Stepping Into the Spotlight : A producer gives seven veteran backup vocalists a chance to sing out as soloists on their own release during a ‘live’ recording session

I’m never in the spotlight

I’m usually stuck in the back

And you can’t even see me ‘cause they make me dress in black.

I’m a backup singer, baby. . .

Singer-songwriter Marie Cain’s whimsical “Back-up Singer Blues” says it perfectly. After all, it’s not hard to understand why backup singers have the blues when you think about what happened to the folks who worked for Milli Vanilli.

The megastar duo’s fall from grace last year was a startling revelation of deception in the recording studio. But it wasn’t the first, and probably won’t be the last time that extroverted, but minimally talented entertainers have taken advantage of the skills of music professionals.

Earlier this year, producer Jeff Weber decided that it was time to let a few backup singers have their own day in court. He assembled seven veteran performers, whose credits range from Michael Jackson and Madonna to Barbra Streisand and the Beach Boys, and took them into a studio at Ocean Way Studios in Hollywood with a crackerjack band and gave each of them one or two featured numbers. “We went out and got the seven baddest singers around. I told them, ‘Look, we’re going to show people something here. We’ll do these recordings in a no-compromise situation--take down everybody’s pants and sing live,’ ” Weber said.

Guest accompanists and arrangers included Billy Preston (who played a typically energetic organ solo on his “Will It Go Round In Circles”), pianist/composer Patrice Rushen and songwriters David Lasley and Cain.

To further underline the singers’ skills--as well as to prove, as he put it, “that they didn’t need studio brain surgery to come up with a good vocal”--Weber recorded them for Sheffield Lab, a company that specializes in recording “live,” directly to stereo. The session was, in effect, a dramatic return to the pre-Beatles era, before the advent of multitrack tape recording. The process is pure simplicity: What you sing is what you get. No corrections after the fact, no vocal additions or instrumental “sweetening”--just plain old “live” recording.

It may sound elementary, but the procedure was not nearly as uncomplicated as Weber expected. One of the afternoon dates could have been Grand Central Station at rush hour.

The singers--Maxi Anderson, Clydene Jackson Edwards, Myrna Matthews, Alfie Silas, Carmen Twillie, Yvonne Williams and Mona Lisa Young--were named, for the purpose of the production, the Power of Seven. In the bustle of activity, they had the most serene sanctuary. Clustered in a separate glass-windowed booth, the women had the smooth and easy familiarity of artists who have worked together often. Although they had never before been assembled as a group, the singers had all shared microphones in various combinations in the past.

In the main studio, the musicians circulated among forests of mike and equipment booms, free-standing baffles, music stands, amplifiers, keyboards and drums. Only when the red recording light went on did anyone seem to stay in one place. When Weber wasn’t moving in and out of the studio to consult with the performers, Sheffield Lab co-owners Lincoln Mayorga and Doug Sax were offering their own advice.

The most crowded arena, however, was the large control room and its ancillary cubicles.

“It was like a madhouse,” Weber said. “Guests all over the place. I mean, I suppose they were guests. I didn’t know most of them, and they were all dressed better than me. I finally started going up to them and saying, ‘Hi, I’m Jeff Weber. Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?’ ”

Aside from the chaos, Weber was dealing with a more complex situation. One of his problems was that the singers--fine as they were--were used to working with an instrumental track that can be played over and over while they meticulously layer in their vocal segments.

With a “live” recording, the singers had to be rehearsed and ready to go before a take could be attempted. As a result, there were long stretches during which the musicians stood around waiting while the singers--carefully directed by vocal arranger Morgan Ames--kept trying to get their lines letter-perfect.

“There were times,” recalled Sheffield Labs General Manager Andrew Teton, “when it was like one album being made by two different groups of musicians simultaneously. The women had to work out intricate individual parts that required a great deal of effort and stamina. In the work they do, they are the instruments, and the ultimate wear and tear on them was obvious.

“The musicians and the engineers, on the other hand, sometimes got the basic feel of the rhythm and the sound together fairly quickly--often well before the singers were ready.”

To make things more difficult, the vocalists were perfectionists who were not content until they felt their parts were flawless.

“Look at it this way,” Weber said. “The technology of the recording industry--especially multi-tracking--has advanced to such a state that artists are seduced by the capabilities of microscopically examining each and every track in a recording. And this can add up to dozens of individual tracks.

“Theoretically, this elevates a performance to a level of perfection, but most of the time it’s a false perfection. By dissecting the music into its component elements, the feeling is that each part can be attacked and made perfect. Then, when it’s all put back together, it’s perfect. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Overdubbing can never create the natural ebb and flow of a live performance.”

As if to emphasize his remarks, the singers finally signaled their readiness, the engineer flicked a few switches on his Enterprise-sized console and a take of Inez Fox’s classic ‘60s rocker, “Mocking Bird,” got under way.

When it concluded, there was a round of “yeahs” from the singers’ booth and a smile on featured performer Twillie’s face. But Weber frowned. The notes had, indeed, come together in the right places--but the music had failed to come to life.

“Let’s try another,” said Weber, to a chorus of collective groans.

The singers reluctantly positioned themselves around the microphone. Although five of the seven have had recordings released under their own names, each seemed to approach their solos with trepidation. No matter how much a backup artist may think she or he wants to step into the spotlight, making the actual move can be perplexing.

“It’s interesting,” Weber said, “how uncomfortable some of the girls were with their solo numbers. Some of them had to make a major effort to get out of a self-perceived idea of themselves as someone who is always in the background.

“One of them actually told me that she wasn’t a soloist--she didn’t do solos. I told her: ‘Look, you sing every day. It’s your profession. Some of the singers you sing backup for don’t even know how to sing.’ She said she’d try it if we could find the right song for her. I guess we did, because she really nailed it.”

This time, the take for “Mocking Bird” was flawless, with Twillie executing a stirring, gospel-drenched vocal. Weber smiled happily as the piece ended. “We’re going to get you out of the backup crowd yet,” he said into the intercom.

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” singer Twillie said with a laugh.

The studio work continued nearly two weeks for the Power of Seven, as they added (among others) the Martha & the Vandellas hit “Dancing in the Streets,” Cain’s “Back-up Singer Blues” and a medley of spirituals.

For Sheffield, which prides itself on its eclectic catalogue of live-to-disc releases (from the Moscow Philharmonic and Harry James to Tower of Power and Thelma Houston), the production was another opportunity to stress a belief in the special, unique qualities of music that is recorded on the spot.

“I’ll have to admit,” Teton said, “that there were moments when I had my doubts. But by the time the performances had shaped up at the end of the session, and the synergy and interplay and adrenaline began to meld--then it was wonderful.

“I always like to hear a couple of songs where, with a nice glass of Chardonnay and by squinting a little bit, the illusion of hearing live music becomes fairly convincing. And I think we’ve got a few.”

Weber agreed. He felt his goal of returning some integrity to the recording process by showcasing the talent and skill of music professionals was accomplished with room to spare.

For the Power of Seven, the recording, to be released May 1, may be nothing more than their Andy Warhol-allocated 15 minutes of fame. But nobody was complaining.

I’m a backup singer, baby.

It’s what I’ve always been

And when I’m finished being famous,

I’ll be a backup singer again.

--Lyrics by permission of Raisin Music