What first got you into songwriting?
I've always been into it, I guess. It feels funny, because I'm in my childhood bedroom right now, and this is where I would write all my songs on Reason and [Apple] Logic. That's how I got into producing and engineering; just doing it with my own songs as a teenager. Then, I went to university, interned at studios, and did the more official sound courses. The old school route: Work at studios, engineer, and work your way up. At a certain point, as much as I love engineering and producing, I think the thing I'm best at is the creative side as opposed to the technical side. In sessions, what I was best at was making the artist feel comfortable being there with their creative ideas. I [would be] engineering, thinking, “This isn't the exact route I want to take.” I had just gotten my first album production credit and I loved that, so I kind of eased in. There was a while where engineering was my day job so that I could be a songwriter. I would take engineering sessions in order to afford having a writing room in London and kept doing my 10,000 hours of writing sessions and production sessions. Now, my engineering background and my songwriting background go perfectly hand in hand, and a lot of the time it's sort of the same process.
Describe the typical songwriting process for you.
It's always different. It depends on what the artist wants. An artist might come in with most of an idea and how they want it to be finished. Sometimes I'm not playing a single instrument; instead I'm helping out on lyrics. Sometimes I'm playing all the instruments, and the artist is doing topline and melody. I try to keep it as artist-led as possible, because at the end of the day it's not the Steph Marziano song, it's theirs. To be honest with you, I don't go in with ideas, because I find that clouds my head. I trust my ability that something will come out, and 99 percent of the time it does.
You're a pro. That’s what I'm hearing.
Yeah, sometimes I don't feel like it, but I think so.
Do you remember when you first realized that you loved songwriting?
I found that band spaces weren't super friendly towards women teenagers in the early 2000s, so I wasn't getting invited to jam with the boys. It was more inward songwriting, then learning to record, then getting that confidence to think, “This is such a cool release!” I can sit with a notebook, write lyrics, play chords, and do the production on my laptop. Whereas loads of guy musicians I know spent all those years jamming with other musicians. My love for it came inwardly as a teenager, and it was only as I got older that I realized I can share this enjoyment with people. Now, being an adult and doing this job, my focus is giving that enjoyment to the artist, whether it's inward or collaborative.
Like midwifing artists through the process.
I've never heard that analogy before, but that's good. Yeah, however they want to do it, I'm there to support them, because no one's going to write a great song if they're hating the experience, not feeling confident, and not feeling themselves. I’m trying to take that feeling I remember as a teenager – of discovering songwriting and feeling, “This is the most fulfilling thing ever” – and trying to give that to as many people as possible.
I've heard you described as being a “fun aunt” in the studio. It seems you fit the audio world definition of being a “good hang.” What do you think makes someone a good hang in the studio?
I love Amy Poehler's podcast Good Hang... I'm obsessed with it, and I've listened to a bunch of episodes where she talks about the world of improv being [applicable] to any industry, because you've got to adapt and “yes, and…” everything – whether you're an artist, whether you're a producer, whether you're anyone, in any job. If I come in saying, “No, this is how we're going to write the song. This is how we're going to produce it,” an artist may say, “Well, no. I had this completely different idea,” and that's not fun when two people are on opposite ends. The artist is under loads of pressure to write a song and have hits and all of those things. If, in the back of my head, I'm thinking, “Okay, I've got to recoup my publishing,” or, “This is how I've got to make a living” – I don't think I've ever written a good song when I'm thinking about that. I try to be in the moment with the artist and make all of us feel like the most confident and the most us version of ourselves.
That probably lends itself to building ongoing collaborations with musicians. Do you have anything that you can think of that you do intentionally to build those collaborations?
Being super open and making someone feel at ease is really important. The first time I worked with Hayley [Williams] was with Denai Moore, who I produced. At that time, I think Hayley hadn't collaborated much outside of the band [Paramore]. That was maybe six or seven years ago, and I remember consciously thinking, “This is probably nerve wracking for everyone involved – me and Denai being super nervous to meet Hayley Williams, but then also for Hayley to be working outside of her own project.” There's a deliberateness to making everyone feel comfortable, which stems from years as an assistant engineer and engineer, because I'd watch how producers (whether good or bad) would make those artists feel comfortable or uncomfortable. As an assistant engineer, you have this bird's-eye view of the way a producer and engineer does their job, because it's less responsibility in some regards. You're sat in the corner watching, and you're thinking, “Oh, that artist didn't like that thing that that producer said, and now they're a bit shy,” or, “Oh, they loved that thing, and they've gained confidence.” I got to watch and observe. “This producer did this thing and instantly the artist felt better, but it didn't work for this other person. How come?” It's definitely a skillset that takes years to develop. So much of it comes from watching people work.
That was such a good answer, because a lot of people don't have that kind of social conditioning.
Exactly. It was social conditioning. I find now that [songwriting and engineering go] hand-in-hand. A lot of times, instead of doing singles with people, I tend to do full projects with them. Songwriting sessions are a good way to see if we gel. With bands who maybe don't do as much songwriting – if that's still a scarier thing for them – we start with a songwriting session. If that goes really well, I may produce the album. I might have only written one or two songs on the album, but we’ve produced a body of work together. Weirdly, songwriting also showcases my engineering and producing skills, in the sense that I could be someone’s right hand person for a whole album. It's a way to build trust with an artist. It’s a nice way in. Sometimes it's the opposite. I produced Sir Chloe's record and she had written everything. But now we're doing songwriting together because we've made a record together, and we have that trust within each other. It's about being as flexible and open to whatever role I need to play on a record. It’s more of an L.A. thing, but sometimes people will get stuck on, “I'm the topliner,” or, “I'm the track person.” I hate that. I think, “Well, we're all here to make a song for the artist, and we want that artist to be comfortable.” Whatever role I need to fill, I'll do it. I don't care if someone else sits in on [Avid] Pro Tools. We're all in this together.
You have worked on so many different kinds of projects. A Moon Shaped Pool [for Radiohead], with Sam Smith, Denai Moore, and Jay Som – all these incredible sessions. What are some things that you've learned from inhabiting different genres?
On a musical scale, all of those genres can be so different. Instead of thinking about the differences, I like thinking of the commonalities. One of my first big credits when I was an assistant was working for The Prodigy for about four months. At the time, I didn't really know anything about electronic music. All I listened to was indie bands, and I suddenly got chosen to work on this Prodigy record [The Fat of the Land]. It was a baptism by fire in loads of ways, but it taught me electronic music. There are so many principles of indie music that are similar to electronic music, information that you can take to any other genre. I try not to pigeonhole the thing that I'm working on or making, defining it by what the sound should be. Instead, I ask myself, “Well, what does the song need? What's the most important element of the song?” Then all of the sounds will happen based on the song. I've just made a record with my all-time favorite artist from when I was a teenager, Kevin Devine. His musical background has always been between folk music and indie rock. With this record, his 11th album, part of it was wanting to change it up and part of it was, as a longtime fan and listener, thinking, “What do those listeners want?” We took one of his songs that I could have recorded in a classic way – it was one of the most beautiful folk songs I've ever heard, standard folk structure and an acoustic guitar – but it was his idea to change it. I did a sound bed of synths, his vocal, and noises and things – no acoustic instruments of any sort. That’s one of those things those years of not being able to choose what records I worked on as an assistant engineer and engineer really helped with, turning a beautiful folk song into a thing that's a little bit more expansive.
It sounds like you had to summon some courage to work with someone that you admired so much.
Oh, definitely. I had to pinch myself a lot of the time!
But then you're also confident enough in your own skill set to be able to pitch an idea that utilizes your expertise to him.
I think so. I remember when I was in high school, I was listening to Dan Deacon, and the electronics of it really blew my mind. That was my first view of that world. I remember my music teacher saying, “Any great song you could just play on piano and it's still going to be great.” I remember challenging him at the time, “No way is that true!” And he was so right. As a producer, I'm listening for the song and I trust in my ability, I trust in the artist’s ability, and that however we dress it, in whatever genre, that will be right for the song.
You mentioned Kevin Devine as being a major influence. What are some other albums that influenced you as a songwriter?
I grew up reading Tape Op when I was a teenager. I remember I got my first subscription at 15 or 16, and Elliott Smith [Tape Op #4] was a huge inspiration. Rob Schnapf [#9] was my absolute hero. I remember reading what he had done, and he also then produced Kevin Devine. I'd started off as a teenager listening to pop punk, then I discovered this beautiful folk but also emo-adjacent world, and it opened my eyes massively, like, “I can have the emotion and upbeatness, but also still be expansive in lots of ways.” I mean, The Beatles will forever be my biggest influence. There are also amazing things that I love in pop music. I'm from New Jersey, so I grew up with Bruce Springsteen in the background of every event of my life. I didn’t realize how much of an influence that stuff has had on me. It comes out in random moments. Honestly, there are so many producers and great musicians from New Jersey. Jack Antonoff [#135] talks about it a lot, how the edge of these big cities is a big breeding ground for loads of different genres of music. [There’s] emo that came out of the East Coast, like Springsteen and Frank Sinatra – all these different pockets of music from that area.
I'm so interested in how geography plays a role in how music sounds.
I moved to England when I was 18, and honestly my musical background was so different to [that of] everyone I went to college with at the time. Neutral Milk Hotel [Tape Op #11] was, and probably still is, one of my favorite bands. I remember moving to England and people not knowing that they were such a huge thing. Then I listened to all these British bands that had the same influences as some American counterparts, and I remember that blowing my mind. In the early 2000s, when America had Bright Eyes, England had Razorlight. Those were two very opposite worlds of indie music happening at the same time. Certain artists crossed over the pond and certain artists didn't. It's interesting.
What an interesting education.
It’s all I talk about, at the moment. And in the ‘90s, there were so many bands that were clearly ‘60s inspired.
Oh, yeah! The guitars.
Oh my god, massively! Oasis was like The Beatles, but with an easier-to-sing melody over Beatles chords and structures, whereas Elliott Smith and Nirvana were equally as Beatles-inspired, but on the opposite ends of The Beatles’ chord structures with the weirdness of The Beatles. Those two things were happening at the same time, but miles apart. I think it’s so fascinating.
Oh, I love this.
I can go on this TED Talk anytime. I remember being 15 and reading all those articles in Tape Op and thinking, “Oh my god.” And then I messaged Rob Schnapf on Facebook in 2007 that I’d just discovered Elliott Smith and I couldn't believe that vocal sound. He responded and was so kind. Especially as a woman at that point, to have those people tell me that I could do that job? I wouldn't be doing it without those people now. Funnily enough, I'm meeting Rob next week and might work with him with Kevin. It's such a mad thing that all those people that massively inspired me are still supportive now. It’s very full circle to be chatting to Tape Op today. It's absolutely wild. And Kevin Devine was genuinely my all-time favorite artist, and probably still is. He's still my number one artist on Spotify. I wrote my college essay on him, and then, as I came back home to do his record, I was in my childhood room and found my old high school graduation invite card. And I was so emo that on the back of the card, I’d put a Kevin Devine lyric – as one does! [laughter] I showed it to him as we were making the record – you know, 15 years later.
What sounds or gear do you find yourself gravitating towards lately?
I’ve been loving this guitar pedal that I also use on synths. It's called the Neon Egg Planetarium. This dude hand-makes them in England. It has three different types of reverb that are cool, as well as a tape flutter and delay. It's also got a sidechain compression that's good, and it widens and makes things sound nice – not overly tape-y. I've been into guitar pedals recently, but also putting synths through them, and amping them up. I've also got the [Keeley Electronics] Loomer [Fuzz Reverb] pedal that emulates those Alesis reverbs from the late ‘80s from all those big Pixies records and ‘90s reverb guitar units. I feel like all I'm talking about is guitar pedals, but another one to shout is [Audio Kitchen’s] The Big Trees guitar pedal. It's a great gain pedal. Or you can use it as an amp and go directly into the cab – it sounds like an old ‘50s WEM guitar amp. It's got this wild tone. But, as a gain pedal, it's really beefy, so a lot of times I'll put my little [Teenage Engineering] OP-1 in, plug it into my pedals, and it distorts like a guitar but it also sounds a bit weird and interesting.
That sounds really fun. I've got to get me an OP-1.
Oh, they’re so much fun. Life's never been the same after getting an OP-1. Even though it's probably stuff you can do now on an app, there's something tactile about it. Also, that thing of being the “fun aunt.” Well, an OP-1 gets everyone in the room buzzed! So much of the weirdness on [Hayley William's] “Parachute" was from the OP-1.
The Grammy-nominated song, “Parachute”?
Yes, which is still wild to say!
