With all of your different podcast projects, and with your songwriting, you seem to approach it all as a historian. You're capturing these processes that are leading to this creative end result and cataloging that for people to reference and learn from for years to come – while also drawing out stories. Then, with your own music, you're cataloging your life, and the people who've meant something to you, through your music.
I totally get what you mean. It's funny, I hadn't thought about Song Exploder in those terms. I think about it almost more like I'm doing a remix with the stems of the song, but with the additional “stem” of the interview. I have all these WAV files, tracks from the song, and then I have this one long WAV file of the artist's voice telling the story of how they made it that I get to cut together. When I started the podcast – having never interviewed anyone or done any kind of journalism, historical cataloging, or anything remotely close to this – the only thing that I could relate it to was remixing – and, I guess, film scoring, the idea of combining music and narrative. The part that feels the most exciting for me is when I get to time something that someone says with the element of the music that they're talking about. I love having the voice and the music interact in a way that feels musical, and then I add in other elements – like having the drums come back in, but on the two with just the snare. There are little moments of production that I get to do in editing the music that feel satisfying to my music brain. In the best version of this, people aren't even noticing that it's happening; it just feels seamless.
There is a rhythm to it, with the way that you edit dialogue. It feels like you're guided by some flow.
Yeah, whether it's two people talking, or a person talking in dialogue with the musical elements, there's definitely some kind of clock that goes on in my head for how long [something can go on] before it starts to feel monotonous, or repetitive, or like it needs some other texture – which I guess happens with a song, too. “You're going through the second time around on the verse? Well, what's the new idea that you're introducing – either lyrically or musically or texturally – so that it feels like this is going someplace?”
How did you get into making your own music?
I started playing piano when I was a kid. My mom worked at Sears in the mall, and next to the Sears was a piano shop. There were a couple of days when my dad, older sister, and I would be waiting for my mom to finish the night shift, and I would play around on the pianos that they had (demo units at the front of the store). Then we noticed they had a sign that said piano lessons were offered in the back of the store. My parents asked me if I would want to try that, so I did. We didn't have a piano or a keyboard or anything, so my sister drew a little piano for me on a piece of paper, and I would practice by putting my fingers on it. It was a real Hirway family team effort!
That's really sweet. Could you imagine the notes in your head while playing?
Probably not. [laughter]
So that was your first instrument. What about your entry into creating audio projects?
I kept playing in bands – in the school band, and then in bands with friends. Then, when I got to college, a friend of mine had a 4-track recorder. The first time I started recording my own stuff, I was making these lullaby instrumentals to fall asleep to. I would record a couple of tracks of acoustic guitar, or direct electric guitar. Then I would also have this AM radio that I would [use to] play little staticky bits. I would drift through the channels and then ride the fader on that. In between the music, you'd hear these little staticky excerpts of people talking or something like that. Also, I had a computer that had a free demo version of a program that was called [Propellerhead Software] ReBirth [RB-338], that was like a [Roland TB-]303, [Roland TR-]808 emulator thing. You could make beats on it, but you couldn't save anything. I would make a pattern on there that I liked, music and drums, and then I would record that loop to the 4-track. Sometimes it would be acoustic guitar, AM radio, and then these little drum loop, beep-y things that were coming out of the headphone jack on my computer.
Through analog, you were able to outsmart ReBirth’s little strategy.
I didn't have a way to record digitally, so this was the best of both worlds, in terms of what I had access to.
Does that radio tie into your music project, The One AM Radio?
The idea of using AM radio in this lullaby context actually goes back to when my mom worked at Sears. I was young enough that, when I'd go with my dad, sometimes she'd be working late enough that I’d already be in my pajamas and in the backseat of the car. We'd go pick her up and wait in the parking lot of the mall for her to come out. The mall would be closed, and my dad would listen to AM sports radio, like a Celtics game. Then at nine o'clock it would switch to some radio old time program, like The Shadow, that was super staticky. I would drift in and out of sleep in those moments and, because of that, I always associate that sound with something soothing and with falling asleep. So, when I went for this lullaby instrumental idea, I was like, “Here's a sound, here's a texture, that feels like falling asleep.” When I started writing songs of my own and playing them with acoustic guitar, at first I started doing it under my own name. But then I got a lot of strange comments at the time about my name – like not understanding how to pronounce it, or someone asked me if I made “world music.” I was like, “You know, maybe I'll use a moniker instead.” And The One AM Radio was what I came up with, for all these reasons.
Your songwriting does tie back into storytelling and memory, but there is also space for imagination. The song that sticks out to me as exemplifying this is “Charlie, Short for Charlotte.” You conjure this image of this little girl that doesn't exist, but she lives in your mind alongside your mom, who has now passed away.
Yeah, it’s the idea of this daughter, who I won't have, who existed at one point as a potential idea but she's never going to come to be. It was interesting for me to realize the juxtaposition between that and where my mom lives in my memory now. They're both just people I can imagine.
On the beautiful recording of the song about your mother, “Between There and Here,” you had Yo-Yo Ma play a cello line to represent her humming. I was struck by your incredible ability to draw in collaborators. I have that Night Falls split album you released with The Wind-Up Bird, and I was curious about how you approach making music and building community.
I don't know what it is exactly about the sort of crossover that I find so exciting, but I always have, my whole life. I remember seeing, in Newbury Comics, a split seven-inch between Texas Is the Reason and The Promise Ring; two bands that I loved. I was like, “They know each other!” That was the first time that I was introduced to the idea of a split seven-inch, and this idea of two bands that I love meeting on equal footing was so exciting. I used to have a similar excitement as a little kid when there would be crossover issues of comic books. You know the Punisher/Wolverine crossover limited edition thing? I was like, “Wow, that's so cool.” Of course, it's perfect that that seven-inch was actually at Newbury Comics, because Newbury Comics was a place I first started going to for comic books, and then kept going to for music. I remember, in high school, I got introduced to Tori Amos by a girl that I was dating, and we were listening to the CD Under the Pink, and I was reading the liner notes and saw that Trent Reznor was singing backing vocals on one of her songs. I was like, “But that's Trent Reznor from Nine Inch Nails! That music is so different.” Then she put out another album [Boys for Pele], and [in “Caught a Lite Sneeze”] she says, “I built my own pretty hate machine.” And I was like, “Oh, they're friends. These two artists are friends. What does that Venn diagram mean?” I just thought that was so cool, and I've never stopped thinking that was cool.
Now you get to create that yourself. Going through the list of people who are playing on this album – you've got quite a roster! It's fun to imagine you being friends with them. I remember the Vagabon [Laetitia Tamko] episode of Song Exploder taking on a particular resonance after her collaborator [Eric Littmann] passed away, and then you got to speak with her about grief for the songs on your new album.
Yeah. I had a really wonderful time talking to her for that episode to begin with. I also got to speak with her co-producer, Eric Littmann, for that episode and – exactly as you said – it took on this other significance when Eric passed away. Laetitia told me that she appreciated the existence of that episode, because it's a recording of his voice and a documentation of their collaboration. When I was starting to write, trying to find ways to get out of my own head, and trying to find gentle spirits to work with who would be like-minded, she came to mind immediately. I reached out, and she was very generous about it.
How did you select some of the other collaborators that you ended up working with? Were they people that you came into contact with through Song Exploder, or are some of them people from your time playing music before?
A lot of the people who were involved in this album, I found through fandom – my own love of their music. Ken Pomeroy ended up becoming part of the band for the recording. I reached out to her to see if she might want to write with me, because I heard one of her songs on the TV show Reservation Dogs. It was the kind of song that had originally made me want to write songs on an acoustic guitar – and that was true with the other folks that I wrote with. It was true with Uwade. She put out a single on Sylvan Esso’s label [Psychic Hotline], and I fell in love with her voice and her songwriting immediately. There's a special category of music that makes me feel some kindred spirit in the music itself – in the lyrics, in the way that it's sung, in the production. Something about it makes me feel like maybe there's something that they have in their mind that's similar to something that I have in my mind. I feel it in my heart when I listen to their music. Fenne Lily was exactly that way. Melina Duterte from Jay Som had mixed her album, and she posted one of the songs on Instagram. I had an immediate reaction to her voice, songwriting, and melodic ideas. It wasn't just that I loved it; it was like kinship. And so, part of my approach to this album was, when I felt that pull, to try and follow it to see where it went. It didn't always go places, but I thought if I reached out and we were able to connect, then that would be really special. So, Ken said yes, Fenne Lily said yes, Uwade said yes. Then, of course, Iron & Wine has been a huge influence on me forever. I remember my first chance to see them live, they played at The Knitting Factory in L.A. and I gave him a copy of the first One AM Radio CD at the merch table, just being like, “I'm a huge fan. I also make music. Here's my CD.” You know, the way that you do. I told this story to Sam Beam when he did Song Exploder.
Gotta put yourself out there!
And 23 years later, we completed the circle! [laughter]
Yeah! Speaking of full-circle moments, you went from incorporating AM radio sounds into your early recordings to weaving in audio from home movies into your track by that name on The Last Hour of Light. And, rather than adding it in post, Philip Weinrobe chose to play them live for everybody in the room during that recording session. What was that like?
That was probably the most emotional moment during the recording process of this album. That song is about my late father-in-law. He was a troubled person who I never got to meet, but I married his daughter and I play his guitar, a 1972 Gibson acoustic. His presence is so big in my life, despite having never met him. We were a few days deep into the recording process [when we recorded that song], so we'd all gotten to know each other, and I was starting to feel a little bit more comfortable. We were actually already tracking the song when I said, in between takes, “Hey, by the way, this is what this song is about. This is who it's about, this is my relationship to him. Also, eventually, one non-live element that I'm planning on putting is these clips that I've put in the demo already.” And then Phil said, “Well, do you have the clips? Let's make that part of the live performance.” When we got to that part of the song, Phil piped them through an amp in the room so that they became a live piece of the recording. When the other folks who were playing on the record heard my wife's voice as a little girl, and the voice of her father, who's not around anymore, talking to her in this very sweet, paternal, everyday way, it really supercharged the atmosphere. Those players are so incredible, and so sensitive, that they picked up on all of that and it really came through in the final version.
You can feel it, for sure. Having interviewed so many people about the art of building their songs, you decided on Phil Weinrobe as a producer – and you yourself have done a lot of self-production. What are some of the lessons that you have distilled from all of your time in the music-making/recording space?
I have to say, working with Phil really upended a lot of the ideas that I had been accumulating over the years. He operates with a different fundamental paradigm than what I had come up learning and trying to do as a bedroom artist, recording everything on my own, track by track. Again, I found Phil through fandom. I'm a huge fan of Adrianne Lenker [Big Thief], and Phil's name has come up in the course of Song Exploder, and also in the community of music people that I know. We got on a phone call, and I was like, “I have all these demos. How would you want to do it?” I was not familiar with Phil's way of working; I just knew that I loved the sound of those records. I had so much faith in Adrianne as an artist – like, “If this is her person, I want to see if that could be right for me.” I really loved talking to him. He seemed very sensitive and thoughtful, but I wasn't prepared for how drastically his methods would shake up my brain and life. We started talking about three months before we started recording, and, as we got further and further into those conversations, I kept thinking, “Have I made a terrible mistake?” I was trying not to run away from the idea of working with someone who's so confident in their process and has had such great results, even though I was very aware of how scared I was. Recording vocals live felt unthinkable to me. I was like, “I don't have perfect pitch. I'm not one of those singers who can nail it every single time, and what happens if I don't?” Phil really acted like a therapist, in terms of reframing my own expectations for myself as an artist versus the things that I love. He was saying, “Think about all of these records that you love, and think about how many of those don't have perfect singing at every single moment. Don't you love them, despite that? Maybe even you love them because of that. Maybe some of your favorite moments are the moments that feel a little messy, like something hasn't been polished.” I've been through this long era of trying to be meticulous about my music-making and my production. I just found out recently that the word “meticulous” has its roots in the Latin word for fear – that's really spot on. I would be meticulous, because I was so afraid that if I didn't do the absolute best possible version of everything, if I didn't re-record a million takes so that I could finally get it right, then it would be evidence that I didn't deserve to be making music. I was scared that by doing it the Phil way, I would be proving that, over and over and over again. Also, having my primary relationship to music for so long be as this person who talks to artists, as opposed to being the artist, I was especially nervous that maybe my only legitimate position could be as someone who documented things for other people and that I didn't have a place as a participant. So, to record in this way and expose myself to all of those shortcomings on my part felt incredibly scary. But I was trying to figure out how to make an album about memories that felt alive in the present moment. Recording it live, I think, brought it into the present moment in a way that I'd never been able to do before.
Yeah, it sounds like it. What a story to be telling yourself about yourself as a music maker: That you have to prove your value. Phil was able to help you learn a new story, one that involves a lot of abundant support from the people in the room with you.
Yeah, it's funny, because his style, too, is so nonchalant. It's not like he was gently leading me by the hand. It was as if he was like, “From where I'm standing, this is so obvious, and it should be obvious to you,” which was very effective. It had a kind of matter-of-fact bluntness where he was almost just like, “Wake up, dude.” What I especially love about him, and about the way that he talks about music, is his moral/aesthetic compass. He puts so much value on certain things; not the things that you might expect. He’s about unique artistry, honesty, and feeling – not about what will be catchy. It's more like, “What's going to be the expression of this that feels alive?” He realigned the spectrum I had of, like, polished and good on the same axis, and failure and mistakes on the same axis. What's crazy is, as a listener, he's absolutely right. There are so many moments in music that I love, the sounds that come out of nowhere, like, “Oh, somebody opened the door in the middle of the recording.” But it's like, “I love that part of the song. And I never knew what that sound was.” Those kinds of elements have always been things that I've gotten excited about as a fan, but I just never allowed myself to participate in some of that because I felt like it had to be, “better.” And he introduced the idea that “better” is actually not about polishing – in fact, polishing could be the thing that takes all the life out of it, making it worse.
That is very valuable.
It's especially meaningful for me to talk to you about this for Tape Op, because it’s where I learned so much about self-producing. I learned about so many things by reading interviews about how artists I loved would make records that sounded insane to me, all the weird solutions people would find to get to what they wanted, to try and capture what was in their head. All that would end up feeding into why I wanted to make the podcast. It opened me up to experimentation with my own recording in ways that were so important creatively. Somewhere along the way, I lost some of that permissiveness that was introduced to me by all these wild ways of writing and recording [that I had learned about]. At some point, I started feeling like I had to do it the “right” way, but by doing the podcast that slowly got unlearned as well because I got to meet all these people who have unique ways of doing things.
That's interesting. You'll be pleased to hear that Tape Op’s editor, Larry Crane, appreciates what you do, too. He told me he’s impressed by how you manage to get access to all those raw multitracks.
Unfortunately, there are a lot of episodes that never got made because there weren't raw tracks available. When I first started doing remixes, hearing other people's stems was such a cool moment, to be able to be like, “Oh! That's what it sounds like when the guitars are isolated! There's so much more going on than I realized.” At the heart of the podcast is a chance for other people to have that moment of listening to what's actually happening in this one track. There's some irony, of course, in having made my album now with Phil, where there are no isolated stems because we were all in one room recording together! [laughter]
That's great. Is there any gear that you're especially fond of these days?
The most recent addition for me is the Orchid from Telepathic Instruments. They call it an “ideas machine.” I had to compose a theme for something. I plugged this thing in and started playing with it, and I did end up writing something; an idea came out of it. So far, it’s one for one, so I'm really excited about that.
