In the Studio...

Four guys are sitting in a studio. They are ready.

After so many projects, so many sessions, so many songs, concerts, performances, countless hours of practice, he still feels like he could have been more prepared for this. And that is good. That is a good feeling. To feel unsure of yourself, to feel that nervous pinch on your gut, that thing that makes you want to show them, and yourself, that you can do it. He believes that is what drives him to perform his best, to open the gates to his ideas, which he knows sometimes can achieve greatness. He lays his fingers on the keyboard, but he still doesn't choose to play. He is just feeling, with his right hand, the cold white piano keys on the Yamaha Concert Grand Piano perfectly tuned and ready, thirsty for his touch. His left hand, however, is laying over the keys of the Hammond B-3 Organ, slightly warmer than the piano keys, and maybe packed with more emotion. He always thought the organ is where keyboard players get to really have control of their expression, like a guitar player does. He still doesn't play, his hands waiting for the right moment.

After all the traveling, he is surprised with how much energy he has right now, feeling he could play for hours with no break. It is also surprising to him how much he feels at home when he is playing with the other three, even though home is thousands of miles away. All his traveling, North America, Europe, Africa, all with one constant goal in mind, to perfect his music. To further connect him the four strings in his bass. Every time he grabs the smooth mahogany neck, he is more close to it and the connection is more profound. Suddenly, he feels that old feeling slowly taking control of his hands, that feeling of certainty. It feels like it's time to start, to play that first note, and give birth to a brand new piece of music, a brand new version of their ultimate artistic expression. But he holds it. Patience. Patience is important now, because that first note is of the utmost importance.

He can't decide weather to grab his regular drum sticks, or the brushes, or the mallets. His first impulse is to grab the sticks and start fiddling with the cymbals, maybe create a spark he knows his three companions would follow. And then he remembers his countless Jazz encounters, when one of the most valuable lessons learned was to only play notes you are sure of, notes you no longer can fight, that take over and demand that you play them. He suddenly sees with the corner of his eye that Josh has turned sideways and positioned himself to play the Rhodes. That changes everything. The smallest detail will affect his whole decision of what to play. He then decides to not grab any sticks. with one hand, he slowly reaches out to a set of goat toe-nails attached to a string, one of his many percussion toys. A flashback pops in his brain, of the times when he used to play music from his home country, Chile, with Álvaro, using mostly percussion and such. He likes that. He knows it is what the music calls for now. That's it, the notes have summoned him.

So much preparing, so much planning, so much effort, time, countless hours of discussions and meetings with Chris, his partner/manager/friend, decisions made, roads taken and paths trailed. Now, this is it. This will mark the realization of this life-long dream of his, to get in a great studio, with great musicians, great friends, and make great music. The guitar he holds in his hands is a reminder of all the legacy that came before him of such phenomenal players and musicians. It is a 1958 Fender Telecaster, beaten up and scarred from countless battles. It carries the marks of decades of music making. And it found its way into his hands in this very moment, to contribute to yet another musical endeavor. Like his companions, he is hesitant to hit the first note, he knows it has to be perfect, the whole day depends on that very first note. It has to be perfect. But then he suddenly realizes that as long as it is the four of them, playing together like always, nothing can go wrong. No matter what. Every note is perfect. And so he confidently, but gently strikes the string with his pick. The sound is out there.

Immediately, within a second after that note is played, they all know what to do...