Page 87 of Crimson Desires

According to them, tracking vocals was the easiest part of the process.

After a few hours, Ava had finally recorded all the song’s instrumentation. It sounded a bit rough since she hadn’t yet worked her producer magic on it, but it was enough for me to work with.

I stepped into the vocal booth, putting on my over-ear headphones and pulling up the song lyrics on my phone. I lined myself up with the microphone and took a few deep breaths to enhance my lung capacity.

“Alright,” Ava said. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

I nodded. “I’m ready.”

Ava counted me down. Then, the track began to play.

Smiling, I began to sing. But as I went through the verse, something felt off.

I put up my hand. “Sorry, sorry. Can we take that again?”

“I was just going to suggest the same thing,” Ava said.

One thing I appreciated about Ava was that she was just as much of a perfectionist as I was. Even when I’d been a pop star, I had been meticulous about the quality of my vocals. During shows, imperfections were a given—a hard truth that I’d come to terms with over the years.

But in the controlled environment of the studio, imperfections were optional. I could re-record something hundreds of times until I got the exact right take.

Once or twice, I did end up retaking my vocals about a hundred times.

Producers weren’t always keen on accommodating my perfectionism. Re-recording a vocal track over and over when there was a very slight noticeable difference between a ‘perfect’ take and an ‘imperfect’ one often felt asinine.

After all, they were producers. I could sound like a dying whale, and they’d probably be able to turn it into something palatable to the ears.

But Ava understood the importance of a good, raw take. She was willing to retake things with me as many times as necessary. Like me, she could pick out tiny flaws in a vocal performance instantly. Whether it was a mispronounciation of a word or a slight wobble on a belt.

“You ready, Jack?”

“Yeah. Let’s take it again.”

Ava rolled the track. I sang.

Unfortunately, I ran into the same problem as last time. Something didn’t feel right. Cutting myself off with a sigh, I placed my face into my hands.

“What am I fucking up, Ava?” I asked. I looked through the glass at her.

Ava shook her head. “I don’t know. But it just doesn’t feel right. It’s nothing about your technical performance. Your technique is fine. This is more of an intangible thing. You know what I mean?”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

Damien leaned forward and spoke into Ava’s microphone. “You’re lacking passion. I think you should jerk off in the sound booth while you sing.”

I flipped him off. “Fuck you, man.”

Ava made a face. “He might be right.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You seriously want me to jerk off in this sound booth?”

“No! Not about the jerking off,” Ava said. “About the passion. This is a love song about Aster, right? Try thinking about her as you sing. Really feel the meaning that you’re trying to communicate to her with this song.”

“I’ll try.”

As I attempted to sing again, I closed my eyes and pictured Aster in my mind. I tried to focus on my mental image of her blonde hair. Her blue eyes. The coy way she liked to hide her smiles so that she could deprive me of the knowledge that I’d amused her.

But it still wasn’t enough.

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