We wake under my makeshift mosquito net in Daler Mehndy's nephew's humble apartment and recording studio. John sings in a heartfelt falsetto, "Ya think you're good enough for me, boy? You're gonna have to wait and see, boy." I am laughter personified.
We allow ourselves ten minutes for serious composing. John's waking lines make the cut. So, here is what American Tina tells her Punjabi admirer:
Think you're good enough for me?
You're gonna have to wait and see.
You're tellin' me that I'm beautiful,
But what's that mean to me?
You're gonna have to make me want you,
If you wanna get close to me.
You're gonna have to make me need you,
If you know what I mean....
(I'm not sure that I know what she means.... and how do you like the rhymes: me, see, -ful, me, you, me, you, mean?)
So, after breakfast, Manprit arrives. We show him our composition, hum the melody (three notes, total--we add a fourth later on). I am wrinkling my nose. Manprit says "great, sounds good, let's do it." I must still be in denial that I said I would try to compose, sing and record a pop song. After all, my voice has just come back from laryngitis, I still have a sore throat, and green snot is clogging my sinuses all the way to my ears.
Nevertheless, we proceed. John is my coach. He has to keep reminding me that the melody only has four notes--why do I keep adding more? But how does a Spanish folk singer sing a digitized pop song? How not to quaver my voice? Manprit keeps telling me to stop tapping my foot. We pause the session for someone to turn off their car alarm in the parking lot below.
An hour goes by. I am sweating nervous sweat. Finally it is done--the songline, the harmony, both, even though my voice persists in cracking on the last note. "No problem," says Manprit. "I'll cut that part off."
He edits it. It manages to sound vaguely professional--enough that I raise my eyebrows. Manprit promises to send us a copy when the CD comes out.
But let this be my first and last foray into the world of pop music production.....
