By Mark Bell, NZ Musician, Vol. 8, No. 2 April/May 1999
The cover of John Dix's sprawling encyclopedic odyssey of New Zealand pop history 'Stranded in Paradise' shows a caricatured vocalist, eyes clamped shut in almost religious devotion to the task at hand. That the vocalist just happens to be Rick Bryant is no whimsy on Dix's part, rather an earnest doff of the cap in the direction of this perennial musical journeyman.
Quite a journey it has been too: from '60s R'n'B outlaws Mammal; through the acid-fuelled, multi-media organised anarchy of Blerta (featuring among others the late, great Bruno Lawrence and film maker Roger Donaldson); a stint as an English lecturer, cut short when he fell foul of the pot police; surfacing again with the hard-touring and aptly named Rough Justice; then a busman's holiday away from frontman duty with the quintessentially Ponsonby band, The Neighbours; to his current and on-going labour of love, the big band R'n'B sound of the Jive Bombers.
Throughout much of this time he has maintained his interest in the Windy City Strugglers, a band of Wellington mates with a shared love of old roots standards played on traditional jug band contrivances such as washboard and tea-chest bass. Strugglers in name perhaps, but they've got three albums and a RIANZ folk award to show for it. Then there's the Heaven Bent Choir which sees Rick flamboyantly leading them in song.
There would not be too many musicians still active on the scene today who were there when New Zealand rock was in nappies and everyone was going ga-ga over Johnny Devlin and the impeccably groomed Mr Lee Grant. Dix explains his choice of cover star in 'Stranded In Paradise' when he says: "As much as anybody, Rick Bryant represents the spirit of New Zealand rock'n'roll." Tellingly, the section of the book on Bryant is entitled "The Man Who Sold His Soul To New Zealand Rock'n'Roll".
It's a fitting tribute to Bryant that Dix should have decided to honour him in this way, for there are surely household names who ascended greater heights, sold out more and wilder concerts, inspired juicier gossip and shifted more records. The question is, where are they now?
Rick Bryant is currently in Auckland where he recently put the finishing touches to an album of his original songs, a number of them co-written with young producer-in-waiting John Kempt. That the perhaps ironically titled 'Time' occasionally progressed at glacial pace due to budgetary and technical constraints, and the sporadic availability of mixing downtime at Jacob Simonsen's Groove Merchants studio, obviously did not faze this seasoned campaigner in the slightest. 'Time', released on fellow Struggler Nick Bollinger's Red Rocks label and distributed through Metro Marketing, was recorded over a three-year period, with a year passing during the mixing process alone. If nothing else, the music business teaches one the patience of Job.
On the face of it, the decision to team up with Kempt seems an odd one, given that he has very little grounding in the soul and R'n'B styles beloved by Bryant, and his production experience at the time was precisely nil. They had however, been writing together since Bryant used Kempt's three-piece outfit, The Scissormen, as a pick-up band for a series of shows a few years back.
All track laying was done at Bryant's Auckland bookshop, which has since closed. 'Time' was recorded using analogue Fostex 8- and 16-track gear, the deadening effect of thousands of books providing the ideal non-reflective surface for the walls, and the kitchen with its lino, brick and plaster roof proving to be a more than passable bright room for guitars and the like.
We meet at the latest incarnation of Bryant's bohemian lodgings in Newton Gully to talk about 'Time', the Universe and everything. So why did Kempt get the nod?
"He was the motivator, in some ways, the originator of the whole thing," says Bryant. "I mean for a couple of years we'd been saying 'We must do some recording together', or he'd say something like 'We're going to make a record with you sooner or later, you realise'.
"I introduced him to Fane Flaws, who I'd done some recording with a few years ago - tracks that have never been released ."- and he really liked a couple of them. They ended up as bonus tracks on this album. Bruno Lawrence, Ross Burge, Jonathon Swartz and Peter Dasent all played on that so it was choice! That was the background to it, and it just happened gradually from there."
The 'few years ago' of which he speaks is in fact 12, but who's counting? I ask if he had any apprehensions about using an inexperienced producer on something as precious as an album of his own songs.
"No, because I wanted someone to do it by then. I'd already aborted a couple of projects by thinking I could do it myself, or thinking I could do it in such a way that I wouldn't need a producer. And I mean that was just expensive and wrong. It took a long time to find that out."
That's not to say that this odd couple found unanimous agreement in all their endeavours.
"All that engineering side, of course I went entirely along with him, but I have to say that a lot of the time I disagreed with him on all sorts of musical things."
So how were differences of opinion ultimately resolved?
"I gave in!" says Bryant somewhat surprisingly.
"Nine times out of ten I gave in. He has a stronger will than me. I took the attitude that we wouldn't be making it without him. At times we had to agree to disagree and move on to the next subject because there were things we just couldn't see eye to eye about. I mean we kept it friendly, but at times, especially when he was making me do a lot of vocal takes, I'd get a bit touchy, a bit bad tempered because it's take 16 or something. You think you've kinda nailed it by then but he wants another run!"
"The crucial thing I learnt is, it never really hurts to do it again. You can do it again all night. Nothing's really sacred. If your concentration's adequate you're going to be able to do another good take later on.
"The fact that a lot of other R'n'B singers, good ones like Etta James and James Brown, were using young pop producers to re-kickstart a R'n'B career wasn't lost on me—it was probably the best tactical thing to do."
What then was in all this for Kempt, putting in these long, unpaid hours in a less than ideal recording environment?
"He wanted to teach himself production using good home gear. He had, I think, the fashionable theory at the time that you could do it at home if you used analogue and good mics."
To this end the indefatigable Kempt spared no effort in securing the right mics for the task at hand, augmenting his own resources through borrowing and even buying, and later selling, what he needed to get the results he desired. Patience is the key word here in overcoming any technical shortcomings they encountered. Up to eight mics at a time were put in front of guitar amps, with various configurations and placements being painstakingly assessed until the right sound was nailed. Similar efforts were expended in building a hardboard drum booth for the times when a bouncy, reflective sound was required.
Whatever Kempt may have lacked in experience he made up for in his determination to thoroughly explore all the options.
"After working with John for a while you realise that if things take time - so be it. You know he's getting it the way he wants it. Some people might get bothered about engineers taking tons of time to do things, but if they're a perfectionist and that's the time they want to take, that's okay by me."
Bryant later adds: "Although it was engineered in a non-professional context I think it was engineered with a totally professional attitude."
The clock has finally stopped on the making of 'Time'. It's hard to say whether either Rick Bryant or John Kempt got exactly the album they wanted to make, such is the nature of compromise. At the end of the long day Bryant has a fine album, an album on which he has steered his soulful R'n'B vocals and songwriting down roads he would not have travelled without his young mentor and co-writers, while Kempt has come through the baptism of fire as a bona fide producer.
Of the home-recorded album experience Bryant says:
"I want to do it again, and next time a lot of the things I'd like to do as similarly as possible. I know you can't expect to have the same party all over again, but I do hope we can have some of the same players and have the same positive experience with near-strangers, who just seemed to catch on quite quickly to the mood of the project and have a bit of fun with it as well as taking the money."
"I gave in!" says Bryant somewhat surprisingly.
"Nine times out of ten I gave in. He has a stronger will than me. I took the attitude that we wouldn't be making it without him. At times we had to agree to disagree and move on to the next subject because there were things we just couldn't see eye to eye about. I mean we kept it friendly, but at times, especially when he was making me do a lot of vocal takes, I'd get a bit touchy, a bit bad tempered because it's take 16 or something. You think you've kinda nailed it by then but he wants another run!"
"The crucial thing I learnt is, it never really hurts to do it again. You can do it again all night. Nothing's really sacred. If your concentration's adequate you're going to be able to do another good take later on.
"The fact that a lot of other R'n'B singers, good ones like Etta James and James Brown, were using young pop producers to re-kickstart a R'n'B career wasn't lost on me—it was probably the best tactical thing to do."
What then was in all this for Kempt, putting in these long, unpaid hours in a less than ideal recording environment?
"He wanted to teach himself production using good home gear. He had, I think, the fashionable theory at the time that you could do it at home if you used analogue and good mics."
To this end the indefatigable Kempt spared no effort in securing the right mics for the task at hand, augmenting his own resources through borrowing and even buying, and later selling, what he needed to get the results he desired. Patience is the key word here in overcoming any technical shortcomings they encountered. Up to eight mics at a time were put in front of guitar amps, with various configurations and placements being painstakingly assessed until the right sound was nailed. Similar efforts were expended in building a hardboard drum booth for the times when a bouncy, reflective sound was required.
Whatever Kempt may have lacked in experience he made up for in his determination to thoroughly explore all the options.
"After working with John for a while you realise that if things take time - so be it. You know he's getting it the way he wants it. Some people might get bothered about engineers taking tons of time to do things, but if they're a perfectionist and that's the time they want to take, that's okay by me."
Bryant later adds: "Although it was engineered in a non-professional context I think it was engineered with a totally professional attitude."
The clock has finally stopped on the making of 'Time'. It's hard to say whether either Rick Bryant or John Kempt got exactly the album they wanted to make, such is the nature of compromise. At the end of the long day Bryant has a fine album, an album on which he has steered his soulful R'n'B vocals and songwriting down roads he would not have travelled without his young mentor and co-writers, while Kempt has come through the baptism of fire as a bona fide producer.
Of the home-recorded album experience Bryant says:
"I want to do it again, and next time a lot of the things I'd like to do as similarly as possible. I know you can't expect to have the same party all over again, but I do hope we can have some of the same players and have the same positive experience with near-strangers, who just seemed to catch on quite quickly to the mood of the project and have a bit of fun with it as well as taking the money."
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