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I've had this notion for some time now that albums should be named like
dogs. In fact, my working title for the album was "Spot" for a while. But in
writing and recording the songs, I found myself working with so many different
people, and going so many places to get the songs down on tape, that I figured
"Rover" would be more appropriate. Bud Gordon--a fine artist in Sacramento--painted a 1940's calendar-art picture of a girl holding a puppy which I meant to be the cover of the album. If I'd thought about it a little harder, I would have realized that my visual pun--the dog, Rover--was completely lost on the Europeans who released my album. (Who knows what they call their dogs, right?) So, anyway, they very politely and quietly replaced my idea with the present cover. The writers: Chris Rodriguez -- "Come Back, Marie" and "You Make Me Hate My Morning Coffee" Chris and I wrote three songs together over the last couple of years, two of which appear on "Rover." Since we were introduced by our respective publishers, we have tried to spend as much time together as possible, given the cruel twist of fate that has placed him in Nashville and me in Sacramento. We hummed into our Walkmans in hotel rooms in San Francisco, laughed and cried over lyrics in public buildings in Los Angeles, haggled like fishwives over passing chords at my dining room table. Then we recorded the results in the Mojave desert, the Sierra foothills, and the South Sacramento wilderness. Chris has signed a record deal with Word Records in Nashville, and will be recording his first--and much awaited--solo album this summer. The third song I mentioned above will be on it. I'll be playing bass and singing. Jenni Muldaur -- "Chain Letter" Jenni and I both recorded on Todd Rundgren's Nearly Human album, then criss-crossed the world with Todd's epic dozen-strong band on the Nearly Human tours. Jenni then signed as a solo artist with Warner Brothers, released a record, and we banged out songs together whenever she took time off from shopping. Oh, Jenni, I'm just kidding. Danny Wilde -- "Hand in Hand" Danny, who recorded as a solo artist for years before forming The Rembrandts, was somebody who was always coming out of a room when I was going in when we both recorded for Island Records. I ran into him coming out of a room at our publishers a while back, and we formed a diamond-hard resolve to write together. What was amazing was that we actually did. Bruce Spencer -- "Drive Away" Bruce was my battery-mate in our legend-making combo Love Ride 7. When he's not being a great drummer, he's creating idiocycratic snippets of music on his synthesizer. He lets me hear them, and when I can't get them out of my head, I try to finish them. Ali Thompson -- "Don't Say You Want to Be My Friend" Who says that sticking two songwriters who've never layed eyes on each other in a room with a piano never works? Okay, I do. But Ali was different. For one thing, he was British, so things went well because he sounded like the Beatles. Anyway, our affair only lasted one day, but it resulted in a child. Brent Bourgeois -- "The Turnaround" and "Next Big Thing" Brent and I spent some time together in the 70's and 80's. Now he's put out three solo albums, and will be a record company president someday, unless I miss my guess. We worked on Cindy Morgan's album for Word Records last summer, which was a rosy-hued experience for me. We'll be working on Chris Rodriguez's album this next summer. Candy Parton -- "We Go Way Back" Candy and I have never met. I think she lives in Nashville. Absolutely no light-hearted anecdotes have attached themselves to our collaboration. John Clifforth -- "After This Love is Gone" My next major project is to popularize the wit and wisdom of this Australian doctor/guitarist, gleaned from thousands of hours of half-forgotten conversations. And let's not forget: Lance Taber -- guitar on just about everything My recording technique is admittedly eccentric: Get Lance and go knock the song out quick before the neighbors can complain about the noise. For the trivia buffs, he was the first Bourgeois Tagg guitarist--so young he had to leave the group so he could finish his merit badges. These days, Lance has made himself maddeningly indispensable to me. He has an uncanny ability to lay down exactly what a song needs so quickly that the much-sought-after "seat of the pants" quality is captured on tape, and I can go spend the balance of the recording budget on loose women.
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