You grew up in Baltimore?
I did, until I was in my early 20s.
What was going on scene-wise, and what about that got you interested in recording and making music?
In Baltimore, there was a very arty punk scene. I don't know how to describe it, but lots of bands that were sort of post-emo. Baltimore was running alongside the DC/Dischord Records scene, but the Baltimore scene was different. A lot of the kids in the bands went to the art school in Baltimore, and, for lack of a better word, it was like beatniks making hardcore. It was a great scene, and it still is a great scene. There've been a lot of great bands to come out of that scene. But at the time, like in every town in America, there are certain kids that get electric guitars, then they find somebody else who has a bass, and they put together a group of friends and make a band. Eventually, it's time to go to the recording studio. For the bands that were in my friend group, the recording studio that everyone went to was a place called A.C.R [Studios]. There was another one called Social Services. These small, punk recording studios in Baltimore were these mythical places that, even though I'd never been to them, I would have dreams about what they were like. The funny thing is I would eventually go to these studios, and they were nothing like what I imagined. They were basically like a warehouse full of junk. But my roommates had a band, they were recording at A.C.R., and they invited me. At that time, I had been doing this mad scientist electronic music studio in my basement of the row house where I lived in Baltimore. I had tons of effects racks, synthesizers, modular stuff, and drum machines that were synced up with other drum machines. Bands would say, “We're gonna go record the songs, and then maybe you could come in and maybe make the songs more unusual” – effect them or give them treatments. That began my early teenage time of being something like Baltimore's Martin Hannett [Tape Op #103]. Taking a punk band and making it sound strange. In the '90s, in recording, there were a lot of things that were very by the book, and a lot of that had to do with the entire world of indie and punk recording being enamored with Steve Albini [#87] and his techniques. They were considered the grand alternative to doing things in a mainstream way. The problem with those techniques is, that while they sounded great and they work for certain bands, to me, they didn't feel very adventurous. I wanted to dub out the recordings by putting lots of effects. I learned that if I flipped the reels upside down I could record backwards. Then I learned about vari-speed, so I started recording parts an octave higher by speeding up the tape machine and then playing at normal speed. All of the instruments would have this strange sound. It wasn’t just that they were pitched down, but there was something strange about the performances. If you see a David Lynch or [Stanley] Kubrick film, there's this over-the-top acting style where people aren't acting like normal people. They're reciting their lines, maybe they have a different look in their eye, or maybe they're accenting different parts of the sentences, or just doing something unusual, and it creates an atmosphere. If you record something slow and speed it up to normal speed, then you've got a thinner, brighter track, and vice versa. Putting a click track down on the tape, speeding up the song, having the drummer play to that tempo, then slowing it down, and suddenly I'd have these monstrous drums that sound bigger than any drum set ever heard. I'd then add lots of digital delays and stuff.
And this is after they've tracked?
A lot of times it's before they tracked. The bands would lose patience sometimes when I would want them to wait for me to try out every possible vari-speed to get the drums to sound weird enough, especially since, back then, everyone was paying by the hour. In Baltimore, my career as a recording engineer, then producer and mixer, started with me making experimental electronic music in my basement and friends of mine asking me to come to the studio to provide treatments and effects and different approaches to each song instead of it being just the Steve Albini way where it's almost like making a documentary. By doing it the Steve Albini way, you do get a sense of the band. Where it really works are the bands that are just incredible bands. But if the band is not incredibly technically skilled and they go and record in that way, whether the song is good or not, it kind of kills the vibe.
Some of the greatest musical minds I've met are not great players.
I want someone to be able to play well on a recording because I want it to sound good, but there are a lot of ways that could be made up for. So, anyway, by collaborating with my friend’s bands in this way, I was able to visit these recording studios that I'd heard of. The big aha moment was like, “Oh, they're in the other room, we're in this room, and we can hear them through the speakers." The whole live room and control room. That was a big realization for me. From that point on, I knew it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
You bring up a good point. So much of production is problem-solving, and if you're working with younger or less established bands there may be another whole set of issues.
Right, they're still getting good.
