7th Grade Personal Essay

by Corban Rosspencer

Wabash St., which was normally packed with cars during the daylight hours, had now gone silent. My window was closed, but the blinds gave way to several well-lit houses across the street. I could tell that a breeze was making its way down the avenue by the tilt of the Chinese Pistache tree in the front yard. I was in my room, writing what my friends call a ‘late-night hit’, staring outside at the occasional passing car or truck. My watch beeped, alerting me that it was 11:00 PM now. I sighed. The sun that had governed the sky until 7:45 was long gone, and the moon was well on its way across the starry horizon. I was definitely a night owl, but I probably wasn’t supposed to be up this late.

I had been in my studio for almost two hours straight. My only companions were my computer, the keyboard, my headphones, and a half-empty can of Arizona Sweet Tea that I had been slowly draining as time passed. I had written over four pages of lyrics, only to delete three of them and keep the best. My mixing board was dominating my computer screen, with 9 live loops running at the same time. I was completely lost in my work. I moved tracks around, setting them on different counts to enter and exit the song. I moved the beat up to measure 5 before deciding it was better to enter on measure 9. The piano would come in on measure 17, and then the original synthesizer would exit until measure 65. The bass would run throughout the song. As I wrote the lyrics and melodies, I changed the key to match what my voice could do. It went from C to B flat and eventually settled at B. I leaned back in my chair, completely unaware that my grandpa had been watching me work for almost five minutes.

He put his hand on my shoulder, and I spun around in the chair, taking a large breath in when I realized that it was him. I ducked my head, embarrassed that I had gotten so worked up over something so small. I quickly glanced at the clock above me. 11:15. I turned to him immediately and said, “Sorry.”

My grandpa laughed. “What are you saying sorry for? I used to do the exact same thing.” He continued to tell me how he was once in a semi-famous band that nobody listened to anymore. He’d stay in the recording studio hours after the other members had left, perfecting every track. I listened with giddy interest. He told me how they used to mix their tracks without any digital aid, and how hard it was. Slowly, he settled into the chair next to me, and I unplugged my headphones. I hooked up the computer to the Bluetooth speaker above us and played the track. My grandpa listened carefully and then asked if he could edit the song a little bit. Uncertainly, I said, “Um, what are you going to do?”

He only laughed. “Don’t worry.” He then opened up my bass track and started messing with the EQ. I watched his every move, making sure I knew what he was doing, and how to undo it, just in case. He switched up the treble and mid, which ‘opened’ the bass up. It made it brighter, more alive. He played it back to me, and I nodded, wondering why I hadn’t thought of that. Next, he moved on to my synthesizer.

“Can I see the lyrics you wrote?” he asked. I grimaced. I didn’t like showing people what I’d written. Seeing the expression on my face, he nodded and let out a dramatic sigh. “Um, okay… hmm, uh… what is this song about?” Seeing the skeptical look on my face, he hurriedly added, “It’s just that the lyrics should match the sound of the song. You know?” I nodded. He continued. “Is this, like, a happy song? Or a sad song? Is it like a love song or…”

“It’s a happy song,” I said with a grin.

He smiled back. “Perfect,” he said. He showed me how to turn up ‘stage’ set, which is a feature that I’d never heard of. He explained what it did. “It acts like a set for a stage. The set on the stage shapes the show. The lead synth should set the mood of your song.” He turned it up, and then pulled it back down to about 3 dB. I listened, impressed.

“Now, you have a try,” he said. “EQ, the, uhh… EQ the pad.” My grandpa tapped the pad synth, and I looked nervously at it, and then opened up the effects. I found the EQ section and then decided to turn up the treble. That made the pad a little bit higher than it was, and it made the enter song sound a bit brighter, if that was possible. I grinned at it, and then turned to him. He smiled back, and said, “I’ll leave you to it.” He proceeded to walk out of the room. I called, “Thank you!” down the hall, and then turned back to my work.

I learned from this that you should always listen to the older people in your community. Well, most of the time. They are knowledgeable, experienced, and they have good advice, not just for music. What would have happened if I’d never let my grandpa help me? My song wouldn’t have been nearly as good. I feel like the elderly are much more valuable than society gives them credit for. They are like walking gold mines of wisdom. Who knows what you might learn when you start a conversation with one?