Subtle Hint: The Rehearsal Studio

One thing we learned early on as a band: parents may say they don't mind you playing in the basement, but once you throw in amps, vocal mikes, and a set of drums, they do. So do the neighbors. By around 1990 or so, we'd had it with our share of cops being called on us at Steve's house, our de facto place of rehearsal. We seriously needed alternative rehearsing space if we were to grow cohesively as a unit.

There were other options. Rehearsal studios. They're there; look 'em up in the phone book. Usually old warehouses laying out near railroad tracks, industrialized areas, away from folks peering out behind curtains with fingers on the 9 and 1 buttons on their phones. Reinforced with heavy duty sound-proofing, decked out with decent to surprisingly-good amplification and PA systems, manned by (usually) old hippies and failed musicians. There were two within a half-hour's drive that we frequented, but we'd drive farther to check out newer ones. The problem was, well, the expense. At about $20 an hour, you called to book a block of time, normally about two hours. We all showed up, brought our instruments and amps, if desired, in, set-up, ran through all our songs once or twice in about two hours, then paid the dudes. Came to about $8 a head, but we didn't like the fact that once you got there you had to be all business. The clock was ticking. We needed a place where we could relax, write, be creative, experiment with different arrangements, and still be able to focus on tight rehearsals right before a live show.

Me and Rich hit on it: a rehearsal studio of our own. It couldn't be a basement, due to soundproofing issues (we tried in the two-family my mother rented). It just wouldn't work. So it needed to be a garage. And then we realized: Steve's house.

Steve's house was, well, a disaster. Poverty-level living for his mother, his older sister and his two younger brothers. Their father left them years before, and the house just went to hell. Ghetto, out of place even in the low-middle class town where I lived. But he had an intact garage, albeit unused except as a storage facility for crap. We could clean it out, fumigate it, insulate the walls, run electricity to it, and voila! We'd have our studio. To entice Steve's mom, we dangled the promise of monthly rent to her. I think around $100 a month, or twenty bucks from each of us.

The economics worked in our favor. We estimated $500 to insulate it and power it, and it would take a month or so to get it ready. At the rate of visiting rehearsal studios two or three times a week two hours a pop, we were spending about $350 a month with those fees. We'd break even after two months. Steve agreed, spoke with his mom, she agreed. Everyone decided to contribute equally to the costs, and we broke ground, so to speak.

Only problem was, well, overconfidence. It took twice as long to insulate that damn garage (and twice as long to clean it out completely), at a cost double what we estimated. And this was in the middle of winter, too, so it was cold. Bone-chilling, finger- and toe-numbing cold. Couldn't use heaters, 'cause that'd blow fuses. And we still needed an electrician to come out and wire the place up so we wouldn't set it up in a fiery blaze.

Finally, though, it was done. We hauled our equipment in, drums, amps, a couch, a rug, a PA system, and rehearsed. Our hearts fell. There was little sound actually being proofed. If you stepped outside, it was a barely muffled roar. It was like we were rehearsing in a big tent. Depressed, we shook our heads, considered our alternatives, but wouldn't give up. Too much invested not to finish.

Rich came up with the inevitable idea: we had to build a room-within-a-room. The only plausible way to considerably cut down on escaping sound/noise. So, now, further expense: lumber, sheet rock, a door, and a ceiling. Plus, none of us were really carpenters or builders. Eventually, we got it done, oh, by around mid-Spring or so. An out-of-work construction-worker friend and about $2,000 more in supplies. But it got done. I remember the night it was completed: we threw a party! Rich (who was basically a teetotaler) left early, as did Steve, who was, as always, romancing some chick, so me and Mike and his buddy spent the night drinking and smoking - no, we didn't burn it down - and listening to hours of music in our new rehearsal facility, finally passing out in the pre-dawn hours. An excellent way, I think, to christen a rehearsal studio.

Rich and I paid most of the bills up front, the other guys being too poor. As a bookkeeper, it was my job to keep tally of everyone's back payments, and that caused a little bit of friction. I also cut Steve's mom the monthly rent check, and the guys reimbursed me. But aside from that, the studio paid off incredibly.

First off, we could rehearse anytime for as long as we wanted. And we didn't all have to be there to be productive. Many times I went there myself just to play really, really loud and record 45 minutes of random stream-of-consciousness jamming. Or I'd be there with Mike and John, and we'd jam on Rush covers all night. Guys would pair or triple up and work on new material together. It was a centralized location for all our equipment, centrally located from where each of our apartments. Padlocked on both the outer garage door and the interior door, we considered it safe. We hung all sorts of stupid sh*t all over the walls, including band flyers and such, so it was inspirational in a twisted sort of way.

Due to circumstances I'll get into later, Subtle Hint had it and used it for just under two years, and probably paid Steve's mom a grand in rent (you'll find out why later). Materials came to around $3400 if I remember correctly, so the rehearsal studio cost us close to $4400, or $880 a man. That's 220 outside studio hours, what we were doing about every nine months or so, but not counting all those above-mentioned benefits.

Well worth it. Well worth it.