On August 28, 1982, the final voice track of the first Saints album was completed. The next day, the dubbing and mixing began.
The band was asked to redo individual portions of the songs a ten-second section of guitar here, a twenty-second portion of drums there, a piano part somewhere else, a bit of lead or backing vocal somewhere still. Each of these dubs required an average of fifteen to twenty takes before the techs were satisfied it was right.
In addition, they did a multitude of overdubs. Overdubs were extra instrumental tracks, usually guitars, laid over the existing music to make it blend smoother and sound better on tape.
Jake, Bill, and especially Matt had been vehemently opposed to this at first.
"The Saints is a five-person band," Matt had protested. "You're suggesting we add another rhythm guitar over a song. That's more than five! That's not how we do things."
"That is how we do things," Acardio told them flatly. "And since you're under contract with us, you'll do whatever the hell we tell you to do. If we want you to put a fucking polka accordion track in one of your songs, you'll do it. If you don't, you're in breach of contract. Got it?"
They got it. They didn't like it, but they got it. They performed the overdubs when they were told to, and when they got to the mixing process, everyone except Matt — who remained a stern traditionalist on the subject — had to admit the overdubs added quite a bit to the recording, giving it a smoother, more radio-friendly sound.
"We won't be able to reproduce it live though," Matt said. "Don't you guys understand that?"
Jake figured Matt was overexaggerating. The overdubs were noticeable to professional musicians and sound techs, sure, but most of the people buying the albums and going to concerts wouldn't care. Jake himself had never noticed such things before, and it had never stopped him from enjoying a show.
In any case, the discussion was meaningless. Acardio was right. They were required to do what they were told.
The mixing process, which went on in conjunction with the overdubbing and re-dubbing, was the very definition of tedious. Day after day, for hours at a time, the sound techs would listen to each individual track of each song and blend them together piece by piece.
Their perfectionism and anal-retentiveness about the process was agonizing and made Bill's own meticulousness during soundchecks seem like haste in comparison.
Only Bill found the process anything but boring. He was fascinated, spending as much time with the techs as he could, asking hundreds of questions, listening to hundreds of nuances through the headphones, and learning the basics of a skill he would one day master.
On October 2, 1982, at long last, the mixing, dubbing, overdubbing, and re-dubbing were declared complete. The end result was put on a master tape. The Saints' first album was finished and then copied onto another tape. That tape was sent to the manufacturer for production.
"They're going to run off one hundred thousand copies to start with," Shaver told them the following week, as they sat in their bi-monthly meeting. As usual, he'd treated them to a few lines of his Bolivian flake and a round of Chivas and Coke. "In addition, they're going to run off about thirty thousand singles of Descent Into Nothing. That'll be the first track they push. A few thousand copies will go to radio stations all over the country, mostly in the bigger markets. National's promotion department is already talking to their contacts, and they'll start playing Descent even before the album and singles hit the stores."
"So we'll be on the radio soon?" Matt asked.
"Probably within the next three weeks," Shaver said.
"I can't fuckin' wait to hear us on the radio, dudes," Darren said wistfully. He'd helped himself to a double dose of cocaine and was working on his third Chivas and Coke. "That's gonna be badass."
"Indeed it will," Shaver said. "The tentative release date for the album and the single is December 7. I expect it'll do well as long as the radio stations play it often. Descent is a catchy tune and people will love it once they hear it."
"Yeah," Jake muttered, a little sourly. He didn't much care for one of his songs — the lyrics and melody of which came from his deepest emotions — being called "a catchy tune."
"When it starts selling, they'll press more albums and singles. Then they'll release the next single, which will be Who Needs Love? But long before that happens, you boys will be going out on tour. We're already talking over the details."
"Oh yeah?" Matt asked, his ears perking up. "What do you mean?"
Shaver smiled and took a sip of his Coke-less Chivas. "Well, it just so happens that one of my other clients, Earthstone, is releasing an album mid-November. Acardio and I believe it would be beneficial if you went out as their opening band."
"Earthstone," Matt said in awe. "You mean… The Earthstone. Richie Valentine and Brad Winston. That Earthstone?"
Earthstone was a favorite band of all the Saints. They were solid musicians and good lyricists, hindered only by the fact that many of their tunes were too long for radio airplay.
"Those are my boys," Shaver confirmed. "I discovered them, you know. Just like I discovered you. This will be their fourth album. We're calling it Losing Proposition. Some damn catchy tunes on this one. I'm hoping it's their first platinum cut."
"So, we'll be on the Losing Proposition tour?" Jake asked, wondering if the name was prophetic.
Shaver laughed. "It's just a name. You boys like Earthstone? They're great guys. You'll love touring with them. They really know how to party."
NTV Television Studios, Los AngelesOctober 25, 1982
The video producer was Norman Rutger. He was fifty but, thanks to multiple plastic surgeries on multiple parts of his body, looked like an artificial thirty-five. He was a flamboyant, lecherous Hollywood cliché who came equally onto any man or woman who crossed his path. He sniffed constantly, dressed like a trendy insider, and did not like being questioned.
"I can't work with these people, Maxie!" Rutger cried dramatically to Acardio. "How dare they question my choice of clothing. How dare they question my imagery!"
The band fumed as they watched this tantrum. Matt, acting as spokesman, attempted a rare display of diplomacy.
"Look, Max," he said, holding up the clothing in question. "We're not trying to be insulting, it's just that we don't wear stuff like this. I mean, leather pants? And red ones at that? We wear jeans on stage. Old, faded jeans and T-shirts. They're comfortable and that's the image we want to project."
"Not anymore you don't," Acardio said without hesitation. "Leather pants are in and that's what you're going to wear, both in the video and on tour."
"I'm not wearing any fuckin' leather pants on tour!" Darren interjected.
"You'll wear whatever the hell we tell you to wear," Acardio shot back, glaring at Darren and making him look away. "If we want you dressed in a goddamn tutu with crotchless panties and your dingus hanging out and flapping in the breeze, that's what you'll wear."
Darren's fists clenched, but he said nothing.
"Look," Jake said, stepping up. "The clothes are one thing. I suppose we can live with leather pants if we have to. But all this satanic imagery you're putting in this video. What is up with that?"
"It's the theme of the video," Acardio said, rolling his eyes. "Are you so dumb you don't realize that? Satanism sells! Look at Black Sabbath, Ozzy Osbourne, Iron Maiden. We're shooting a video called Descent Into Nothing. A perfect opportunity to inject a Satanist image into the band. It's not overt, of course. We just show you descending further and further toward a dark and flame-ridden place with each scene. What possible problem could you have with that?"
"Well… that's not what the song is about," Jake said. "Descent is about the struggles of growing up, about leaving childhood behind, about the disillusionment of becoming an adult. It has nothing to do with Satanism."
Max rolled his eyes again. "Nobody gives a fuck what you think the song is about."
"What I think? I wrote it. I'm pretty fucking sure that's what it's about!"
Max waved him off. "Videos about the struggles of growing up don't sell albums, and that's what we're here to do. Now I've had about as much of this shit as I'm going to take from you punks. Norman is producing this video and you are employees of National Records. You will do exactly what he tells you to do. Is that clear?"
It was clear.
It took almost a week of ten-hour days, but they shot the video. They did what they were told, like good National Records employees.