Music is just not music unless it spins. Perhaps that’s why I stuck with the old reel-to-reel format system. Sure, digital editing is cheaper and perhaps even easier to work with, but music deserves to be more than a bunch of lines on a computer screen. Nothing can replace the sight of the tape spools tumbling endlessly, as the recording heads give birth to each new tone.

I pondered this briefly during a recording session with a band called the "Flying Mustangs." They were a jovial group, headed by a good friend of mine. At that time, a new keyboardist named Harold had joined the band. I had just met him during this session, although I knew that he used to work at my friend Bob’s studio down the street. He struck me as rather quiet and reserved, but then again, most normal folks are around people they just met.

Things went relatively smooth, and after laying down several tracks, they scheduled the next appointment and left. Since it was still rather early in the evening, I decided to do some mixing on one of the more completed songs.

I set up the tapes on their respective spindles, and set up another tape for recording. As I played back the song, however, I noticed something. It seemed an insignificant sound at first. It may accurately be described as a sharp pop or hiss. It started and ended quite suddenly. I played the tapes again to make sure it was not my imagination. I then played each tape individually, and found it came from the synth track. Two notes played, then the sound within a pause, then two more notes.

I turned the volume as loud as possible (nearly blowing out my speakers when the latter synth notes emerged), but could not identify the noise. However, I did notice that a second sound accompanied the former. It was a slight chirp immediately following the hiss.

A number of possibilities occurred to me, but none of them made sense. For some reason, I felt compelled to identify these anomalous sounds, so I took the tape, a blank tape, and a portable recorder to my friend Bob’s studio.

"Hey John," said Bob. "What ya got?"

"An irregularity in a studio recording from today," I replied. "I was wondering if I could have it enhanced."

"You and your analog equipment. You’ll always have ‘irregularities.’ Why don’t you bite the bullet and go digital?"

"Ok, wise guy." I smiled and shook my head slightly.

"Alright, old man, let’s see what you got." With that we entered the studio, and I connected the tape recorder to his computer equipment. I then played back the section with the sound, which was recorded into the computer. He started by cropping the quiet sound from the loud keyboard. He then turned up the volume. It was now a distinct hiss, followed by a brief chirp.

"Are you sure it isn’t just a pop in the tape or something?" Bob asked.

"Trust me, I know tape noise when I hear it," I replied.

"I’ll try slowing it down a bit." When he did, the hiss seemed to fade in slower, growing in intensity as it did, then it stopped suddenly, followed by what sounded like someone talking. It was unclear, but the voice sounded something to the effect of "Wanescapie."

"Now try reversing it." What resulted was an unmistakably human voice, although it was difficult to make out what he was saying. Following this was a loud bang, like an explosion.

"Were they using a wah pedal by any chance?" Bob asked. "They sometimes pick up radio signals."

I shook my head. "Besides, this is a synth track."

"Ok, we’ll assume it’s not from a source outside the studio. I’ll throw a few filters at it and see what we get."

As the sound grew clearer, it became apparent that the voice was saying something like, "I’ve got two cars." Bob suggested that it might be another language, "Un gaun tu ar."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"How am I supposed to know?" Bob replied. "I don’t speak that language."

He ran it through a few more filters, in fact almost every filter available. Finally, we could understand what it said perfectly. A chill ran up my spine.

"John, that sounds like you!"

"Yes…how did my voice get on this tape like that?"

"How indeed. John, are you pulling my chain?"

"No, of course not. Could you make a copy of that on this blank reel for me?"

"Sure." Bob rewound and removed the master tape, and set up the blank tape. He fast-forwarded past the white strip, but kept it going a bit farther than I preferred.

"Wait," I said. "You’ve gone to far." Immediately after I said that, a loud explosion behind me caused Bob to fall from his chair. As a reflex, I looked back, and caught a glimpse of a pair of familiar glaring eyes. Standing in the doorway was Harold, the keyboardist from the recording session. After a second, he turned around quickly and darted back down the hall.

All of this happened in a single breath. As Bob fell from his chair, his hand smacked on the keyboard, and the sound recording on the computer began to play repeatedly. You’ve gone too far. ‘Bang!’ You’ve gone too far. ‘Bang!’…

I stared in a state of shock as Bob crashed on the floor, blood running from his forehead. Still in a daze, I reached over and turned off the speakers to cease the ghastly premonition. The only sound remaining was the end of the tape, as it beat gently, rhythmically against the heads of the recorder.

Click here to listen to the Flying Mustang's anamolous recording