Don Smith
by peterhimmelman on Sep.27, 2010, under Musings from Peter
Don Smith
August 1987. Calabasas, California.
I’m driving to the San Fernando Valley to meet an engineer who’s in the running to mix my new record. A guy with dark skin and an Afro greets me at the front door. He’s not black though, more like Polynesian or Indian. He puts on a record by the Eurhythmics that he’s just mixed. It sounds great and what really endears me to him is the way he holds his daughter on his lap the whole time we’re listening.
We meet next at a recording studio in Nashville. Since I’ve recently become an Observant Jew, I’m unable to join Don in the control room until after the Sabbath ends. On Saturday evening in the parking lot, Don and I scan the sky for the three stars, which will signal a return to the workweek. With a Tiparillo in the corner of his lips he mumbles,
“I’m not sayin’ this isn’t a little odd, but it sure beats looking for three grams of blow for Stevie Nicks.”
The next night Don is running through the bushes outside the studio. All I can make out is his shadow and the glow of his cigar.
“I’m catching fireflies to send back to my kids in LA Fed Ex,” he says.
Now it’s spring 2008 and the record business, as we knew it is almost finished. I’ve just completed a new CD and I decide to call Don to see if he’d be interested in working on it. Don who’s worked with Tom Petty, The Rolling Stones, and U2 agrees. He’s completely absorbed by the process, forever bopping his head in time to the music as he works out the details of the mix.
Less than a year later, Don Smith is dead. At the memorial service the room is filled with over 300 musicians, sound engineers, and loved ones.
“Don had the best ears in the world,” one says.
“He took me into his home even though I was a heroin addict” says another.
“The man gave me hope when I had none.”
Now after the memorial as I sit in my car, I feel I’ve lost someone irreplaceable. Don was a devout believer in the awesome power of music. He made me feel like I counted for something and that all my dreams were still possible.
