I've been browsing your discography. You've worked on such a variety of things!
With any career, it's like you can't really choose. You get sucked into a vortex or something. But it's been fun bands, so I've been lucky in that regard.
Weezer, for one, has been around forever.
It's hard to be into rock music and not have some Weezer influence; they're so pervasive in the music industry. I used to work with a producer named Jake Sinclair. He's done a handful of Weezer records, and I got to work on OK Human. I love that record. We were toward the tail end of finishing it right when the pandemic happened. We were supposed to fly out for a string of dates to New York right when lockdowns happened. And we didn't. The recording sessions were truncated and extended.
I see. That's a weird way to work.
It ended up being fine. The studio that the producer had at the time had two rooms. I'd be in one room working and he'd be in the other room. Once things settled down with the pandemic, we could think, "Okay, this is our new normal."
That probably had ripple effects, in terms of your process and being up for anything, ready to get it done no matter the obstacles.
Truly. That record was supposed to be very organic. The first record we worked on, OK Human, has lush strings and horns. It's interesting to do it that way. A lot of files got sent digitally, just by virtue of how the world was.
Has that opened you up to doing more remote work?
No. It's not the best way to work. I feel music is synergy between multiple people. Sometimes it's nice to be by yourself. You have to have those moments of solitude, but – especially when you're engineering or producing and you're working with a band – you're helping them facilitate their project. If they're not in the room, you're making decisions, which is fine. But at the end of the day, we're servicing the artist and what the artist wants.
You also did some work on the Frozen II soundtrack. How did that come about? Was that a Weezer/Panic! at the Disco connection that led to that?
Basically, at the end of Frozen II, they asked a bunch of bands to cover all of the Frozen II soundtrack. Panic! did a song, and Weezer did a song. It was so fun to do rock versions. "Into the Unknown" is a notoriously hard song to sing, but Brendon [Urie, of Panic!] is such a powerhouse singer that he nailed it immediately. It was fun working with Panic! to turn that into something a little less Disney and more in their vein.
The Disney scoring process seems very intensive. Was it complex for you, or was it fairly straightforward?
I think it came pretty easily. [Frozen II songwriters] Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez came by the recording studio to watch; they loved what the band was doing, as well as the producer's choices. We did a lot of the recording for Panic! at Capitol [Studios, Tape Op #114], and it sounds incredible in there. It's easy to make things sound good.
They have all the resources in the world over at Disney. I was wondering if there is much of a contrast between that and the more indie work that you do.
We were less involved in the Disney [aspect]. They let the rock bands mainly do their own thing. This was pretty easy.
How did you get your start?
I started recording when I was 15 or 16 in my basement, from necessity. I didn't realize you can hire people to record you! [laughter] I knew, but I didn't quite understand that. I would record all these demos and band recordings. I was working in a smoothie shop, and one of my co-workers was a musician, and they asked, "Will you record us? We'll pay you 100 bucks for five songs.” I was like, "Perfect!" [laughter] As I started doing random recordings for other people, I was thinking, "I should probably learn what I'm doing, instead of watching YouTube videos." Obviously, YouTube was such a crucial help. I didn't understand what the difference between a dynamic, condenser, or ribbon mic was. There's a women's audio group called LAWIM, Los Angeles Women in Music. I went to a LAWIM talk that featured Lenise Bent [Tape Op #146]. She'd worked on Steely Dan.
I love the women who get out there and help educate in this industry; the ones who are really out there trying to eliminate the gatekeeping and share what they know.
I definitely benefited from that. Lenise was doing a talk with Eva Reistad. Afterwards, I was talking to Eva, and I said, "I want to learn more about audio. I was thinking about going to school, or maybe getting an internship." She replied, "Well, I definitely think you should get an internship, and I'm a studio manager at Kingsize Soundlabs. Would you want to intern there?" The next week, I met her and she became such a mentor to me. Kingsize was definitely my home away from home. They had a bunch of studios, and at the time they were opening 64Sound [Tape Op #109]. I got to be there at the beginning of that. Rob Schnapf [#9] was next door, so I got to watch him do his thing. A bunch of amazing musicians and bands would come in. That's how I originally met John Congleton. Jake Sinclair found me via Kingsize as well. Suzy Shinn, his original engineer, was transitioning into producing, and he was like, "I need another engineer." So, he plucked me, and that's how the beginning of my career started.
You put yourself out there.
It's so much about doing the scary thing. I feel very lucky. I'm from L.A. – born and raised here – so there's so much more access to this. I think it's about letting your intentions be known. Most people respond kindly to that, where they're like, "Oh, let me see if I can help you." I certainly do that when people ask me. The other part is just being a good hang. If you're bringing the atmosphere in the studio down, you're not going to last very long!
I feel like I've heard that specific line a lot in the audio world.
We're so lucky to get to do music. Why would you want to be with someone you don't like?
I was also born in L.A. It's definitely an experience being an L.A. kid, just because of the people that you know peripherally.
I've lived one life, so it's hard to compare it to other people's situations. But I feel very lucky. Between the fires and ICE raids, I feel like Los Angeles is the pinnacle of resistance in some ways. It's also the land of idealism. Everyone coming here is like, "I'm going to make this thing happen," and there's a lot of hope in that. It translates into people's actions in every other field.
Getting back to music specific stuff, do you work with DAW templates?
I'm starting to do that more. I'm pretty quick at Pro Tools, so I can key command tracks quickly. But I also go into other programs – I recently had to do some stuff in Ableton Live – and I feel like such a novice again. I definitely use color guides, especially when looking at gray and grim Pro Tools. But the templates are nice. Half the time I want to be quick on my feet, especially when working with someone who's in the zone. I don't want to be the hindrance. Sometimes having templates is nice. But I don't want to be stuck doing the same thing all the time. It depends on who I'm working with, how comfortable I am with the artist, and to be able to experiment. But I definitely have my go-to tools.
Tell me about those.
I've been recently loving the [Undertone Audio] UnFairchild [limiter], putting it on my mix bus and my drums. Another plug-in I've been using is the J-37 [tape simulator] by Arturia. As far as tape emulation, it's pretty close. It definitely adds character, especially if I'm using clean preamps. I have both tape and digital at my studio, so clean is nice if we're using an 8-track. But for digital, I want to try to zhuzh it up because it can sound pretty sterile. A nice tape emulation plug-in can be helpful. The [FabFilter] Pro-Q 4 that just came out, and the spectral part of it, has been a cool tool. Where I was using [Oeksound] Soothe before, now I like playing with both, because sometimes Soothe could get too heavy-handed. [FabFilter] Pro-Q 3 is great, too. To be honest, I feel like those plug-ins are so dense, and I probably am just scraping the surface of what I am doing with it. I sometimes feel like a child playing with a 3D printer where maybe they're making little happy faces and toys, but it could do so much more.
I like that metaphor.
I've also been working at a couple of different producers' studios who have nice gear. Buying outboard gear can get so expensive, so getting the access to see what I even like has been so exciting. I've been digging the Delta 4-7 preamps by Highland Dynamics – made in Los Angeles by Bryce Gonzales [Tape Op #165]. It can drive one input into another, so that's fun to play with. At one studio, there are these classic British PYE compressors, I think they're the original ones. They're great on vocals or overheads. I feel like once I'm 70 years old, maybe I'll know what I'm doing. [laughter] I'm still in the experimental stage of my audio process, because a lot of the time, I'm at the limitations of my tools. Now I'm getting to work in nice studios. When I'm working with producers, rather than on my own projects, I have to play a little bit within the lines. Now I'm getting to experiment more, and that's been fun.
What has been the most exciting experiment lately?
I bought a tape machine. It's a 2-track 3M M64; the serial number is 44, so it's definitely old. It's been fun to play around with that instead of using tape emulation plug-ins. My studio partners and I bought an eight-channel console. We think it was made by a guy who worked at Sphere [Recording Consoles, Tape Op #126], but it isn't a Sphere. It's definitely handmade, with cool, stepped EQs like API [550s], and it's all discrete. It's been fun to play around with. I'm slowly building my collection of gear, and that's been nice to have. In the solitude of our own space, I can experiment and then use that in everything else that I'm doing.
For sure. Is that what your group, Polyglam, has been about?
Definitely. I share a studio with them, John [Sinclair], a great engineer and mixer, and Allie [Stamler], a great writer and violinist. They're two of my best friends. We push what we're capable of, and we spend a lot of time on ideas that do not work. That's part of the appeal; throwing paint at the wall and seeing what sticks. When I'm working for someone else – as the producer or the engineer – I'm trying to make things happen for them very quickly. It's hard to go down every single rabbit hole. Sometimes going down every single rabbit hole has diminishing returns. But we're getting better at navigating that process!
I bet it's making you all stronger.
I hope so. I've been engineering for a while, but I'm starting to produce more. Some of the best work an artist does is in their early career – not always – but producers [tend to] peak later. You need to have that experience to understand what is possible. Even the interpersonal artist relationship: How to get an artist to feel comfortable. How to get an artist to think outside of their own preconceived vision of themselves to make something cool. It's amazing when an artist has a vision, I so prefer that, but it's also nice when something turns out that we couldn't have ever imagined. Riding that lightning is the ideal; being in that flow state. For a producer to help facilitate that takes a long time. I've worked with a handful of amazing producers, and everyone has different techniques to help the artists or musicians get there. It's been fun getting to see different styles of producing. I've definitely heard horror stories. Producers who feel like they're moonlighting as an artist, and they're like, “Well, you're hiring me. You want what I do.” There are so many times where I've seen so much ego of the producer get in the way of the record, and it's hard to watch.
What's your vision for yourself as you evolve as a producer? What do you hope to bring to artists?
I definitely want them to feel free to experiment and feel comfortable in the studio, especially with femme and female artists. Even with the best intentioned dude, sometimes [the artists'] feelings can get overridden. I think it's less so now. My generation, and the next generation, definitely can hold their own. But usually, the producer can be a little more experienced, or have worked with bigger artists, so the new artists can doubt themselves. It's a hard line, because you're going to a producer to help you create a project. Usually, they have the experience, and you look up to them to help make decisions. It's almost like taste-making, in a way. So, what do I want to do for an artist? I want to help them with their vision and to see past their vision. I would ideally like myself to have no ego in it. I'm a big believer that music is not coming from [within] us. It's external. So, whatever we're channeling, I want to try to bring that to its truest form.
Do you want to shout out your studio?
It doesn't have a name; I have to name it. It's a little cabin in the woods in Mount Washington, [L.A.], and it is one of the most magical places I've ever been. It's a giant wooded area. Some parts are like that in L.A., but it's mostly city. I have a screened-in porch where I do a lot of writing sessions, and then we'll go into the room, record demos, and finish the songs. We might get some birds chirping in the recording, but I don't mind that!
Do you have any artists that you would love to work with?
It's such a hard question, because with some of my favorite artists, I don't know! Would I be a good match because I like them so much?
Right. Could you be honest with them?
But also, if I like an artist then they're doing something right. I have loved Mitski’s journey on her records, her trajectory. I love Big Thief. When the songs are that good, who cares about a recording? Obviously, a recording can elevate something. I work in recording. I love recordings. But it's all in service of the song. Some of my favorite songs are the worst recordings ever, but I don't even notice because the song is speaking to me. As far as what I want to do, I want to write more with people – it's so fun to do a co-writing session – and produce more. This last year, I've been producing and working with a lot of artists. Working with the same person for a while is rewarding, because the shorthand of working together becomes so quick, and we start being able to finish each other's sentences. That's such a magical thing, having true collaborators. The pandemic took the wind out of a lot of people's sails. I had so many friends who went freelance that year.
Freelance is scary.
It's so scary. I pinch myself. It's been three years for me, freelancing. It definitely doesn't look like what I thought it was going to look like when I first decided to make that jump.
How so?
I thought it would be more consistent. But the funny thing is, I'll have a month where I'm doing sessions every day and I can't wait for a day off. Then it'll be a month of waiting for a phone call. But I like that. It's nice to have the different seasons, because then I can focus on other things, like my own projects. When you choose a creative field, you have to be okay without consistency. I've been lucky. This year has been the busiest year for me, thus far.
Are there any other mentors you want to name?
I've been very lucky to have such wonderful people in my life helping out and being so inspirational in a lot of regards, like the producer that plucked me, Jake Sinclair, and his previous engineer – now an incredible producer in her own right – Suzy Shinn. I've been working with Ethan Gruska, who is so awesome and such a freaking creative genius. It's wonderful to watch him work. I've been working with John Congleton, who was one of my favorite producers growing up. It's so funny, since I started working with him, I haven’t been able to wear band shirts. [I’ll] look at it and be like, "Did he work on this record?" I'll look it up, and of course he did. So I've stopped wearing band shirts when I go into his studio!
[laughter] That's great.
Having people that you like, that are your friends, working on music, it's like being a little kid in your garage playing with a band. Trying to find the beginner's mind aspect of music ends up creating the coolest thing.
