Jazz trumpeter and vocalist Jeremy Davenport recorded his new "We'll Dance 'Til Dawn" CD in March at the Music Shed in the Lower Garden District.
Jazz trumpeter and vocalist Jeremy Davenport recently released "We'll Dance 'Til Dawn," his first studio album in more than a decade, on Basin Street Records. Reviews have praised the album's seemingly effortless grace and polished sense of style.
But the behind-the-scenes story of its creation is not as tidy.
Davenport recorded "We'll Dance 'Til Dawn" in March at the Music Shed, a studio and rehearsal complex in the Lower Garden District. "That Old Black Magic," "When I Take My Sugar to Tea," "By the Time I Get to Phoenix" and other standards alternate with five like-minded Davenport compositions. The Davenport originals include "Mr. New Orleans," on which he and his buddy, fellow trumpeter Kermit Ruffins, good-naturedly razz each other.
"Mr. New Orleans" popped into Davenport's head one night as he lay awake obsessing over his upcoming recording session. He leapt out of bed and worked out an arrangement on the piano in his room at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel New Orleans, where he both lives and performs each weekend.
Davenport outfitted "Mr. New Orleans" with "a real authentic New Orleans groove," he says. "No one can mess this song up. Even I can't mess this song up."
The making of "Mr. New Orleans" is a microcosm of the in-studio creative process that surrounds virtually every music recording. Happy accidents. Artistic debates. Mini-dramas. Self-deprecating humor. Merciless ribbing. Unforeseen delays.
And, in the case of "Mr. New Orleans," a missing trumpeter.
Kermit Ruffins, left, and Jeremy Davenport share a laugh during their recording session at the Music Shed in March.
A well-groomed bundle of nervous energy, Davenport is the first to arrive at the Music Shed on the first day of recording. Keyboardist and chief creative foil David Torkanowsky pulls into the parking lot minutes later, at 10:30 a.m.
"I don't want you to take our lateness as any sign of disrespect," Torkanowsky says.
Davenport notes that he even beat Tracey Freeman, the album's producer.
"I figured you spent the night in the parking lot," Torkanowsky says.
In an era of rapidly declining CD sales, recording budgets -- especially for jazz albums -- are tight. Davenport and his band have only three days to cut 12 songs.
On most of "We'll Dance 'Til Dawn," Davenport will use his regular drummer, Troy Davis, and bassist Roland Guerin. But he wants "Mr. New Orleans" to, literally, march to the beat of a different drummer. To that end, he hired Dr. John drummer Herman Ernest, whose six-week tour with Dr. John ended in Las Vegas the day before, and Meters bassist George Porter Jr., whose tour with his band PBS began in Denver the next day.
Porter's bass guitars were already en route to Colorado, so he rustled up a spare instrument and borrowed a guitar strap from the Music Shed's stash. Torkanowsky hazes him about the second-hand gear: "Does one of your basses have four strings?"
"I play on three strings," Porter deadpans. "The fourth string is extra money."
Today they'll lay down the instrumental foundation for "Mr. New Orleans"; Ruffins and Davenport will record their vocals and trumpets later. The musicians gather around the grand piano in the studio's main room. Torkanowsky walks Porter through the arrangement as Ernest quietly mouths potential drum parts.
Neither requires much instruction, and Davenport prefers that they follow their instincts. "It's better that they don't look at the sheet music," he says. "I wrote it with that in mind."
Freeman notes that Porter and Ernest "come in joking, then get their game faces on."
At 5:10, game faces on, they practice "Mr. New Orleans." "Did you get any of that?" Torkanowsky asks Chris Finney, the Music Shed's engineer.
Yes, Finney says.
"We're done," Torkanowsky announces.
"We would have been done if you hadn't (screwed) up the intro," Davenport counters.
He senses the magic, or at least the groove, is at hand. "Let's do this," he says.
They try again. Porter laughs as the song crash-lands -- no one had considered how to end it.
"What do you want to do for an ending?" Torkanowsky asks.
"Not that," Davenport replies.
"Mr. New Orleans" popped into Davenport's head one night as he lay awake obsessing over his upcoming recording session.
At 5:25, Torkanowsky bounds into the control room. He insists the first rehearsal take of "Mr. New Orleans" should go on the album: "It was loose. It was natural."
In an adjoining room, Porter and Ernest emphatically shake their heads no. Ernest, a hulking presence, appears in the control room.
"You don't like it?" Torkanowsky asks him.
"It's terrible," he says.
Porter seconds the drummer's negative assessment.
Hoping to marshal support, Torkanowsky cites the similarly loose feel of Porter's classic Meters recordings: "Most of your records were takes like this."
Porter laughs, but is not convinced.
Davenport settles it when he says, "Let's do one more."
Porter asks, "Should I play like I know the song, or play like I don't?"
More laughter. They are loose and ready to roll. Knobs are tweaked. They go again.
Torkanowsky declares the result "cool." They now have a solid foundation for "Mr. New Orleans." "All we need," Davenport says, "is to add a little Ruffins to the mix."
But there's a hitch. No one can reach Ruffins to confirm his scheduled session with Davenport the next morning.
Basin Street Records founder Mark Samuels volunteers to drop off a rough copy of "Mr. New Orleans" later that night at Ruffins' weekly gig at Bullets nightclub. That way, Ruffins can familiarize himself with the song.
"I don't want to take three hours tomorrow," Davenport says. "With all my love for Kermit, I can't take all day."
As it turns out, he takes no time at all. At 9:15 the next morning, Freeman reaches the elusive Ruffins. The trumpeter's plans have changed.
Instead of recording with Davenport, he's going to a shoot for "Treme," David Simon's new HBO series set in the world of New Orleans music.
Freeman has produced several Ruffins records for Basin Street. "Usually, when he's got something to do in the studio, he's there before anybody else," Freeman says. "Sometimes he'll be outside in his truck, waiting."
But not this time. Davenport takes the change of plans in stride. Ruffins is "keeping it real. When we couldn't find him last night, I thought this might be the scenario."
Shifting gears, Davenport spends the morning working on vocal and trumpet parts for other songs. The Ruffins session is rebooked for two days later, a Friday.
Meanwhile, Davenport has decided to add another song to "We'll Dance 'Til Dawn": the classic Harold Arlen/Johnny Mercer ballad "Come Rain or Come Shine." Those additional four minutes will boost the finished CD's total running time closer to the target duration of 60 minutes.
Another reason: It is a favorite of Davenport's girlfriend, Nicole.
As they wrap for the day, Torkanowsky receives a text message about the closing of the Virgin Megastore in New York's Times Square. Coming in the middle of a recording session, the closing raises a question: Where will anyone buy the album they are working so hard to create?
A long discussion of the dismal state of the music industry ensues.
"I think records would be better if everyone agreed to stop using technology," Freeman says.
Davenport cracks, "Can we finish my record first?"
| Video: Jeremy Davenport and Kermit Ruffins record a song |
Granted a mulligan, Ruffins arrives on time
for the rescheduled session on Friday. He and Davenport slap hands and embrace. Twelve hours earlier, they hung out during Davenport's show at the Ritz-Carlton, before Ruffins proceeded to his own gig at Vaughan's.
Davenport: "Whazzup, dude?"
Ruffins: "Had a good time last night, man."
Davenport: "Always, always."
As Ruffins settles in, Davenport polishes off a trumpet solo for "Almost Never," the song destined to lead off his new album. Ruffins sizes up the task at hand. He had listened to "Mr. New Orleans" in his car the previous afternoon. Now he examines a lyric sheet color-coded by Davenport.
"You're red," Davenport says. "No, I'm red. You're yellow."
In the main studio room, Ruffins gets comfortable at a microphone. He removes his fedora and clamps headphones over a bandanna decorated with playing cards. He pours himself a Bud Light over ice -- the first alcohol of any kind consumed during the Davenport session.
"All aboard!" Ruffins exclaims, his traditional kick-off to any artistic endeavor.
He sips iced beer and sings, "Mr. St. Lou-eee / when you croon a tune, you say oo-oo-wee..."
Sips more. Positions his trumpet case on a stool. Extracts his horn. Blows it.
Clears his throat. Laughs to himself. Coughs. Scats. Grins as Davenport clowns in the adjoining isolation booth: "Jeremy's a fool, yeah!"
The musicians and technicians who worked on "Mr. New Orleans" at the Music Shed include, from left, bassist George Porter Jr., drummer Herman Ernest, engineer Chris Finney, Jeremy Davenport (with back to camera) and producer Tracey Freeman.
The "tape" -- actually a computer's hard drive -- rolls. They sing lines at each other.
Davenport: "I've got one question / How do you play those high notes?"
Ruffins: "Those high notes you've referred to..."
Davenport: "RE-fer?"
Ruffins: "...come to my secret combination."
Ruffins cracks up. "I like that -- high notes you reefer to."
Davenport offers some direction and good cheer: "You take the high road on the harmony, and I'll sing the low harmony. Lovin' it! Lovin' it!"
Ruffins' voice is even more gravelly then usual. He clears his throat loudly, and often. Hands in his pockets, bouncing at the knees, he's getting into it. But he's still not familiar with the song; his delivery is too deliberate. He sings, "Let's stay together, make the people dance..."
Davenport answers in his smooth croon, "Let's sing together..." then stops.
"I keep (screwing) it up," he says.
"Me, too," Ruffins adds.
They go again, and blow it again.
Davenport curses: "One more time. That was perfect except I (screwed) it up."
Ruffins is snapping his fingers and nodding his head as Davenport delivers the "let's sing together, make the people dance" harmony line.
Ruffins should answer him, but is silent. After a few seconds, he throws up his hands and shakes his head in frustration: "I started dancing and totally forgot to sing."
They go again, the singsong lyrics flowing easier now.
Davenport: "I got one question..."
Ruffins: "Wait, what's that?"
Davenport: "How do you play those high notes?"
Ruffins: "Aw, I ain't gonna tell you too much!"
He finally nails it, or at least thinks so: "Awww, YEAH!"
Davenport tries to get his attention -- "Actually, you know what..." -- but Ruffins is still celebrating: "Pat me on my back and call me Shorty! Play that doghouse music!"
Jeremy Davenport and keyboardist David Torkanowsky fine-tune a section of the song "Mr. New Orleans" at the Music Shed.
Then, to Davenport, "What'd you say, J?"
J wants another take. They'll sing, "Let's play together and make the people dance," then trade trumpet solos.
Ruffins lifts his horn, which emits a ragged squawk. "I haven't seen this horn in three days. I shoulda warmed up a little."
He squeezes out a flurry of screeches. "That's my Irvin imitation," he jokes, referring to his good-natured rival, trumpeter Irvin Mayfield.
Ruffins briefly muses on what he'd do as mayor -- "I'd show up the first day in my pajamas. Free liquor for everybody in front City Hall, a big block party" -- before he and Davenport hoist their trumpets. There is natural bounce and swing, not to mention rapport, in their playing.
"Let's do a couple more, just for fun," Davenport says.
They revisit the vocals. Davenport suggests changing the line "on top of Canal Street" -- a reference to his gig at the Ritz -- to "in the Vieux Carre."
Ruffins, half-joking, still wants to remodel "Mr. New Orleans" as a "reefer song. If we didn't have Jeremy here, it'd be a whole other thing."
Davenport sings to Ruffins, "You're always looking sharp in a sexy hat / You make the little ladies' hearts go pitter pat."
Ruffins replies, "Look at you, Mr. Fancy Pants."
Together, they harmonize on, "Let's sing together, make the people dance!"
Davenport: "You want to do one more pass just for safety?"
Ruffins: "Let's do it. All aboard!"
They take another swing, which is to everyone's satisfaction. In barely an hour, they are finished.
Ruffins: "That was some fun."
Davenport: "That was good stuff. Thank you. Appreciate it."
Ruffins: "Thank you."
Davenport: "It's going to be great. And we're going to leave all the good..."
Ruffins: "...laughter...."
Davenport: "Yeah. All that. That's good stuff. We're going to leave that all in there."
The laughter remains in the final version of "Mr. New Orleans," as does the sense of fun. Appearing as the fourth song on "We'll Dance $?'Til Dawn," it is an album highlight.
A reviewer for the All Music Guide praises "Mr. New Orleans" as "a joyous wink of a tune, and the type of track that only performers confident in their personas can get away with."
Music writer Keith Spera can be reached at kspera@timespicayune.com or at 504.826.3470.