In this series of blogs, I chronicle my path bringing The Singularity to life as a rock album, graphic novel, and concert experience. My previous blogs can be found here: “Discovering Metal,” “Writing the Record,” “Variety of Voices” and “Instrumentalists.”
Amidst the diverse and eclectic roster of phenomenal musicians I was fortunate to collaborate with on The Singularity, the playful tones of guitarists Steve Bartek and Warren Fitzgerald, and the frenetic energy of bassist John Avila, stand apart. I discovered these musicians from the first band I ever became a fan of, Oingo Boingo. Collectively, these men only appear on four songs, however their distinct new wave and punk flourishes contribute a unique sonic signature to the album. Their influence, and the influence of their fellow Oingo Boingo bandmates including drummer Johnny “Vatos” Hernandez, keyboardist Doug Lacy, and saxophonist Sam “Sluggo” Phipps, on my creative life and personal life was profound. Meeting them was a major step towards the path that brought me to The Singularity.
DISCOVERING ROCK
I was a weird kid. From age five, I listened exclusively to film music. I was obsessed with the epic, cinematic, emotional tones I heard in scores and never gave pop, rock, or hip hop a second thought. I was thirteen when I learned that one of my favorite film composers, Danny Elfman, had a rock band, Oingo Boingo. Intrigued, I went to the local record store and spent all my cash on their albums. Instead, of cinematic tones, I was shocked to hear a hybrid of new wave, West African high life, Cab Calloway, punk, goth, ska, and circus riffs. Yet, in this hectic stylistic mishmash, I recognized Elfman’s distinct musical personality from his film music. I immediately noticed the contributions of other members of the band, including Steve Bartek’s frenetic guitar solos, Warren Fitzgerald’s gritty punk rhythm guitars, John Avila’s virtuosic slap bass, Johnny “Vatos” Hernandez’s impeccable drum precision, and Doug Lacy’s wheezy accordion.
I realized rock music could be every bit as expressive as film music – big, emotional, expressive. I set out to discover what else I had missed in the genre and quickly fell in love with the catalogs of Queen, Pink Floyd, Guns N’ Roses, and more.
FAREWELL
By age sixteen, I was a card-carrying member of the Oingo Boingo Fan Club, with posters on my wall and every album in constant rotation. In the summer of 1995, I was shocked to read in a fan club newsletter that Oingo Boingo was about to break up, after one last “Farewell” tour. I had only one remaining chance to ever see the band live! I begged my mom to fly us down to California to see Oingo Boingo. She grimaced looking at the dates: I would have to miss the PSAT exams. This exam was a component in applying for the scholarships my family desperately needed to send me to college. My mom knew it would be reckless and irresponsible for her son to skip this test, potentially jeopardizing his college future, just to see a rock concert. My mother made the right decision – she agreed to take us to see Oingo Boingo. (My academic career would survive – I earned scholarships to attend the USC School of Music in Los Angeles, helped in part by a letter of recommendation from legendary film composer Elmer Bernstein, but that is another story!)
On a brisk October night, 1995, in Southern California, my younger brother Brendan and I stood transfixed for three hours as Oingo Boingo performed over two dozen songs we knew by heart. Watching Danny Elfman prowl the stage barefoot, I was thrilled to see one of my film composing heroes in the flesh. Steve Bartek’s signature solos danced over Warren Fitzgerald’s grinding rhythm parts. As John Avila bounced across the stage, Doug Lacy squeezed his accordion dressed as a creepy clown, and the Mexican skull on Vatos’ kick drumhead throbbed with each beat. After the concert, I sat, dazed, in the packed parking lot as my mom struggled to navigate our rental car to the highway. I turned to her and proclaimed “Next to life itself, this is the best thing you have ever done for me.”
I sometimes wonder how my sixteen-year-old self would have responded in that moment, if I had been told that the next time most of those musicians would play together would be just a few years later in a recording session with me, performing my original music. I think my heart would have stopped!
CHANCE MEETINGS
Two years after that concert, I was fortunate to begin my studies in music composition at the renowned USC School of Music. In my first week in Los Angeles, I sought out accordion advice from Oingo Boingo keyboardist Doug Lacy. Hanging out at his home studio, I played him “Escape from the Machines,” the first song I ever wrote and recorded a live musician on. Doug and I became close friends over the years.
Just after graduating USC, I began dating an incredible singer and songwriter I had met in school, Raya Yarbrough. On our first date, she wanted me to bring her to an event out in Malibu. I got my car washed and picked her up. On the long, winding drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, I played her my favorite Oingo Boingo albums. This might not be the sexiest thing to do on a first date, but I suppose somehow I knew that any woman who dated me had to be able to listen to this band. Might as well rip the band-aid off, right?
We drove to the remote Wright Ranch in Malibu for an outdoor performance featuring the Earth Harp: lengthy electric wires run up the side of a steep hill strummed like a harp. From afar, I spotted a large mohawked man with a pyramid on his head in the crowd – I instantly recognized Johnny “Vatos” Hernandez, the drummer from Oingo Boingo! Gasping, I struggled (and failed) to keep my cool in front of Raya. Collecting myself, we approached Vatos, who proved to be every bit as gregarious as I could have hoped. He invited us to see his band, CID, play in Pasadena, in which he played with fellow Oingo Boingo alum John Avila. The next weekend, I found myself with Raya having beers at the Old Towne Pub, watching Avila and Vatos rock out no more than five feet from our table.
A few days later, through a connection from Doug, I met Oingo Boingo guitarist Steve Bartek at his home studio, as he was auditioning new assistants. I didn’t get the job. However, I boldly took the opportunity to ask him if he would play guitar on a student film I was writing. To my delight and shock, Steve agreed.
Strange cosmic forces were seemingly at work, drawing me to meet so many members of my favorite band at the same time I met the love of my life, and began playing in bands with my brother. I was suddenly surrounded by people who would have a profound impact on my life and music for decades to come.
SESSIONS WITH FRIENDS
I could not resist the temptation to ask these guys to play on my little scoring projects. I may never fully understand what compelled Bartek, Avila, Doug and Vatos to make music with a kid like me, but they contributed their talents to my music for student short films, songs, demos and musicals. Johnny “Vatos” Hernandez and I snuck his drum kit into a classroom at USC on a chilly November evening in 2002 to record drums on a new version of “Escape from the Machines.” Doug Lacy played accordion in my final composition recital. For his daughter’s debut album John Avila asked me to arrange orchestra and conduct one of my favorite songs from his band Food For Feet. Steve Bartek picked up his vintage 1938 Epiphone Emperor guitar to expertly impersonate Django Reinhardt’s distinct rhythmic parts on my French-inspired score for an animated student film. Steve would later tell me that he had walked away from guitar playing entirely after those final Oingo Boingo concerts, working predominantly as an orchestrator, and that he credited me for rekindling his passion for playing the instrument.
After university, as my scoring career took off, I brought the Oingo Boingo rhythm section to as many projects as I could. They played on Battlestar Galactica, including on my Indian-folk-metal-taiko hybrid of Bob Dylan’s “All Along the Watchtower.” Avila’s slap bass ricocheted across my first videogame score, Dark Void, and he sang on my haunting arrangement of the Mexican folk classic “La Llarona” for Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. Members of Oingo Boingo showed up frequently on my scores for The Walking Dead, MARVEL’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Defiance, Eureka, and delightfully campy low-budget horror films.
My family and I performed with the Boingo lads frequently. Steve Bartek became a full-time member of several of my brother’s bands, in which I frequently played keyboards as well. He produced the self-titled debut album for my wife, Raya Yarbrough. Avila, Bartek and Vatos joined my Battlestar Galactica ensemble for increasingly ambitious concerts. Brendan, Raya and I regularly attended summer jam sessions at Steve’s house. When Vatos reunited most of the original band under the moniker Oingo Boingo Former Members, I played keyboards and conducted my new string arrangements, while Raya sang backing vocals. Brendan employed his stunning range to reinterpret all of Elfman’s vocals. Though Raya and I eventually stepped back from the band before our daughter was born, Brendan continued on, singing with Oingo Boingo Former Members for more years than Danny Elfman sang with the band’s original incarnation.
The rhythm section of Oingo Boingo became like my second family and have remained so for over twenty years. I learned much from them about being in a band, record production, songwriting, and balancing a life in music. They played at our wedding, when Raya and I got married in 2010. Steve Bartek was one of my groomsmen, and we held the ceremony at the Wright Ranch in Malibu, the same gorgeous outdoor site where Raya and I went on our first date and met Vatos.
SLAP THAT BASS
As I wrote the bulk of The Singularity in 2019, I knew I wanted to find opportunities to showcase the remarkable talent of my friends in Oingo Boingo.
I started by asking John Avila to bring his unforgettable slap bass tone to “Sygyzy,” “Rage Child,” and “The Automaton’s Heart.” I had written these songs with him in mind.
As I am not a bass player (nor was I even a guitar player at that time) I had no idea how incredibly difficult my main bass riff on “Rage Child” was to play. After I sent John the files, he called and I immediately heard concern in his voice. He said he couldn’t figure out how to make the riff sound right, because the last leap was so immense. I laughed as I told him the riff was at least partially his fault – I had grown up writing crazy bass lines inspired by what I heard him playing in Oingo Boingo! I assured him he could change the riff as needed, but I could hear the determination return to his voice when he assured me he’d figure it out. He did not disappoint. A few days later he called back to say he had it! He realized he needed to play the part on a six-string electric bass in order to pull it off. It was tricky, but it worked!
John’s most emotionally significant contribution to The Singularity for me was his slap bass solo in the middle of “Escape from the Machines.” I had written this song as a high school kid back in 1995 and produced a demo using my Yamaha PSR-510 synthesizer and a Tascam 4-Track cassette recorder. Sequencing and quantizing the bass solo on the synthesizer meant I was free from the restrictions of how the notes laid out on an actual bass guitar. Inspired by the kinds of fast leaps I’d heard John achieve on Boingo records, I had unintentionally written a solo that was virtually impossible to play precisely (a fact I gradually learned over the years asking other bass players to approximate it). In all various permutations and performances of “Escape from the Machines,” I had never heard anyone play it the way I heard it in my imagination. I knew if John Avila couldn’t play it, then it truly was impossible. Once again, John did not disappoint. Undaunted by the difficulty, John figured out how to get the rapid, chromatic slapped notes under his fingers. I got chills when I heard his performance, recognizing that my vision for this song was finally coming to fruition.
PUNK ATTITUDE
While most of the guitars on The Singularity showcase an aggressive metal edge, several of the album’s songs called out for a particularly grungy, punk sound. I struggled to imagine exactly what I was thinking of until it finally hit me: Warren Fitzgerald! Though Warren had only been a member of Oingo Boingo in their last couple years, he brought an undeniable instrumental attitude to the band – slightly chaotic, whimsical, mean, and playful all at once. This unique sonic signature probably resulted from his many years playing in one of Los Angeles’ most renowned punk bands, The Vandals.
Warren was one of only a couple members of Oingo Boingo I had never yet met. I hit him up on Facebook and found he was delightfully responsive. I called him up and we chatted for hours, mostly nerding out about visual art, science, and music. He enthusiastically agreed to play guitars on The Singularity. In the summer of 2021, Warren and I got together at one of my favorite studios and tracked rhythm guitars on “Syzygy” and “The Automaton’s Heart.”
“Automaton” laid down beautifully. Warren adapted quickly to the song’s quirky 7/4 meter. “Syzygy,” however, proved to be deceptively difficult. I had written what I thought would be a breezy rock shuffle. However, it turned out that my chord voicings I thought were simple required dexterous stretches from the left hand. Warren was utterly determined to get it right, and focused intently, searching across the neck to figure out how to play what I had imagined. He finally landed on hand positions that would work and we burned through the song.
AUTOMATON SOLO
From the moment I began writing The Singularity, I knew I wanted to feature Steve Bartek on a guitar solo. Steve, one of my favorite guitarists of all time, is at his best when he is unleashed from constraints often provided by rock and pop. He takes the listener into a bizarre new universe, with unmistakable interpretations of rhythm, harmony, and tone.
I wrote “The Automaton’s Heart” with a solo section for Steve and he brought it to vivid life. His melody lines swirl through the track like a snake, alternating between jagged bursts and fluid lines. Harmonically, he dances on the edge of chaos without ever fully losing control of the tonal center. To capture the most colorful sound possible, he recorded his guitar through two unique amplifiers. Steve’s is the only solo on the album to be recorded this way, and the sonic difference is immediate. Hearing Steve perform one of his best solos yet on my original song is made even more meaningful because I also get to hear his fellow bandmates John Avila and Warren Fitzgerald supporting him.
After growing up listening to their music, Steve Bartek, John Avila, Warren Fitzgerald, as well as Johnny “Vatos” Hernandez, Doug Lacy and other members of Oingo Boingo were the first truly professional rock musicians I had ever worked with. Since my expertise was playing keyboards, I really did not appreciate the difficulty in some of the parts I was asking them to play. Their dedication to their craft, and warm patience with a young, inexperienced composer, helped shaped me into the writer and musician I am today.
After seeing Oingo Boingo live in concert for the first and only time back in 1995, I struggled to process the impact of what I had just experienced. Staring out the window as my mom navigated our car through the crowded parking lot, I realized that if my favorite film composer could write epic symphonic music and simultaneously play original rock songs with brilliant instrumentalists, perhaps I could too. The idea to produce my own rock album took hold in my mind, thanks in large part to the influence of Oingo Boingo. Thirty years later, I am filled with gratitude that most of the people on that stage have become my friends, and three of them were able to add their unique musical personalities to The Singularity.
—Bear
