a work obligation, so unfortunately it wouldn't be a full on performance from The Great Below, and I felt uncomfortable suddenly being a "solo" acoustic act, so Jay and I intended to rehearse as a two piece the night before the gig. Once we got that out of the way, we could focus on the actual recording portion, and maybe squeeze in a few new tunes I came equipped with. It was surreal to think it, but it was true... my band was back together.

One of the things I didn't factor into this trip was that both Jay and Pete worked regular day jobs. In fact, all of my friends do. And so the only time we could really be productive was usually between the hours of 6-10PM. Which meant I also didn't have time to catch up with old friends because my nights were booked. But for the first week, Jay let me borrow his car and I made the best of reacquainting myself with Long Island. One of those early mornings, I had breakfast with my high school friend Jenn who was wearing a "Slipped Disc" T-shirt. To put it into perspective, Slipped Disc was my northstar. As soon as I discovered music, I discovered Slipped Disc Records in Valley Stream, NY right on Rockaway Ave. It was the only place in a pre-Internet world that had tons of import CD singles, all of which usually boasted a rare and obscure B-side from all of my favorite bands. At one point, there was a rock venue right across the street. This was long before my time, but there were photos hanging up at Slipped Disc of the accompanying in-stores that came with those shows; pictures of the owner Mike with Metallica and Slayer and Skid Row in the early days of their respective careers. This place had history! Hell, even Pete worked there for years after we finished up community college. And sadly, as was the case with most mom & pop owned record stores, it ended up closing down in the mid-2000's. However, when I asked Jenn where she got the shirt, she replied in the same spot where the store was! It was converted into a coffee house and named "Sip This," in honor of the historic music store that once stood in its spot. I had to go and get a Slipped Disc shirt immediately!

And so I did. I popped in, awkwardly asked for a shirt, which wasn't a big deal since they had a mini-shrine to Slipped Disc right behind the main counter with merch. But then I decided to hang out and have a cup of coffee. After all, I had my laptop with me and was looking for a little writing inspiration. And sure enough, that afternoon was probably the most productive I had writing-wise the entire time I was in New York. I quietly sat in the corner and sipped my large coffee in the same spot where I had once skimmed through record bins and bought Nine Inch Nails' 'The Downward Spiral' or first acquired all of my Nirvana vinyl, all of which I still have to this day. It was beautiful to be sitting in the spot where so many of my musical tastes and likes were forged and solidified.

Now, I can't be back in New York and not get some genuine pizza, right? A lot of people have their spots in NYC, but with the exception of Ray's (the real deal original) on 6th and 11th (which is now long gone), most NYC pizza is pretty eh. I was always a bigger fan of the Long Island chain Gino's. And so I made sure to conveniently catch up with my cousin Danny who lived right by the one I grew up eating at so we could order a pie for lunch. In the last 5 years, I've since found some pretty decent spots all over Los Angeles that serve adequate pizza. But I mean, really. Look at this pic below. Nothing compares to a good slice from Gino's!

Other mild changes? Just a few here and there. I spent my teenage years working at a Baskin Robbins location in the heart of Cedarhurst. But after that, when I first started community college, I was working for the Long Island chain of drive through groceries called Dairy Barn. Yep, there were enough lazy people in Long Island that would drive up and bark at me to bring them their milk and bread and eggs directly to their car. The movie CLERKS resonated with me quite a bit because of my Dairy Barn experiences, the main difference being that we were literally in a freakin' barn which made the NY winters working there brutal! Anyways, while out for a nice sushi lunch with my PSYCHO LEGACY editor Jon Maus, I discovered that most of the chain had been bought out and shut down or converted into privately owned drive through grocery shops. The few that remained dropped the "Dairy" and simply became "The Barn." I wonder if dairy had suddenly become a dirty word in the last several years, but if that had anything to do with it, then I imagine the stores would've been renamed "Gluten Free Barn" or something equally as ridiculous. Every thing changes, yet sort of looks the same. Or as Martin Blank said, "you can never go home, but you can shop there."

The morning of the gig came and I was equal parts nervous and excited. Nervous because it'd been over 9 years since I last performed a gig of my own original material. But more so because, as is always the case, I lost my voice that morning. Yep. It happens more times than you'd think, but it's a common affliction that conveniently strikes when you need it to the least. It'd been years since I've attempted to sing in a band, and so the previous 3 nights at rehearsal, I really pushed hard, primarily to prove that I could still do it. I was older, more patient and a little more educated on how to properly use my voice through breathing exercises and whatnot. Back in the day, I was a lot more angst filled and just did it out of sheer anger and frustration. I'm too old for that now, but regardless, I woke up the morning of our show nervous that my voice was totally gone, I wouldn't be able to perform and I'd end up humiliating myself in front of my old friends and family. But I quickly remembered you always feel that before any live show. It was colder than usual (of course) and there was a bitter wind in the air, but regardless, I got to the venue, took a nice shot (or three?) of Jameson to clear out the ol' wind-pipe. And as soon as we began performing, the adrenaline I totally forgot about kicked in and got me through. Jay and I performed 3 Great Below tunes, and out in the audience was my musical soulmate Stevie D of Pretty Polly. Completely unrehearsed, I got Steve up on stage to join me and we launched into 3 Polly songs. Despite being confined to only an acoustic guitar and brush sticks, it felt really great to play those songs again, and with Steve no less. I can't explain it, but some people, you just have unique connections to. I definitely have it with Jay. I most certainly have it with Steve and that night was truly special. I closed it all off with a cover of "Wonderwall" by Oasis, because... why not? It's my gig. I can play whatever the hell I want. (Watch the entire gig below!)


(Huge, huge kudos and thanks to Jon Maus for shooting the entire performance.)

Now, it's weird. At the end of the day, I have no illusions. It was a small gig at a bar in Long Island. 90 percent of the patrons were there for a birthday party and could care less about the live music aspect of it. Those that were there for the show consisted of old high school friends, supporters from the band days and family that had never seen me perform before. The spontaneous nature of the whole gig added to it's charm and regardless of attendance, vibe, whatever... it was really special to me and that's all that matters. Hell, members of Pretty Polly past were there, including 2 different bassists, the Matt's, Campbell (left) and Capoziello (right) below:

So with the show obligation out of the way, and a handful of rehearsals which confirmed we knew the songs still, it was time to get down to business! And then... I woke up sick. Yep, I spent the remainder of my time in NY battled the beginnings of a cold and sore throat, the consequence of me stupidly being fully unprepared for November New York weather. But I wasn't going to let that stop me. We had an album to make! And so we got right to it.

It's funny, there's something that Dave Grohl has been quoted as saying that totally rang true to me during this whole process. To paraphrase, he was essentially trying to make the point that it's OK that we have all these great tools on our computers that allow us to sound like music wizards these days; perfect and in tune. But to never forget about the human experience of making music. The idea of collaborating with others and creating things from scratch out of that shared experience. It's easy to forget that, especially for the younger generation of musicians and kids that grow up having life experiences on-line and don't get the opportunity to play loudly in a garage with other kids just sucking really bad and continually playing until you only sort of suck. And eventually you get to the point were you sort of don't suck anymore. At least, not totally. Hell, I'm guilty of relying too much on myself and computer tools in latter years. For a while after the band days, I focused on doing a little composing for local friends independent projects and I always appreciated that work because it was solo, on my own terms and at my own pace. Even prepping for this trip, I made a few acoustic demos of me playing some potential new songs which I emailed via MP3 to Jay and Pete. But as soon as we dabbled with the new songs, I was immediately reminded of what makes a band a band.

Fact: Jay and I have a tremendous amount of experience both in bands and performing live. For us, we've done it so much, it's second nature. I can send a demo to Jay, he could listen to it a few times and fairly quickly make up his mind on what drum beats he'd like to play. The two of us can go over it 2 or 3 times and boom. We've got a new song and we're both fairly content with it. My collaboration with Pete is totally different but beautifully unique. In re-playing the older Great Below songs like "Eve" and "Breaking The Potential Fate Barrier," I had a tough time remember how the hell these songs came together? I mean, in both cases, I'm pretty much playing the same 3 chords over and over again. Those are two songs that I feel uncomfortable playing unless it's with both Jay and Pete. (I didn't dare attempt them at the acoustic gig!) Working with Pete is different. For us, it's all about vibe and feeling. We need to sit down together, guitars in hand and go over new songs one piece at a time. So I'll play the chords of the verse or the chorus to a song over and over and over again for a good 15-20 minutes and it's amazing; Pete doesn't play along or follow along with the same chords. He listens. He'll occasionally pluck away and some semblance of a melody will slowly come to the surface. And then magically, at some point, the most beautiful guitar melody that I could never have thought up comes out of him. Seriously, he hears something in my songs that I could never hear. And if not for that, they'd just be a bunch of solo acoustic demos on my laptop without any magic or power or resonance to them. Here's an example. I had an old solo demo for a song called "A Symbol" that I always intended and wanted to be a Great Below song in our initial run. For whatever reason, we never got to it. I've lived with this song for 14 years. Jay and I fairly quickly decided on the drum beat that should accompany it, but I sat down with Pete and we went over the chorus for several minutes. Literally, going over it again and again. Out of nowhere, this is the melody that came out of him:

Simple, beautiful and something I could never have come up with myself. Now, I'm dying to hear the full band version of this track to see how it all comes together! That's what being in a band is all about. Coming up with something that wouldn't feel right if any member wasn't present for it.

The recording itself went rather quickly. The most important thing to get down first is the drum tracks. And so, we settled on 8 old songs, worked out the basics for 4 new ones and Jay locked down all 12 tracks pretty much in the span of one-two sessions. We recorded "scratch" guitars for reference. And then I laid down all the acoustic guitar tracks. We plugged in my electric acoustic direct, as well as put a mic above where I strummed, this way, we could play with two separate tracks, one that's bright and picks up all the notes, and the other that has some low end and bass and mix them together on the final mix. It makes for a beautiful, well rounded acoustic guitar sound. After that, we focused on all the vocals. This was a challenge for me in that I was battling illness the entire time, so could only push myself for so long before my voice gave out. That said, what we did get was great and I felt so much more comfortable tackling that side of things than I ever had before. I don't consider myself a strong singer, let alone a good one. Sometimes I go out for karaoke with friends and most of them have ridiculously amazing voices. Me? I'm alright. But what I've learned is... that's me. That's my voice. For better or worse, whether I like it or not. Embrace it. That's what I sound like! So if you hear me singing something, then it's a Polly or Great Below song. And I've come to terms with that. We all have our own unique voice and mine is what makes me sound like me. Here's a sample of what our opening track "The Way Down" sounds like in very rough form, first without vocals, then with vocals:



One of my all time favorite tracks we've ever played is a song called "Eve." I was so happy to finally record it and hear it back and see it start to take shape as a full fledged track. The next 2 samples are very rough versions of that song. The first being the 2nd verse, the second being the ending of the song. Keep in mind that the electric guitar is just a "scratch" track, meaning that Pete hasn't recorded his final version of it yet. And my vocals also aren't properly mixed. But I think the intent and vibe is prominent in these samples.



And last but not least, here's a very rough sample of the chorus to "Down & Low," a favorite of ours to play back in the day. This is just acoustic guitars, drums and vocals. At the time, Pete hadn't laid down his parts yet, so I promise, it'll be more full and awesome before you know it.


There was one night that I got to take a break from the whole band thing and enjoy myself for a few drinks in the city. Before leaving Los Angeles, we had recorded an episode of the Killer POV podcast with filmmakers and all around great human beings Larry Fessenden and Glenn McQuaid. So I took the train to Penn Station, met up with the great Adam Barnick and we trekked over to Avenue A for drinks at a pub called 2A, the same spot that Fessenden hand wrote the script for HABIT, and also where we did this long, out-of-control booze fueled Icons Of Fright interview with him. ICONS co-creator Mike C joined us, as did Jeremy Gardner (THE BATTERY) who happened to be in the city that evening and while this diversion from my narrative can easily be miscontrued as a blatant attempt for me to name-drop, it's actually to prove a point. It's easy (especially in Los Angeles) to lose track of the things that matter. What's important. Pretty much everywhere you go, everyone's living in a bubble and dictating the level of importance based on personal politics or the drama of the week. But meeting up with these guys, sharing laughs and stories and booze put things into perspective. None of that stuff matters. It's all about the work. Always stay focused on the work you're trying to create and just be a good, decent person to the people you care about. That's what this night out in the city reminded me of. When people you admire and respect are pulling for you and sending words of encouragement, and they genuinely want you to succeed in whatever it is you want to do, well that means the world.

On my last night in town, Jay, Pete and myself sat in Jay's basement studio and listened to all 12 tracks in a row. I think all of us were a little blown away by the fact that in under 17 days, we recorded 12 songs. A whole album of material. And it was all really good. At least to us it is! Another part of being any sort of artist is to be comfortable with what you've created and trust in the final product. We still have a long road to go with mixing. But listening back that night, I felt like we had made something special. And again, we're not the sort of band that people were waiting for to get back together. Hell, nobody knew us back then. Nobody knows us now! But it doesn't matter. The record is special to me. And it's the last thing I expected to even exist when this year started off. I can't wait to listen to it again, completed. And share it with all of you.

Sometimes you really just need to put things into perspective. Seeing various friends from all aspects of my life back in the place I grew up really made things clear for me. High school friends. Family. Band mates. Former loves. Etc. They all hold a special place in my heart and no matter what, I put my heart and soul into what we made in that basement for the first half of November 2014. I hope that shows through in the final album. But if I've learned anything from this whole experience, it's never too late to make any and all of your dreams come true. Trust in your instincts. Trust in your passions. Follow through. Follow your heart. Your first impulse is usually the right one. If you want to see old friends? They're always a phonecall (or text) away. You want to make new music? Pick up a guitar and just do it. You want to draw? Do it. Do what makes you happy and make it all count. If I can do it, you can do it.

* A few special thanks. Thank you Lisa Catropa for opening up your home and family and for all your hospitality as your husband and I made a lot of noise in the basement. Really means a lot to me.

** THANK YOU, Darren Bousman for your continued friendship and support. This guy was in the middle of freakin' directing a movie and he still texted me regularly to check how the record was coming along. It meant the world to me. I think because he completely understands what it's like to have tremendous passion for something and feel like maybe no one fully understands that passion. Doesn't matter if they do or not. As long as it means something to you and you have faith in what you're trying to express. And if you have a few friends that have your back, that helps too. You've got my back. I've got yours, brother.