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,” and “Variety of Voices.”
The Singularity represents a collaboration with more than thirty guests, drawn from across rock, pop, metal, folk, and classical music. After having written most songs in 2019, and picked up several incredible guest vocalists, by the summer of 2020, it was time to enter full production and replace all my sequenced samples with live performances. I hoped to assemble a roster of remarkable instrumentalists to lay down the foundation for this ambitious rock record. But, I had no idea of the adventure that lay ahead for me!
THE ATOMIC CLOCK
Our recording process began with the most time-money-and-labor-intensive aspect of record production: tracking drums. Getting the drums right on The Singularity was a top priority because drums lay the rhythmic and sonic foundation for the rest of the project. I composed this project with one drummer in mind: Gene “The Atomic Clock” Hoglan. Ever since I heard his playing in Dethklok and Strapping Young Lad, I was inspired to channel his energetic sound, especially his supersonic double kick pedal footwork, into my own music.
I met Gene when we recorded my cover of Blue Öyster Cult’s “Godzilla” in 2019, but it was not until 2020 that I got to know him. Knowing his astonishing physical power behind the drums, I was struck by his gentle demeanor, inquisitive nature, and the childlike glee with which he talked about music. I could not understand how this positive, soft-spoken, well-mannered teddy bear of a man could pick up two sticks and turn into an absolute monster of metal behind the drum kit!
I sent Gene early sketches of my songs and did not hear back for a few days. Calling him up, I was shocked to learn he had already been practicing my songs for days and had most of the parts memorized! We spent long phone calls together talking about the project, with plentiful detours into discussions of life and art. Speaking with Gene, I ended every call with a smile. He was so focused on the album that he ended up co-writing “The Automaton’s Heart” with me, contributing heartfelt lyrics to the choruses.
Throughout 2020, Gene rehearsed my demos with methodical dedication, memorizing every pattern and fill. He and I were physically separated, by the pandemic and by living in different cities. Gene shot in-studio rehearsal videos in San Diego and sent them to me regularly, after which we discussed specifics. At first, I was horrified to realize he was learning my exact drum parts! I had written them assuming he would change and improve upon them. Gene, however, felt strongly my drum parts did not require improvement. He emphasized he wanted to find and realize my creative vision for each song, and make sure everything he played was what I wanted it to be. It was surreal to hear a musician speak to me using the same language I use speaking to directors, producers, and filmmakers.
I trusted his instincts. Gene found several physically impossible passages that simultaneously engaged too many drums. Referring to these “octopus parts,” Gene suggested we overdub multiple recorded tracks to recreate my ideas, but I gratefully requested he instead change the parts to make them possible. I was curious to see Gene’s stick gymnastics to master these passages.
In October of 2020, I drove to San Diego for a week of drum tracking. Nearly a year had passed since I’d last set foot in a studio with musicians, and much had changed. Everyone was masked, and we were surrounded by battalions of bottled hand sanitizer. We all kept our distance. When Gene moved alone into the live room, his mask came off and I witnessed, through the glass, his arms and feet flying furiously, tracking over twenty songs. After spending seven months in lockdown and living through a summer of civil unrest across the country with a bitterly divisive election around the corner, I was grateful to be in the familiar safety of a studio with a musician like Gene. The exhilarating energy he brought to my songs took them to higher levels. My creative batteries began to recharge, as my wildest dreams for the project gradually turned into confident convictions.
BASS AND GUITARS
With drums recorded and edited by the end of 2020, my team and I would spend the next three years recording guitars, orchestra, choir, and eclectic instrumental soloists.
I enlisted bassist Bryan Beller, whose bombastic sound I knew blended with Gene’s drums from my favorite Dethklok albums. Bryan had always been supportive of my album, having just completed his own concept album. I frequently turned to him for advice and encouragement during my early creative stages. I was impressed by the quality of the bass tracks he produced for my music, striking a perfect balance between heavy tone and tight articulation.
I wrote a few of the album’s bass parts specifically for my longtime friend and Oingo Boingo bassist, John Avila. I’d known John for years, and had deep respect for him as a friend, a musician, and record producer. I was thrilled to hear his iconic distorted slap sound in mischievous riffs in “The Automaton’s Heart,” the virtuosic introduction to “Rage Child,” the playfully upbeat “Syzygy,” and the intricate slap bass solo in “Escape from the Machines.”
No rock record is complete without guitars, and for The Singularity I wanted as wide a range of personalities as I had with vocalists. Most rhythm electric guitars were tracked by three musicians. I was thrilled to work with Mike Keneally, the renowned guitarist who has worked with Frank Zappa, among dozens of other iconic artists. I met Laura Christine through her husband, Gene Hoglan, and was blown away by the tightness in her playing. Omer Ben-Zvi, who has been on my composing team at Sparks & Shadows for a decade, revealed himself to be one of the greatest metal guitarists I have ever met.
These three guitarists formed the primary bedrock of rhythm guitars on The Singularity. Each brought something unmistakable. Mike’s tone offered a classic rock and metal sensibility. Omer’s approach felt modern, infused with nearly superhuman accuracy. Laura’s distinct tone brought more swagger. Realizing the diversity of their strengths, I set out to create the same blended feeling in rhythm guitars that I experienced in symphonic music when different violinists all play the same part together. I tracked most songs with multiple rhythm guitarists. Each song became a delicate balancing act in the mix, where the focus in the rhythm guitar parts could shift subtly from one player to another, depending on creative needs.
With this core trio covering most of the album’s rhythm guitar needs, I was excited to work with others on particular songs because their unique styles could augment each song’s narrative. I was thrilled to record once again with my friend Scott Ian, from Anthrax, whose iconic classic metal tone energizes “Midnight Sun” and “Tatarigami.”
I collaborated with the brilliant Ben Weinman, of the Dillinger Escape Plan, to craft twisted arpeggiations for the verses of “Last Stop.” I was fortunate to work with Italian progressive guitarist Marco Sfogli on the signature riff in “Redshift.”
Warren Fitzgerald, of the iconic punk band the Vandals as well as Oingo Boingo, brought his quirky voicings to “The Automaton’s Heart” and “Syzygy.” I also worked with Andrew Synoweic, my frequent collaborator on film scores, to craft the album’s acoustic guitar layers.
Together with the top-notch bass and drums tracks, these rhythm guitars gave the record a strong foothold in the rock genre. Though crucial, they were not the only guitars I hoped to record.
SOLOS
Ever since I first heard the soaring lines of Slash’s solo in “November Rain” as a teenager, I have loved lyrical, melodic guitar solos that feel like compositions unto themselves. As I wrote The Singularity, I left moments clear for improvised guitar solos and featured riffs. These needed guitarists with strong personalities.
The first guitarist I reached out to was my dear friend Brendon Small. The creator of the animated comedy Metalocalypse, and its real-life band Dethklok, Brendon was one of the people who inspired me to make The Singularity in the first place. I nervously sent him my collection of instrumental audio demos in late 2019. He was enthusiastic about my wide array of sounds and styles and encouraged me to start writing my own lyrics. I asked him if he would play a guitar solo and was thrilled he agreed. His rippling arpeggios and harmonically inventive lines inject into “Leviathan” a progressive, Dethklok-tinted edge. I can’t imagine The Singularity being complete without Brendon Small on it.
Brendon’s solo inspired me to find more guitarists to feature. In keeping with the philosophy of the record, I wanted to feature a diverse group of soloists to enhance the album’s narrative arc.
SATRIANI
Though I did not play guitar back in 1995 when I first wrote “Escape from the Machines,” I admired amazing guitarists. I was especially blown away by the dexterity I heard from a handful who seemed to exist on another plane, especially Joe Satriani. Returning to “Escape from the Machines” once again in 2019, I expanded it to feature an improvised guitar solo in the middle, hoping to showcase someone with even just a fraction of his skill.
Joe and I connected through a mutual friend. I cannot overstate my giddy joy when he agreed to take part in “Escape from the Machines.” Satriani bursts onto the song like a supernova, and by the song’s climax, creates sounds that I can barely recognize as emanating from a guitar.
SLASH
When I wrote the album’s anthem, “The End of Tomorrow,” I heard echoes of Slash’s solo in “November Rain.” This was the song that decades before had first convinced me that rock music had symphonic potential. Built entirely around a significant guitar line, “The End of Tomorrow” required a guitarist to announce through their tone that the song would take the listener on a journey. Daunted by the pressure to find the right player, I procrastinated recording. After finishing basically everything else on the entire album, in late 2022 I finally reached out to Slash through a mutual friend, sent him the song, and he agreed to play on it.
Slash and I collaborated initially via email, while he was on tour with Guns N’ Roses in South America. “‘Epic’ is the perfect word for it,” he wrote. “It’s really fn killer. I love the melody, the verse, chorus and the arrangement is fantastic. Can’t get the riff out of my head.” Slash and I discussed what we hoped the guitar part would accomplish in the ambitious song, and he practiced it in his downtime.
Walking into Slash’s recording studio a few months later, in early January 2023, I found myself surrounded by pinball machines, monster memorabilia, vintage horror movie posters, and yes, dozens of guitars. I found Slash and his engineer in the control room, already dialing in the right sound. I grabbed a seat next to him and we started working on the song together.
We immediately hit it off—I felt like we’d been making music together for years. We were in sync on so many ideas that we frequently finished each other’s sentences. I spent nearly seven hours working with Slash on “The End of Tomorrow,” without taking a break. I had met a kindred spirit, and a fellow musician with my same work ethic! Only as I drove home did I actually absorb the surreal notion that I had just recorded with one of my musical heroes.
BUCK
In the first week of June 2019, I was driving down Olympic Boulevard in Santa Monica when my assistant called. “Bear … Buck Dharma is on the line for you.” I was shocked, and assumed she was messing with me: Buck Dharma, the lead singer and guitarist from one of my favorite progressive rock bands of the 1970s and 1980s, Blue Öyster Cult, was calling me? Days earlier, Godzilla: King of the Monsters had opened in theaters around the world, and for the end credits of the film, I worked with System of a Down’s Serj Tankian and members of Dethklok to produce a heavy-metal-taiko-orchestral hybrid cover of the classic Blue Öyster Cult song “Godzilla.”
I pulled the car to the side of the road and suddenly was speaking with Buck, aka Donald Roeser, the man who had written and performed “Don’t Fear the Reaper,” among many of my favorite songs. He told me how much he loved my interpretation of his song, and that after more than forty years, he had long given up that his “Godzilla” anthem would ever end up in a Godzilla movie. Though he lived in Maryland, Buck and I chatted frequently and became good friends. I was honored he agreed to take part in The Singularity.
“Tears for the Dead Life” was an experimental song I co-wrote with Morgan Sorne, a visionary artist and vocalist who is able to multitrack and transform his voice into layers of meditative, haunting arrangements. Our song ended with a massive jam session, where enigmatic vocal chants echoed over lush orchestral strings and a gently insistent backing track inspired by 1970s rock. Buck agreed to solo over it. His guitar takes time to emerge from the darkness of the song, with his opening riffs drawing attention without boasting. As the song builds intensity, Buck managed to soar to the foreground and yet consistently left room for Morgan’s chanting lyrics—pure rock magic.
I had originally placed “Tears for the Dead Life” earlier in the album order. However, now with Buck Dharma’s iconic guitar tone entering at the end, I struggled to find a song that could follow it. I moved “Tears for the Dead Life” to the end of the sequence. I quickly realized that Buck’s solo was not only the perfect climax for the song but for the entire record. I was moved to tears the first time I heard the files he sent from his studio in Maryland. Memories of listening to Blue Öyster Cult as a teenager flooded into my mind.
EXPANDING THE ROSTER
I loved the evocative groove of “Type III” so much that I extended the solo section at the song’s heart to last a full minute. I would need to find a very special guitarist to hold our interest for that long—I immediately thought of Guthrie Govan. Celebrated as one of the best improvising guitarists alive today, I first heard Guthrie play in a packed show at the Roxy in Los Angeles with his power trio the Aristocrats, just before he burst onto the world stage playing with Hans Zimmer. My bass player Bryan Beller, one third of the Aristocrats, graciously made the introduction. I was thrilled when Guthrie agreed to bring his unique musicality to the solo in “Type III.” His lyrical solo functions almost as its own symphonic work at the center of the operatic song. His gorgeous tone perfectly complements Rufus Wainwright’s velvety vocal.
I yearned for a guitarist from outside the metal world who could add personality and color. Brendon Small suggested his friend Kim Thayil, from the groundbreaking alternative band Soundgarden, and I lit up. I have always adored Kim’s playing and consider him one of the most influential guitarists of the 1990s. His sound on “Black Hole Sun” is so iconic that most guitar effects processors have a patch named after it! Kim and I are both from the Pacific Northwest and we hit it off immediately, chatting for hours about comic books, science fiction. We have remained friends ever since. I enjoy grabbing dinner in Seattle with him and watching people around him light up. Clearly, many feel about his music the way I do. Kim contributed brilliant arpeggiated colors to “Antikythera Mechanism,” but his wah-pedal-laden melodic guitar solo in “First Day Out” truly stands out. Every time I hear the song, I can’t believe that the guitarist on “Black Hole Sun” is on my record!
“Rage Child” breaks from standard song form by turning what feels like a bridge into an extended outro in a new meter. I envisioned a guitar solo here that would grow increasingly chaotic. I was excited to collaborate with Nili Brosh, a brilliant guitarist I had seen with several of my favorite acts, including Dethklok and Danny Elfman. Nili is a methodical improviser who likes to craft her solos to perfection. My brother, Brendan, and I challenged her to do the opposite here—to play a solo as spontaneously as possible, striving to never repeat ideas while veering away from typical licks and riffs. Nili trusted us, diving into take after take of musical madness. The end result was so joyously insane that I decided to fade the band and orchestra out, so the song ends only with pounding taiko drums beneath Nili’s screaming bends.
I knew I wanted to feature my longtime friend Steve Bartek of Oingo Boingo, and I wrote “The Automaton’s Heart” with his musical personality in mind. Steve brought his frantic new-wave sound to the song’s solo section, creating a brilliantly paranoid melody that oscillates between jagged turns and fluid lines.
Also one of the album’s primary rhythm guitarists, Omer Ben-Zvi is a composer at Sparks & Shadows who has worked with me for more than a decade, writing additional music for various film, television, and video game scores. Though I knew he could play guitar, his quiet demeanor belied his true talent. In early 2020, I asked Omer to record placeholder guitar solos on “Industrial Revolution,” “Antikythera Mechanism,” and “Last Stop.” I was utterly gobsmacked by the tracks he sent back. His incredible solos could not possibly be placeholders! Indeed, they could not be replaced. Only then did I realize what a truly spectacular guitarist Omer was. (When we later began performing The Singularity together live, his talents would impress me even more.)
Having started this record by recording a guitarist for the first time in my life on a summer afternoon in 1995, I approached the end of production on The Singularity realizing the roster of instrumentalists had exceeded my wildest dreams!
—Bear
