Phill Brown: Are We Still Rolling?

We interviewed Phill Brown in issue number [ #12 ] of Tape Op . Over the years he's worked with some of the greatest artists ever, like Jimi Hendrix, Joe Cocker, Traffic, Spooky Tooth, Jeff Beck, Led Zeppelin, Robert Palmer, Bob Marley, Steve Winwood, Harry Nilsson, Roxy Music, Stomu Yamash'ta, John Martyn, Little Feat, Atomic Rooster, and Talk Talk. This is another excerpt from his (still!) unpublished book, Are We Still Rolling? Last issue : Phill worked on Robert Palmer's Pressure Drop. –LC

Months of continuous work from November 1975 now peaked during February 1976, when I found myself working on two albums at once. During the day, from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m., I was mixing Rock Follies , while at night, from 8 p.m. to 5 a.m., I was recording Stomu Yamash'ta and the GO project.

Rock Follies was a TV drama and album based on the music business, co-written and produced by Andy Mackay and Howard Schulman. For me it had started in late January, after back-to-back sessions with Blondel and Jim Capaldi. The Rock Follies recording sessions were long and manic, as there was a total of only 15 days available to record and mix all the music - not only for the TV show, but for the album as well.

There were about fifteen people on the sessions, mainly from the TV company - producers, directors, writers and those in charge of the script. We worked so fast that the whole project was plagued by musical and technical mistakes. However, the sessions were made easier by the humor of Ray Russell, who was the guitarist and arranger. Andy's laid-back attitude also helped, as did the "game" of matching up the TV story with real life studio events. Charlotte Cornwall appeared nervous and neurotic and took a daily Valium to help her deal with the stress, while Rula Lenska seemed to be out of her depth, very detached and had difficulty singing in tune. Julie Covington, unlike her TV character, was totally professional and, I thought, the only real singer. The sessions were constantly interrupted by emotional outbursts, musical mistakes and demands "to be taken seriously.". There were many occasions when Andy, Ray and I would hide behind the desk, laughing hysterically, trying not to be seen by the singers and musicians.

On the 4th of February we finished recording and moved into Studio 2 to mix. The crowd of people was now reduced to six. Up to this point I had been working an average of 14 hours a day with no real breaks, trying to finish each day's workload before driving home to Sussex at night. However, things were about to get even worse.

Stomu's album was very different in content and approach and included a band of "name" musicians. It was labeled a "rock/classical concept album", but turned out much better than this description might suggest. I had worked with Stomu the year before, on the album Raindog . This had been recorded and mixed in Studio 1 in just two weeks, during which I had struck up a good relationship with Stomu. That was the first time I had had any working experience with a Japanese artist. He seemed straight and honest in his dealings with people. Eighteen years later, while working with Fusasonuke Kondou on an album in London and touring in Japan, I discovered that such straightforwardness and honesty is perfectly normal behavior in Japan.

Stomu had built up a reputation in both the classical and jazz fields as being a genuinely experimental percussionist. With justification, he was described in his own publicity material as "an artist who really does succeed in breaking down barriers." Stomu was now in his late 20s, with long straight black hair, thin face and sinewy body. He appeared very centered and through patience, stamina and determination usually achieved what he set out to do. He could be very single-minded in his working approach and at times gave off a feeling of intransigence. He had released two previous "rock" albums on Island Records, The Man from the East in 1972 and the aforementioned Raindog in 1975, in which many western musicians had been involved, including Morris Pert, Peter Robinson, Gary Boyle and Maxine Nightingale. Both albums had received excellent reviews. His music had been used in the films The Devils and The Man Who Fell to Earth and he had worked with the British Royal Ballet on the more classical Shukumei. His beautiful wife, Hisako - a leading classical violinist and very successful in her own right - was also a guest on these albums. On Raindog , Stomu had welcomed my comments and suggestions and I had brought in my old friend Murray Head to help write lyrics and perform the lead vocals. Stomu had been impressed. The sessions had gone smoothly and partly because of this he was back at Basing Street wanting me to record with him again.

To fit in with the schedule of some of Stomu's musicians, the album had to start on the 6th of February and be finished by the 27th in order to allow enough time to record all the backing tracks with this particular band. Meanwhile Andy was due to finish the Rock Follies project on the 11th, and as we had built up a good friendship over the previous three years I did not want to let him down by pulling out. I decided that, rather than lose either album, I would work on both sessions at once during the five days that they clashed. At this time I did not realize how vast the scale of Stomu's project was.

Stomu's band consisted of Steve Winwood - keyboards, Michael Shrieve - drums, Klaus Schulze - synthesizers, Al DiMeola - guitar, Rosko Gee - bass, Pat Thrall and Junior Marvin - guitars, Brother James and Stomu - percussion, and Paul Buckmaster - string and brass arrangements. Among the instruments that Klaus Schulze was using was an original Moog synthesizer. Subsequent models were made more compact, but at that time the Moog was an enormous device consisting of four or five separate units bristling with oscillators and dials. Each sound had to be individually patched before being played, and a number of patch bays were provided for this purpose. I set up Klaus in the 8' x 6' vocal booth where he occupied the entire space. The rest of the musicians were set up in a large circle in Studio 1. I felt that this was the best way to achieve optimum visual contact between the musicians while allowing a certain amount of acoustic separation, plus I liked the idea of recording them with an "orchestral" or "classical" approach. This was a topic that had come up in conversation with Paul Buckmaster, Stomu and myself on their arrival, when they had briefed me as to what they were trying to do. During this 15 minute discussion I had formulated a possible plan and placed percussion in front of the control room window, with (anti-clockwise) booths for drums, bass, guitars, additional percussion, piano and organ.

Assisted by Robert Ash, I set up microphones, while six Japanese guys unloaded cameras, slide and movie projectors and various stands and lights. It was planned that while we were working, NASA films of the 1969 Moon landing would be shown on the full-sized projection screen on the far wall, and slides would be projected onto the ceiling. Candles were used for illumination, and to help the vibe. The plan was to try to make it feel like real time, and it would take at least four nights to reach the moon, most of the time just drifting through space.

Down the center of the studio was a collection of musical sculptures from "Instruments Sonores des Fre?res Baschet" in France - a phenomenon Stomu had tracked down during his months of touring. These "instruments" consisted of 16-foot springs that could be made to vibrate when struck and glass tubes of varying length that, when stroked, gave off sounds similar to using a moistened finger on the rim of a wine glass. All the sculptures could be played, or gave off a sound. Having all the percussion instruments (in the form of a wide H) running down the center of the studio allowed Stomu a clear passage and easy access to all these devices. He was flamboyant in his approach to playing and great to watch as he ran about wildly with sticks and beaters, hitting various pieces of percussion.

The theme of GO was change and polarity, fantasy and reality, death and rebirth. There were three main producers - Dennis McKay, Stomu Yamash'ta and Paul Buckmaster, with additional help from Steve Winwood and Mike Shrieve. This presented some problems with individual sounds, particularly the drums and the overall monitor mix, as there were, including myself, six different opinions on offer. Because they had the loudest voices, Paul and Mike usually won.

We recorded with very few acoustic screens and, in employing a classical approach, there was a large amount of leakage. I used Neumann U87s on the drums and piano, with AKG D12s on all the bass and guitar amps and Hammond. There was an assortment of 87s, 84s and 224s on the percussion, and in all I used 22 mics and eight direct injection boxes on the collection of instruments. All 32 inputs on the Helios desk were being used and I recorded onto a 3M 24-track machine, including two ambient room microphones onto tracks 23 and 24. With the large number of microphones, leads and headphones used and the outboard equipment of compressors and limiters, we were, technically, pushed to the limit. The studio was on a 24-hour lock out, due to the large number of instruments and film gear, and all the plugging and desk settings involved. The studio would stay permanently set up like this until the end of the album.

When Stomu's album started on the 5th of February I moved into Chris Blackwell's old flat in the roof of the church, above Studio 1. He had lived here when he was in London, during 1970 - ‘74, but it was now empty most of the time. A door at the top of the rear spiral stairway led straight into the flat. There was a large main living room, with a 15-foot ceiling and two round windows set high on the walls. The room contained a leather couch and two chairs, a low glass table and a collection of modern standard lamps and spotlights. Along the rear wall was an open-plan kitchen and a door to the right gave access to a mosaic-tiled bathroom with a sunken bath. In the middle of the main room there was a spiral staircase leading up to a gallery area and a large double bed. This whole area was fashioned in a similar way to the studios, with the same brown carpet on the walls, floor and ceiling. From the bed it was possible to glimpse the roof-tops opposite by looking out of either of the two high windows, otherwise it was generally a dark room. It was well equipped with a video and TV, a stereo system and air-conditioning. Originally I had felt excited and privileged to be staying in C.B.'s flat during the breaks between sessions. However, as time progressed and I failed to leave the building for even a short walk, I began to wonder if it had been such a great idea.

My routine was: 1 a.m. - Rock Follies in Studio 2, cup of tea and a jam donut, line of cocaine. Start mixing, with Andy Mackay, Ray Russell and Howard Schumann. Cocaine at hourly intervals throughout the day, and with luck get three songs mixed. Finish around 7 p.m., back to the flat for a shower and a light meal, or just to sit quietly.

8 p.m. - Stomu in Studio 1, line of cocaine with Robert Ash, fire up the machines and get ready. A great deal of spliff to keep calm and help the effects of too much coke. Finish anytime between 5 and 7 am, up to the flat, a couple of Valium to help me sleep. Three to five hours later the whole cycle repeated.

I did not leave the building for eight days. Important things like cigarettes, food and drugs were all either supplied or obtainable from within the studio. This way of life was obviously not good for the health of my body or mind, and slowly it began to take its toll.

next issue: Phill keeps working and weathers a crisis...

Phill's amazing studio memoir, Are We Still Rolling? , has stories about recording Hendrix, the Stones, Zeppelin, and countless other icons.

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