Chad Taylor
14 hrs · Edited ·

I had this bizarre dream, I was laying on my back surrounded by lush green fields. I could hear Ed, Chad and Patrick but I couldn't see them. I could only see bright blue skies and these huge power cables running over head. The electromagnetic field created by the lines was so strong that it made all of the hair on my body stand up. I wanted to go join the guys but I couldn't move. I tried hard to hear what they were saying but the power cables were making this loud hum. As the hum got louder it masked their voices. I stopped listening for the guys and focused in on the electric power cables. It was like they were talking to me. The hum was a near grinding sound that oscillated ever so slightly. I woke up from the dream and wrote a note to myself, "high tension power lines."

Later that week, I thought I was alone in our rehearsal space above an old futon shop in downtown Lancaster. Ed left the studio to run for some coffee and I turned on my old Fender amp. I set the volume as loud as it would go, clicked on the reverb and vibrato and slowly began to move my left hand. I needed to see if I could make my guitar and amp sound like the noise I heard in my dream. I pressed down hard with my left hand, slowly grinding the strings until I heard something close to the electromagnetic hum of those power lines. Trying as hard as I could to keep the tension, I found a series of notes that pushed and pulled like the oscillating noise.

I knew it was special, and I was afraid to stop playing it for fear I'd forget how I was doing it. I hoped that Ed would return from his break so he could at least his record the noise on the tape deck. The door to the studio suddenly opened and Ed said, "whatever you do, don't stop playing that." He turned on a small guitar amplifier and plugged his microphone into it. The amp and mic squealed with feedback but rather than try and stop the noise, Ed squealed right along with it. The first words I heard him sing were "be here, now". At this point, I thought we were channeling some higher connection and we both felt it. Don't stop I thought.

And with that Ed sang what I thought was "when all that is left to do, is reflect on what's been done...this is where sadness breaths...the sadness of everyone". I'm mean, like exactly that way. A magical shaman, a lyrical statement to define this feeling. Now I'm really getting excited and I just start naturally speeding up the small push and pull of the chords. As I get faster, the more Ed sings along, almost emulating the feedback. We've been holding on this one chord for maybe ten minutes and like water about to crest over the dam, it's going to break apart, and it finally does! It's a big open E chord followed by a G and then right back to the tension... I mean lets GO!

Harder, faster, feedback, yelling, the vibrato on the amp is going as fast as it can and finally, it crashes like a massive wave on the shores of some beach. It's blissful and perfect and Ed and I swear that we won't let Dahlheimer and Gracey hear it until we get to the studio. For some reason we knew it would be better if we saved it until the perfect moment.

Turned out that Ed never left for coffee. He was sitting in the stairwell singing along with me. He knew to just let me go and when I was just about to stop, is when he jumped in. It's luck but it's also fate and it's why Ed and I were so fortunate to have each other at that time in our lives.

Wally, (Kurt Heasley of Lilys) one of Ed's musician friends, dropped by later that night. We asked him to jam with us on drums. Ed requested we play the new one, and we told Wally to just keep making the tempo speed up. Wally wasn't much of a drummer but he felt it too. "We took the dead man in sheets to the river"....the same tension and release was happening again. It was like surfing the perfect musical wave.

I believe that the very first time Dahlheimer and Gracey played the song was when we recorded the album version for Throwing Copper. I know there was no demo other than the recording we made with Wally which must be in our music vault. Possibly we played the song in concert?

We booked a great studio located in the back woods of Minnesota. Many of the songs on Throwing Copper were already recorded. We kept waiting for the perfect moment to record the track, and it finally came when we saw a huge storm brewing over Cannon Falls.

We told Jerry Harrison to get ready to record a new song. This caught him off guard, and he wanted to know the title. Ed told him it was a song he hadn't heard; it was called "Dam At Otter Creek". I told Jerry it was going to open the album (pretty sure he laughed at that). Our engineer, Lou Giordano put the machine in record as Gracey and Dahlheimer took their positions. I told the guys, "we're going to play the one that goes faster and faster." What's amazing is that the boys in a matter of minutes crafted those incredible parts. Their only guidelines being a few basic chords and the orders to get faster throughout the entire song. I distinctly recall Gracey telling Lou to put a ton of reverb on the kick drum for the opening. Maybe he thought of this in the moment? I honestly can't remember.

Matt Gracey turned out all the lights in the studio as the dark night skies began to fill with lightning. Thankfully, the studio had huge windows that allowed the band to see this incredible display. I held my fingers on the seventh fret of my guitar, kicked on my amplifiers and an old Leslie speaker and started to make my guitar sound like the power lines in my dream. The rest is purely documented on the album. I swear that we were watching lightning bolts slash across the sky when Gracey played the first snare/kick drum fill! One take, one moment of bliss that really set the stage for Throwing Copper and the musical highs and lows that would follow. I'm pretty sure we wanted to play a second take but Jerry
Harrison told us not to. One take performances are special, and although we might have done it differently, we would never do it the same.