It was somewhere around this time – the late fall of 1974 – when Emmett started to see things changing. There were more people around the band, schedules became tighter, Luke and Jerry were busier. The whole enterprise seemed more serious, more professional, more carefully managed. In some unspoken way, Emmett understood this meant people had started to see the possibility of making money from Luke.
“We ain't gonna be our own roadies next time,” Luke said to him as they finished up a rehearsal. “We'll have an actual crew.”
Emmett nodded, trying to absorb everything about the business without asking too many questions. “Does that mean the tour is definitely on?”
“It's on for sure, we just don't know when exactly. Gotta see how the recording goes first.”
Moments like this, when he and Luke sat back on the couch in their new rehearsal studio without a bunch of other people around, had become more rare. Luke hadn't changed exactly, but he'd grown more preoccupied and distracted, sometimes a little short-tempered, like he had things on his mind besides just the music and a good time.
“First session at Forge is tomorrow. Em, we won't need you right away if you don't wanna – ”
“Can I, though?” Emmett asked eagerly. “I just want to be there. It's a band thing. Will I be in the way if I show up tomorrow?”
Luke looked sideways at him, smiling. “Sure, you can come if you wanna, but I can't pay you till you start recording.”
“No problem.”
“How're you gonna get there though? You got a ride?”
“I'll figure it out. What about you, how are you getting there?”
“Jerry's gonna drive me tomorrow. Be at my place at nine and you can ride with us.”
“Sounds good.” By now, Emmett and Luke had hung out enough that Emmett knew exactly where he lived and how to get there. “So what are you going to work on first?”
Luke had written a slew of new songs for this record and the band had been working on them over the last couple of months. To Emmett they sounded astonishing – different from Luke's previous work; bold and fresh and urgent. In fact, they were so different that the rest of the band, even Emmett, sometimes struggled with the unfamiliar structures, and Luke would grow frustrated and impatient with his inability to get precisely what he wanted. But when it all came together Emmett would listen to the band play and Luke sing and once again have the feeling that something new and cataclysmic was on its way. And somehow, he was a part of it.
No one else Emmett knew had ever made a record. He'd always regretted missing the sessions for the previous two albums and couldn't wait to see the recording process this time around. He was happy to hitch his wagon to Luke's star but still independent enough to want to understand the whole business himself, just in case he needed to fall back on his own resources some day.
In Jerry's car on their way to the studio the next morning Luke was quiet and withdrawn, which Emmett recognized as his way of gathering himself up for a period of intense pressure or performance. Jerry made a bit of conversation but Emmett kept his mouth shut in the back seat.
“Guess you brought your instruments, Em?” Luke asked after a while.
“Yeah. I know I'm not working today but I figured, just in case. Maybe you'll want to run through something with the full band. Anyway, I'll need them eventually so I can just leave them there.”
Luke was silent again for a few miles. Then he said, “You know this is it, right? It's the end of my contract. This record don’t do well, the label drops me for good.”
“It's going to work out, Luke.”
“It's my last chance.”
“This record is gonna be your saving grace.”
The studio was a two-story, modern building on a small plot of land in the middle of nowhere, with some small recording booths, a couple of larger spaces for a full band, and the main control room. While they waited for the others, Emmett helped Luke set up the spaces the way he wanted them. More people arrived gradually – an engineer and his assistant, someone from the record company, Eddie and his girlfriend Jenny, the rest of the band. While everyone else milled around, Emmett befriended Sol, the engineer, and asked to hang out in the control room; partly to keep out of the way, and partly so he could see how it worked.
Unlike their live shows, Luke didn't kick off the recording with a group huddle and pep talk; he just let everyone settle in. When they were ready, he started the band off in one of the larger rooms so they could run through the first song once or twice together before starting to record. Emmett stayed in the control room with Sol and Jerry, who was producing, until Luke called him to join them.
“Might as well get you in the first run-through, since you're here.”
Emmett was happy to join in wherever he was needed. As the day wore on, he did a little bit of everything, from playing instruments, to helping Jerry and the engineering team, to making coffee. He was having so much fun he didn't realize the day was over until Sol waved good night and the studio manager came by to lock up the control room.
Emmett stepped out into the larger space and found it dark and almost empty.
“You still here, Em?” Luke said, from somewhere in the shadows.
They'd barely spoken to each other all day. Luke seemed to be in better spirits now than he had been in the morning, and so was Emmett.
“Yeah. What a great day.”
Luke laughed. “Good start, I guess. But I hate to break it to you – Jerry took off hours ago and so did everyone else. We got no ride home.”
Even that couldn't dampen Emmett's mood. “I guess we're hitching then,” he said.
***
The euphoria didn’t last. With everything Luke had learned the last two times, and all his new ideas, he'd hoped this session would be a breeze. The pressure for a successful third album had been so intense for so long that it was a relief at first to start actually doing something about it.
But they'd been at it for over four months now, and the record still wasn't done. Luke's early optimism and excitement were long gone, replaced with a frustration that sometimes approached despair. Almost immediately, he'd come up against that wall between what he heard in his head and what he was able to communicate or explain to the rest of the band, much less create.
It wasn't just the new songs, not even the new structures and themes, that he couldn't capture right; it was a sound, a mood, a missing intensity in the playing and production that people did not seem to understand and he couldn't express in words. The more the band and producers worked, the worse it got; some unconscious complacency or polish seemed to creep into songs that Luke wanted to sound raw and desperate.
“Maybe I should just can the whole thing and record one of our live shows,” he lamented finally.
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Eddie considered, and shook his head. “Bad idea. Live albums are for established acts.”
“I don't care, I – ”
“Once you get it right, these new songs will sound way better than anything you've been able to do live.”
“What do you know – you've hardly seen us live,” Luke growled, and felt the familiar heat of resentment and inadequacy building inside him. “You haven't played with us since – ”
Eddie shrugged and walked away to join Jenny, leaving Luke to take out his rage on Leo or Pete or Sol. That was the worst of it; the way his frustration and dissatisfaction came out in bursts of anger or moodiness or hostility. He couldn’t seem to contain the emotions, and he was barely eating or sleeping. The rest of the band had started to distance themselves from him, and he watched them, helpless. It's not that their faith was lost – they were still waiting, patiently, for him to figure it out. They just didn't want to be around him in the meantime.
Except Emmett. Emmett had shown up every day for four months – other than a couple of times when he'd been looking after his kids – and made himself indispensable. He'd picked up sound engineering seemingly overnight, and was now Sol's primary assistant on the mixing board. Like Eddie, he could play almost any instrument and often did – stepping behind the drums to provide a backbeat for Gordon's solos when Leo was busy in another room; picking up maracas or tambourine just as Luke was thinking they needed more rhythm; bringing in instruments borrowed from one of his brothers or extended family.
“You know what might work here?” Luke would say randomly, “A bit of banjo.” Or accordion, or congos, or fiddle. And the next day Emmett would show up with one, and either figure out a line or two himself or bring in a relative who could play it.
Emmett's musicianship differed from Eddie's or even Gordon's. He couldn't write or arrange songs; he had little theoretical or technical understanding of how music worked. He didn’t discuss and debate the specifics of a sound the way Luke often did with Eddie or Jerry or Gord. Emmett was a classic case of the museum-goer who says I don't know anything about art but I know what I like. His understanding was based on instinct, familiarity and a deep personal connection with music. He didn't usually volunteer opinions, but when asked he readily offered solid input that Luke often found surprising or original. More and more, as he struggled to produce the sound he was looking for, Luke would walk away from arguments with Eddie or Jerry and turn to Emmett for a fresh perspective.
But even more critically, Emmett was a sounding board and sympathetic ear for the whole band. Every day Luke would step into a room and find him engrossed with someone new, listening to their stories or their frustrations or their concerns. He was the universal ally, always in demand, calming, neutral, somehow managing to be on everyone's side at once.
Especially Luke's. In his worst moments of exasperation, rage, despair – after hurling a music stand across the room or breaking down in tears – Luke found he could only regain his equilibrium with Emmett, who never said much but didn't need to. Emmett, Luke often thought, was his saving grace.
“Hey man, I won't be in tomorrow,” Emmett said, sometime in March of 1975. “School's closed and Clarissa needs me to take the boys.”
Luke felt a pang, and hardly thought twice before responding. “Bring ’em here with you,” he suggested. “Let ’em see what their pop does for a living.”
Emmett looked skeptical, but the next day he arrived in Michael's truck with Walt and Robbie, now five and seven years old. The boys were shy at first but lively and inquisitive once curiosity got the better of them. Their small voices, big eyes, and endless questions charmed everyone and for once the whole studio seemed to be in good spirits.
Around the middle of the afternoon Emmett came to find Luke in one of the recording booths. “I think we're gonna split now,” he said. “This is about as long as the kids can go without breaking something, and I don't wanna lose half my pay replacing a mic or something.”
“If you say so,” Luke said reluctantly. “I love havin’ ’em here.”
“You wouldn't if we stayed much longer. Anyway, I promised them an ice-cream and that's all they can think about now. Hey Luke – ” Emmett put a hand on his shoulder with a sudden grin. “Come with us to the Dairy Queen for lunch. I bet you haven't eaten all day.”
Luke started to decline out of habit, then paused and reconsidered. Was a break such a bad idea? “Okay,” he said, surprising even himself. “If it's close by, and you'll give me a ride back after?”
“Sure.”
They rounded up the kids and drove to a nearby Dairy Queen where Luke stared at the menu board and realized how hungry he was. It must have been weeks since he'd eaten a normal meal. He bought a burger and fries and carried his tray over to Emmett, who was sitting by a window alone.
“I sent them outside,” he said, gesturing through the window to a playground outside, where Walt and Robbie were currently exploring, cones in hand. “They need to burn off some steam now.”
“Thanks for bringing them in.” Luke slid into the booth across from him. “I feel like that's exactly what we needed today.”
“It's been a long haul, huh?”
“Way longer than I expected. Don't know what I'm gonna do. I'm tearin’ my hair out, Em.”
“Well, don't do that.” Emmett reached over to give his hair a quick tousle. “It's looking so good.”
Luke grabbed a handful of fries. “I can't go on like this though. Every dime I made on that tour's sunk into recording.”
“I thought the company was paying.”
“They been payin’ for some of it but I'm way over budget. And nowhere near done. I swear I'm losing it, I can't make anything work.”
“But the songs are so good, man. I can't wait for people to hear them.”
“Only when they sound like I want them to.”
“Can't Jerry help you with that?”
“It ain't the production though, it's what we're recording. It just don't come out how I want it to.”
“How about Eddie? Doesn't he know what you're looking for?”
Luke stopped eating and hesitated. “I think he gets it but…” He felt vaguely disloyal. “Sometimes it don't feel like he's listening. He's always with Jenny. And he takes off with her whenever she wants to go.”
“Well, I don't think he's uncommitted or anything. I mean, she’s got the car, right? He doesn't have any other way to get home.”
“Yeah, that's killin’ me too. Every day I gotta scrounge a ride in and then figure out how to get home…well, you know what it's like.”
“Sorry you'll have to hitch alone tonight. I'm trying to borrow my aunt's car for next week but…”
Luke shook his head, chewing glumly. “Not your problem, man. It's just one more hassle.”
“Anyway…maybe Eddie's a little burnt out. Everyone's been working pretty hard.”
“I know what you're saying, I been drivin’ everyone up the wall.” Luke took a gulp of his blizzard and waved an arm. “I just can't seem to stop myself.”
“You're under a lot of pressure.”
“I can hack pressure, it's this – this – not getting what I want. Not even being able to explain what I want. It makes me crazy, I get violent, I fuckin’ cry…I never wanted it to be like this. I can see the guys are starting to hate me – ”
“They don't hate you, Luke.”
“It's supposed to be rock and roll, you know? Band of brothers, all of us together against the world…and instead it's me against everyone else.”
“No one's against you. They just don't know how to help you. What you want…you know, it's new to us. We don't always exactly get it.”
“Yeah, it's different, I know. That's the point.”
“Your old songs, they're party songs. Or love songs. Like, they're about people you know having a good time. That's what everyone's used to.”
“The new songs are still about people I know. It's just that the people I know ain't doin' so good these days.” Luke stopped eating and tried to gather his thoughts. “So many guys I grew up with, they got no job, no money, no hope…that's what I wanna talk about right now.”
Emmett nodded. “Desperate people trying to leave desperate lives.”
“Yeah. I mean, that ain't gonna sound the same as party music.”
“Sure, I get it.” Emmett stopped and looked like he was debating whether to continue. “But…I don't know if it's just about getting the right sound.”
“What d'ya mean?”
“I mean…” He hesitated again. “Sometimes it feels like you kinda take it personally. Like you feel personally responsible for telling these stories so…so when the rest of us don't get it right, it's like you think we're letting you down. You and all these people you care about.”
Luke stared for a moment, then looked away, out the window to where Walt was tumbling down a slide head-first. “I mean, I do…feel like I owe it to the people I grew up with. To show the rest of the world what it's really like for them. And, I don't know…” He trailed off but Emmett just waited, patiently. “It sounds dumb but I wanna think maybe my songs can give them something, y'know? Something they can relate to. Like maybe tell them it's not their fault, they're not alone, other people are goin’ through the same things. And maybe that's the one good thing about their lives.”
For a moment Emmett didn't answer, and they sat looking at each other in silence across the Dairy Queen booth.
“It's gonna be one hell of a record,” Emmett said at last.
“But how? How do I…capture all that in the songs?”
“I don't know how you do any of it, Luke. But…I mean, I feel like I might play different, now I've heard all this.”
“You think I should spell everything out to the guys? The songs should speak for themselves – ”
“And they will when they’re finished, but they aren't there yet. If the guys understand what they're doing and why, maybe they can help you more.”
Luke scooped up all the wrappers and debris off the table and loaded them onto his tray sullenly, trying not to show his instinctive resistance.
“And Luke…” Emmett reached over to grab his hand and hold it. “You need a break. Everyone does, but you especially. You're too close to it all. And you’re not eating, it’s getting unhealthy. Take some time away and come back fresh. At least you'll save some money.”
For a moment Luke left his hand in Emmett's. Then he stood up abruptly with the tray. “C'mon, let's go get the kids,” he said gruffly. “Robbie's dangling Walt off the monkey bars.”