When you were young, did you play music?
I started off in eighth grade with a rock 'n' roll band. Then I built this "trip room" out in my parents' garage. This was 1967, you know, poppin' psychedelics and shit. These people broke in and stole my guitar. I got some insurance money, and I said, "Screw this. I'm gonna buy a Harley-Davidson." My wife, Tina, saved my ass, because these other idiots I was hanging around with, they turned into the Richmond Beach Bombers [motorcycle club]. So, then it was like '72, and I was working for Boeing. I was a stainless steel welder on their hydrofoil program. I spent my money on microphones.
You had a steady job?
Yeah. I loved working for Boeing back then. I heard this Recording Institute of America program open house being held at Kaye-Smith Studios [in Seattle]. I was driving down I-5, and here comes Bachman-Turner Overdrive's song, "Takin' Care of Business." I pulled up to Kaye-Smith and the song stopped. I walked in, and here's Jim Gaines, the manager for Kaye-Smith. "Just go down the hallway, past all the gold records, and take a right into the last door before you see the bathroom." I walk in, opened the door. Guess what song was playing? "Takin' Care of Business." [It was recorded at Kaye-Smith.] They're soloing out the kick drum and soloing out Randy Bachman's vocal. I'm stunned. I had all this energy running up and down my spine. Maybe it was the LSD? [laughter] Kind of joking, but not. So, I did the Recording Institute of America program. I decided to go the Kaye-Smith route because it was an opportunity for me to learn that. In '79 or '80, I was working with Bell and James; LeRoy Bell and Casey James at Kaye-Smith Studios. They had that huge, platinum record out, the disco song, "Living It Up (Friday Night)." Leroy Bell's uncle was [Philadelphia songwriter/producer] Thom Bell. Thom brought all these big projects into Kaye-Smith. I was in there with those guys, Leroy Bell and Casey James, when they were writing the lyrics to "Mama Can't Buy You Love." Next thing you know, Elton John did that song.
This studio started as a garage built under a home above?
I had this crazy little studio. It was a double garage in here. The home was up top. It was just a 20 by 22 beach cabin. In '74, Jim Gardiner, a composer, arranger from Franklin High School, brought a 28 piece jazz ensemble in here. Kenny Gorelick's [Kenny G] father would pull up in his old car. Kenny would get out and he'd pull out his sax. We did sections at a time. We did the drums, keyboard, bass, and then the next day electric guitars, and after that the horns. It was a process. I had an Otari 4-track machine. Greg Mackie was working with me and several other people to make his Catalina board into a semi-professional recording console. It had eight subgroups out. It was a cool little console.
Besides a young Kenny G, what other early sessions did you have?
One that I was really proud of was working with Albert Collins out of Texas. The blues. He was something else. I did that, and got Albert signed to Alligator Records. I had seen Albert's band play a couple of times. He was a cool guy.
When did you start digging into the hill here?
In 1981. I started underneath the house. Then I poured a 25 foot long wall that ran north and south. Out of the corner of it, it shot out westward for about like 15 feet. That was the toe of the foundation; a 10 foot tall wall that held the old beach cabin up. I had a bunch of W8x20 steel I-beams. Because I was a certified welder, I was confident in my welding. I basically started digging down these big holes. My buddy, Randy-O, would go down in the hole with a garden hose for air in case it collapsed on him. I had my own cement mixer and poured a pad. We put all these steel I-beams up to hold the forward part of the house up since we had the back retaining wall that I put in. I brought in a front end loader, and my buddy Brad came in and started taking the first 30 dump truck loads out. Coming right through the chamber here. He'd start digging and pulling this shit out, and I'd go, "Brad, a little bit farther, a little bit farther." He'd say "You sure? The chimney looks like it's in danger of coming down." Yeah, it came down. It didn't do any damage; it just was a mess to pick up. [laughter] We put another wall in that was now thicker and bigger. That toed the whole end, from the south corner line. It held the whole hill up. Then I got greedy. I hired another crew, and we took at least 100 dump trucks out of the hillside. I kept telling the excavator guy, "A little bit more!" A few years later, I upgraded my insurance. As owner of my own construction company, on my own property, I can do what I want. I didn't want to take any chances. One June afternoon, I heard this weird, low sound. I went out and I could see 30 yards of sand that sloughed right underneath the corner of my neighbor's retaining wall. I could hear cracking, and all of a sudden half her retaining wall bit the dust. I called the insurance company, and I was covered.
Did you keep engineering over the years?
I quit engineering in 1982. I had a job to do back here. But I returned to the control room when we did the last Nirvana songs. I came in here with Adam Kasper and helped him assist. I had to come for that, right? That was in 1994.
Other engineers and producers have worked out of here a lot.
In 1997, Jerry Harrison [Tape Op #153], who used to be in the Talking Heads, was here for three months. He had his engineer, Karl Derfler, and they were working with a band called The Mayfield Four out of Spokane, Washington [on the LP Fallout]. They were on Sony Entertainment. They brought the first Pro Tools [system] that I'd ever seen. They were getting some sounds. I looked at Jerry, and I'm like, "I'm sorry I didn't get the rest of the rocks up here." He's like, "Don't touch nothing!" The room never got finished. I just stopped.
I'm so impressed with how tall these rooms are. And we're under your house, basically.
Yeah, so many people said, "You're not going to get away with doing this." Well, in the northeast corner, I was digging down once at night, and the bank sloughed and it pinned me in for about ten minutes. I barely pulled myself out, and right after that the whole bank collapsed. People thought I was nuts. Well, I am nuts. Fuck it. I am not normal.
This is not a normal studio! [laughter]
No, it's not normal! They'd say, "Yeah, when's he gonna go underneath the street?" I've just got to excavate out that back cave area. That's simple. It's honeycombing, and getting the money to put the toes in. I've got a little finish work to do, and then I would have to get a building permit.
What about parking here?
The parking is not a problem here. We can use my side of the road, all the way up to the corner. I've been here so long that it's okay. As long as I don't have three complaints, and people aren't outside drinking beer.
You still have a lot of tape decks.
Nobody's using tape. The Foo Fighters did. There was a Macklemore session that I did here a few years ago where they wanted to do tape, so we did tape. Remember that that whole Foo Fighters: Sonic Highways television show? Episode seven, they did mainly here and at Barrett Jones' place [Laundry Room Studio]. When you play "Subterranean," you'll hear the lyrics, "God in the stone." Dave Grohl's talking about my marble piece. That was an eerie song. I think he was talking about himself and Kurt [Cobain] having recorded here. And he observed some shit that was going on here.
You keep digging and adding more rooms. How are you going to keep three studio spaces busy?
Oh, I'm not worried about that because I formed an academy. The Robert Lang Studios Academy, my education program, is what I've been doing. It's done very well, and it keeps the bills somewhat paid here. If it wasn't for my academy, I would have been fucking foreclosed on a couple decades ago. And the studio business is, you know… I think the last really good record project we had here was White Reaper on Elektra [Asking For a Ride, produced by Jennifer Decilveo, Tape Op #161]. They came in here and rented the whole house out for about seven weeks while my wife, Tina, and I were in Puerto Vallarta [Mexico]. I really want to thank my wife Tina and my family for going through all the bullshit with the loans, going into debt, and getting to this place. She used to work for WEA, Warner Elektra Atlantic, in Seattle here, and sold a bunch of CDs for all the big labels to Tower Records.
Did your kids grow up with this whole project going on?
Yeah. I would say, "Goddamn it, Chris, get down here and let me show you how the 'scope, the voltmeter, and the continuity meter work." He was more into girls. [laughter]
