The Hollywood movie Oklahoma had been buzzing about was just a few steps away, in a hallowed out shell of a hundred year old shopping mall. Bare brick walls, high tin ceilings, and timeworn wooden floors were brimming with camera gear, and people. It was organized chaos stumbling towards magic.

Extras were corralled along the back wall, sitting on folding chairs, finishing their boxed lunches. Everybody wondered who everybody else was. 

Recording at a studio has been on the top of our list for a while.  We’d been looking for some sort of direction, a sign.  It came one Sunday on the Plaza.  We were playing out front of Warpaint Studio when Derek Knowlton, the owner, emerged.  He said, “Hey man, you need a foot tambourine.”  He soon brought one. Casey put it on his foot and jangled out the beat.  Derek listened for a minute. 

A couple days later Derek sent a text.  He had a new recording studio in the basement of Warpaint, and wanted Casey to check it out.  Casey responded, “How about we just record something?”

In the time between the callback and the shoot, Casey’s beard and hair had reached a larger-than-life fierceness I had never before witnessed. Friends were heckling him on Face Book.  It was a conundrum. He was afraid to trim up, since the Rudderless people had loved his look, but was growing more desperate to use the buzz clippers everyday.   It was spring turning to summer, the day before we headed to Guthrie, and Casey figured out a compromise. He buzzed the beard, but left his noggin undomesticated.

We also fretted about our clothes. We were supposed to bring three or four choices for the wardrobe people.  We were given no direction except that we couldn’t wear red, white, or logos.  The morning of the filming we bucked up, picked out some clothes, loaded our instruments, and set out north for Guthrie.

Thirty-five minutes later we were meandering around old town Guthrie, trying to locate the fictitious Trill Tavern. Instead we found a parking lot brimming with sparkling clean motor homes and trailers: the Rudderless camp!  It was the first hot day of the year.  Gas powered generators clamored and air conditioners hummed.

We checked in and both received a clipboard full of papers to sign.  It was surprising to be assigned dressing rooms. On two doors, black stars were emblazoned with the words ‘Violinist’ and ‘Bass Player.’ 

Wasting no time, a young woman from wardrobe rummaged through our clothes, and settled on what we would wear.  She commanded Casey to roll up his sleeves and tuck in his shirt, something I had never seen him do before.