I awoke this morning with the urge to write. Writing is problematic at the moment unless I’m very careful, so I’ve chosen what I think is a “safe” topic.

A couple of weeks ago, while on a plane to New York, I was listening to XM Satellite Radio. Airtran has installed XM on quite a few of their aircraft, and I was rather happy to see that. The full complement of channels isn’t available, but the omissions from the lineup aren’t glaring ones. (They’re mostly the ones marked “Explicit Lyrics.”)

I happened to catch a show hosted by legend Pete Fornatale. The guest on “Mixed Bag” was singer, songwriter, playwright and author Rupert Holmes. I was (or thought myself to be) fairly familiar with Holmes’ work. He was, after all, the man who wrote Escape (The Piña Colada Song), which was a huge #1 hit in 1979 and 1980. I remembered him also from more minor hits like Him, a song with a vocal “lead” in its bridge that is cheesy enough to be its most memorable feature. Morning Man (for which I can’t find the lyrics anymore) and Answering Machine still enjoy infrequent rotation on the playlist of my mind, too. I was excited, then, to come in at the very begininng of an interview (conducted where all interviews with songwriters should happen, at a piano) with this 1980s icon.

The interview was really meant, I suppose, to promote the release of a new five-disc boxed set of Holmes’ entire catalog, mixed with demos, archival material, and some new tracks. “Cast of Characters” looks quite interesting, although perhaps not worth the eighty dollars that even used copies are bringing on Amazon at the time of this writing. The most intriguing selection, for me, was a low-quality, cassette demo done with a cheap drum machine and a couple of synthesizers, and sung by Holmes himself. The song was You Got It All.

I was absolutely flabbergasted when Holmes began to discuss the song. I knew it well! It was first recorded in 1987 by a family group from Minneapolis called The Jets. Young Elizabeth Wolfgramm, 14 years old at the time, stunned audiences worldwide (and me, too) with the depth, power, and expressiveness of her voice on this beautiful performance. Somehow, though, I’d missed the fact that this song, and its lyrics which had always been so special to me, had been written by Rupert Holmes.

I leaned forward in my seat, pressing my headphones to my ears to shut out the cabin noise as the demo began to play. There, with the too-perfect timing that is the hallmark of cheap drum machine rhythms, was the familiar beat. Sparse instrumentation played the same chords I remembered, and Holmes, singing far outside his usual range, did his best to convey the phrasing and melody he intended for the song. This was absolutely priceless to me. I was hearing the original! This was the very tape that producer Leroy Wolfgramm and mix engineer David Rivkin (“David Z.”) (Sisters of Mercy, Fine Young Cannibals, Prince) heard and used as their road map to the record itself. That they listened well and reproduced almost every nuance faithfully is a tribute to the songwriter’s vision as well as to their talent and taste. The layers of noise and distortion of the old cassette recording fell away, and I heard the song in its pure form, just as they had. Wow.

The Jets’ version of the song went to #3 on the Billboard pop chart in 1987, to #2 on the R&B chart, and to #1 on the Adult Contemporary chart. There is no denying that it was just what the doctor ordered in late eighties mainstream music. (Britney Spears even covered the song in recent years, although in all honesty I consider her version completely unlistenable.) I remembered that record’s structure, and its general sound; as a mixer, I had always regarded it as superb, a shining example of how a mix should come together. The song has been on my mind ever since that trip, so this morning, on my drive to the office, I retrieved it from a dusty, disused corner of my iPod and played it several times. I identify with the lyrics differently now, but they are still evocative and beautiful enough that I can ignore their obvious problems of grammar and ambiguity.

Mixers hear music differently than normal people do. We parse, dissect, and analyze it. We tend to pick a song apart and study its individual features, in the same way that a car buff appreciates a good paint job or a nice set of alloy wheels. It can often be a real handicap, socially, but it serves us well when we’re behind the console ourselves. For us, when music plays, class is in session. These were my impressions as I studied this record again.

From the introduction, this record shines. A crisp, round bass guitar locks in perfectly with a heavy but clean kick drum sound. The snare drum sound is astounding! It has just the right amount of big, bright reverb, has a sharp attack, and is tight and well placed. These rhythm tracks form a perfect foundation. It’s an awesome sound. Four bars into the eight-bar intro, we’re treated to a very soulful saxophone phrase that leads us right into the vocal.

Let’s talk about that vocal! This, more than any other track, is a testament to this mixer’s pure genius. The song needed its vocal to have a specific character. The voice needed to be superlatively feminine, delicate, reassuring, and sweet. You can tell just by the way Holmes sang the demo that this is what he was reaching for. Where Elizabeth’s talents left off, the mixer’s took over. He significantly thinned the voice, removing the lower midrange and accentuating the breathiness and delicacy that live at around eight kiloHertz. He added two reverbs of slightly different lengths to bring body and smoothness to the sound, and used a de-esser to remove a few objectionable sibilants, one of which still splatters a bit toward the end of the song. The effect is a vocal that doesn’t just hit the target, but blows it away completely. She sounds irresistibly soft and seductive.

The overall balance and layering of this record is superb. It’s remarkable that at a time when guitars ruled the music scene, the only guitars on this record are the aforementioned bass and a subtle, clean electric guitar accent panned ‘way over into the wings on our right. The sound field is otherwise ruled by keyboards: a pretty synthesized electric piano and a couple of expansive synthesized string pads are our constant companions, their parts building in complexity to a “wall of sound” crescendo in the final chorus. The background vocals are as rich as one might expect with the raw material available in the huge Wolfgramm family. They’re panned widely across the image, and they form a breathtaking backdrop for Elizabeth’s lead vocal when they make their entrance in the second chorus. The saxophone reappears, and in the choruses a plucked bass adds gutsiness to the bottom end. Still, the mix comes together without a hint of crowding. Every instrument has its own space, and is easy to discern. I marveled at the fact that I could follow every part individually from its entrance into the fade-out, and the mix is so well structured that I think even an untrained ear could do the same. Again, my vocabulary fails me. Wow.

For obvious legal reasons, I’m unable to post the record here, nor is there a full copy online to which I might link you. It’s worth a listen, though, if you have access to it. Some will turn up their noses at its bubble-gum flavor, its dated 80s sound, and its cloying sappiness. No matter how you react to it, though, I hope my perspective helps you to put it into context and see the reason for its onetime popularity and mass appeal.

The analogy that comes most prominently to mind is something a friend said recently about doughnuts. They’re unhealthy, to be sure. They’re loaded with trans fat, covered with sugary glazes and frostings, and packed with calories. They’ve also been engineered. Food scientists have spent countless hours developing and refining the recipe, creating a food that has been designed to make you want more of it. So it was, is, and always shall be with commercial music. Artists, producers, recording engineers, mixers, and mastering engineers are all working toward a common purpose. We find out what the masses want to hear, what they’ll be drawn to, and then we deliver it. It’s not the most noble of purposes. In a way, it sidelines the creative process, putting the best and most artistic music (analogous to “natural” and “organic” foods) into a niche market somewhere just outside the mainstream.

This song representes mix engineering, in a way that few songs can. In that form, I hope you find it interesting.