Let Love Rule - Lenny Kravitz Page 0,66

Wave—dyed blond Flock of Seagulls hair—with an ironic take on life. He was also a good keyboard player. After his day job, he’d jam with guitarist Raf Hernandez and bassist Danny Palomo, who were trying to put a group together. Don knew I played lots of instruments, but what they really needed was a lead singer. He told me that the band was rehearsing in a loft in an old warehouse in New Jersey.

A few days later, they picked me up in an old beat-up mail truck. By the time we got through the Lincoln Tunnel, we were already comfortable as a group, talkin’ shit, making fun of one another, and ready to play. The creative energy with Don, Raf, and Danny was strong. Their music was very Tears for Fears, very heavy on Euro-electro-pop. I saw the potential. They started jamming and asked me to come up with something. It didn’t take long. I felt their vibe and started scatting melodies and broken lyrics. After a few rehearsals, we had some tunes that we all thought sounded pretty good.

Now we just needed some money and a place to record. Don said he knew of a studio that had just opened in the Dell’Aquila building, on Fourteenth and Washington in Hoboken. Dell’Aquila, a monstrous brick factory full of sweatshops with a giant smokestack, towered over the Hudson River just across from the shimmering skyline of Manhattan. All the window panes had been covered with thick mustard-yellow paint. You wouldn’t have known anyone was in there if you hadn’t seen the workers rushing out at the end of each day.

The place was called Waterfront Studios, and the engineer was Henry Hirsch, who had produced and played on some European hit records while living in Berlin. His engineering partner, Dave Domanich, had worked with producer Tony Camillo recording songs like Gladys Knight and the Pips’ “Midnight Train to Georgia.”

The place was cold, damp, and drab. There was a Trident Series 70 console, an Otari MTR-90 24-track tape machine, a pair of Ueri monitors, and a few pieces of outboard gear. Henry asked us what we wanted to sound like. As we described our European electro-pop vibe, I could see that he was less than thrilled. He asked us if we had a drummer, and we told him that we were going to use the Drumulator, which had these John Bonham–like bombastic samples.

Looking over the control room, I was not impressed with the modest-size speakers. I wanted it loud. I asked if I could pop in a cassette to take a listen. Once I heard the song through those speakers, I told Henry they weren’t loud enough and the music sounded like shit. He thought I was a cocky asshole. I didn’t care. Little did Henry or I know, but that initial encounter would change both our lives.

The studio cost thirty-five bucks an hour. Although it was the best deal in town, where would we get the money? The guys barely made enough to cover their living expenses. We thanked Henry for the visit and told him we’d be in touch. On the ride back to the city, I told the guys there was a possibility I could come up with the cash. I didn’t want to ask Mitzi, but when I got home I told her I really believed that this group had a shot at making it. We just needed to record our material and shop it.

Mitzi agreed to underwrite the operation, not only because she genuinely loved me and had a beautiful heart but also because she was brilliant, had a business mind, and perhaps saw it as an opportunity to break us both into the industry.

“Of course, I’ll do this for you,” she said. “I believe in you.”

* * *

Boom! We were on. We booked our time at Waterfront with Henry Hirsch. With each trip in our mascot mail truck in and out of the Lincoln Tunnel, we got closer to our vision. Henry proved to be instrumental in helping us lay down the tracks. More than an engineer, he was a musician first. With his shoulder-length Ramones-esque haircut, black leather jacket, black skintight jeans, white T-shirt, and Chelsea boots, he looked like he could have been in a band from the Lower East Side.

Henry’s knowledge of sonics and placement was astounding. With each member of the band overdubbing too many parts, he helped us shape what would have sounded like mush into something spacious and dynamic. Henry had