With your studio, Presto, there was no moment of, "Okay. Now we're going to build a studio." It just kind of gradually evolved?
Yeah, the last thing I actually did in the basement studio was this band from Belgium that nobody has ever heard of. Some of the older Bright Eyes stuff — like Fevers and Mirrors, was recorded in the basement, and that was the last Bright Eyes thing we ever did there. Cursive, a rock band that's on Saddle Creek — their Domestica record was recorded in the basement. That was the first rock record I'd ever recorded that I felt responsible for. A lot of this stuff was my brother and myself working on it together. There was a point that finally did come where we said, "Okay, let's take this seriously," and we decided to start looking around for spaces. The thing that really pushed it was that I bought a Studer 2" machine that I couldn't fit in the house. I had to leave it in storage. Now we had to find an actual space, because you can't tear that thing apart to fit it through a door. You either have to make a new door, which is what we talked about doing, but this was a house anyway and it was sort of a pain in the ass.
And your parents lived upstairs?
No, this was in Lincoln. My parents still lived in Omaha. This was just a house that my brother and I lived in.
So, then the next incarnation was Presto?
Presto, right. I couldn't think of a name, and the place that we found used to be a studio. A guy named Dave Snyder built the studio there and never quite finished it. It was actually designed by Fletcher from Mercenary Audio. I had gone on tour with Bright Eyes and came back from Lincoln about two months later — I was driving my car downtown. I always kept my eye on Dave's studio, just to see if he was doing anything and who would be recording there. So I drive by and in the window it said, "For Rent." So I was like, "Holy shit. That could be a good break for me." So I called the number and we had a lease in a couple of days. It was almost a fully built studio and it was such a perfect thing — and I had always liked Dave — he was a friend of ours.
That was about five years ago and now you're moving it?
No, it's still there. We haven't moved it yet. We're going to build a new place because Presto is in a flood plain and they're tearing out all of the street that I'm on and making a little creek that goes through. That probably won't happen for another twenty years. They've been talking about it for twenty years now, but it really became serious about three years ago where they said, "You're going to have to be out in six months" and we were like, "What?" Then six months would go by and we would never even hear from them, being the city — so we've been there. It's been good. The rooms sound all right, but there are some problems with them. They weren't built exactly to the specs that they were supposed to be. So, I bought this house in Omaha and behind it is a full size indoor basketball court — so it's five thousand square feet and the ceilings are thirty-something feet. Connected to that is an indoor swimming pool. It's all one big, L-shaped building — the guy must've liked to recreate. Connected to that is a four bedroom guesthouse. When I saw this listed, I thought, "That sounds ideal." I [thought] I could put a studio in the basketball court because you've got five thousand square feet and you could leave the pool — right now the pool is empty, but it could work.
Is it square? Could you skateboard in it?
You know, you could skateboard in it. It's kind of an L- shaped pool, though. I don't know if that's good or bad.
I was in Iceland two weeks ago at the Sigur Rós studio, which is inside a swimming pool. Maybe you could do that too...
Right. I saw that, it seems pretty cool.
So that's the future of Presto then?
We just got permission because it's not zoned properly. Even though this is not going to be a commercial studio, it's going to be a project-oriented place. I'm not going to advertise for it. We've never really advertised studio stuff as far as a commercial studio goes. So, that's sort of the future of this. I've hired Wes Lachot to design it.
Oh, cool. I know Wes.
We're gonna have two control rooms, two tracking areas, with all the iso booths too — so there's one big tracking room and one smaller tracking room, and one big control room and one kind of big control room — so it's sort of a two room facility with a couple of lounges. It's something that Conor from Bright Eyes and myself are doing together in a joint venture kind of way, because he wants a studio for personal use and I want a studio because mine is going to be torn down eventually. And also, I just had a baby and I want to work close by. For the amount of time that any engineer spends in a studio, you would miss out [on so much of your child growing up]. You spend fourteen hours a day working, so it's nice for me to be able to walk forty feet and see my daughter and have lunch, versus heating something in the microwave between takes. So, I really wanted to make a home studio work and Conor was interested in that, so we are trying to build a studio together. That's why I say it's more of a project-oriented thing, not a commercial thing. We finally got an actual special use permit from the city to build it on Thursday and on Monday we got a building permit, so now we're ready to go. We don't have all the money to do it, but hopefully we'll make it soon enough as the project goes along.
So another six or nine months maybe?
Yeah, we are hoping to get the ceiling put in first because winter is going to roll around, and that should probably be done within a month. We're just getting contractor things worked out — different dates from electricians, drywallers, framers, you know — that whole routine. The plans that Wes has drawn up are really good, but they're somewhat elaborate.
He doesn't cut corners.
Yeah. I've been fairly absent in the whole process, which I feel a little bad about, but I was in Europe for two months on a Bright Eyes tour and then I stayed there recording a band from Stockholm for a month more. I was there for the three months during most of the phases where he was designing, so I wasn't as much a part of that as I thought I needed to be — but he did a good job taking in information of what I wanted.
How do you see your role, as a producer or as an engineer?
For me, it all comes down to what the band wants. Most of the time when a band comes in, the band has very specialized or unique needs — and I've never really been good at drawing lines as far as definitions go. When I first started recording bands my focus was trying to achieve the most accurate sound I could for the band. This is how the band sounds and I want to try and represent that in a physical medium that people can listen to. That was most of it at the beginning — sort of just learning the engineering skill, because myself and my brother are self-taught. My point is that the first two years of getting more involved in serious recording, I never would have thought anything I did was producing. I didn't even know what that meant, to be honest. I guess I know what it means to people nowadays. As I kept recording stuff, sometimes I'd make a suggestion here and there if they were my friends and I was comfortable with it. I'd be like, "Have you ever thought of trying this instead?" — whether it would be shortening a part or adding a part or adding different instrumentation.
You play on a lot of projects that you've recorded. You play pedal steel, right? What other instruments do you play and how do you balance that role of music- ian/engineer/producer/studio owner?
I have also always collected weird instruments. Just any odd instrument — and so all this stuff was sitting around my basement when bands would come over there. I would like the way a hammer dulcimer sounds, so I would buy one impulsively. I'm not good at playing it, but I can, you know. People kept persuading me to play on their records — just little bit things here and there — and I don't consider that producing either. But where I started to be recognized as a producer, especially when it comes to the Saddle Creek bands, is where I get involved with the band in a really intimate way, where you almost feel as another member in a creative way. I guess that is taking it a little far. Certain bands will come with things slightly unfinished and they're like, "These are our ideas" — demo stuff — "but we know they could be better. What do you think? What would you do?" That's when I started getting involved in that role and that's beyond engineering. That's not engineering at all. That's not engineering or recording. That's where I kind of realized what people do when they say they're a producer. It's when you become involved in a musically creative way and not just a sonically creative way in the way that things sound, but in a harmonic, melodic way — in a song structure way. That happens to me now on almost every project. I like engineering my own stuff. I never really had another engineer, so the line is always a little blurry for me, because I do both now. I never intended to do that, I just gradually ended up in a place where people started asking me these questions and giving me unfinished songs. And with Conor, that sort of changed a lot for me as well. One of the first records that I feel like I might have produced was the Fevers and Mirrors record, where we started recording in my basement and it was basically me and Conor — and then every now and then, we'd have friends come over and play parts, but it was mostly me and him making this record. He had songs on his acoustic guitar, but they were kind of unfinished and he'd be like, "Here's my song. Let's make a rock song out of it." We would arrange and record and write a new part, so that's where I started. I really enjoyed that aspect of it. I've always loved his songs, but him explaining what he would like to hear and trying to help materialize that was a new challenge to me and something separate from straight engineering or recording. I have a great appreciation for that as well, because that's what I do, but to me it's different when they start asking you to write music with them. That's what I think producers do. I've never been in a recording session with a producer — I've recorded all my own shit, so I don't really know what they do. Maybe they sit there and say, "Oh, do that again. Let's try that again" — which is what I do, but I consider that's what I've always done even when recording a band that I didn't hardly know that were from Lincoln that just wanted to record a CD to send to bars to get gigs. You're going, "Well, you're flat, dude. Let's try it again." That's not really producing. Maybe it is. As far as being a studio owner, I never really wanted to be a studio owner.
We kind of already touched on that...
It just sort of had to happen because there was no other alternative where we lived. Even in Lincoln there wasn't really any professionals — there was one studio (sort of) and they were mostly jingle oriented, so for indie bands in the Nebraska area, Lincoln, especially — where we were all going to school at the time — there was no real music-oriented recording studio. We were just trying to fill a void and I ended up becoming a studio owner, which I like, I guess, but it's a pain sometimes you know, with the stresses of gear and maintenance and debt.
One of the first records I heard that you did was Rilo Kiley's The Execution of All Things. I felt like, wow this is great, a record with some production values and some obvious studio experi-mentation, yet it still felt kinda' homegrown and organic, and was still clearly an indie label release. But, it strived for and achieved much more than a lot of 'indie-rock' records. From my point of view, it was refreshing to see a record that was 'produced' a bit, as opposed to much of the indie rock recording scene which has the kind of Steve Albini [Tape Op #87] "I will document this and I will not produce this" kind of aesthetic.
It just sounds sometimes maybe a little too heavy. Maybe too much importance put on terminology.
The word producer you mean?
Yeah, or to not be a producer. It seems like it could almost get to a point where they want to be something the opposite of what they feel has hurt music, or something negative. I never really thought of the idea of being a music producer as anything negative. I guess nowadays there is a watered down version of the role, I suppose, maybe in a more major label and a more cheesy aspect of what is considered producing.
Well, it sounds like you came to it in a much more organic way- oppor- tunities evolved into what you do.
The reason that I have a hard time answering that is that I have been so isolated with my recording experiences — I know most of these folks probably grew up learning the ropes in actual recording studios around producers, seeing the good and bad sides of the recording process or what makes a record more true or what doesn't. I was never exposed to any other people's work processes or anything like that, so I guess the way I've evolved into this career is a very natural way. So when somebody refers to me as a producer, I don't think of it in an embarrassing or negative way. There is that in the indie world, that mentality that a band, like you said, should just be documented. That's fine, I guess. I never really think about it. It doesn't ever cross my mind, ever. I don't even know what I'm called until I see the album art work. Truly, I didn't know. It's not anything that we ever talk about or ever even brought up so it's a hard one for me to answer. It's not a concern to me. I guess I'll go back to saying every band — I just do what they want done. I know bands that would go to Steve Albini — that's what they want. The sounds that he gets on a record are great. They've been some of the [records] that I have in the studio for sound reference things. He does a really great job capturing a band playing together and that's probably what the bands that are going to him are looking for. Bands that might come to me are maybe looking for something a bit different, something where they want more musical input, versus the lack of a sonic statement. Someone comes to me looking for some sort of sonic imprint and I personally don't know what it is. If you listen to the Rilo Kiley record and around that same time, that same era, I did Cursive's The Ugly Organ record, which has all kinds of weirdness, but sounds nothing like Rilo Kiley, and then you put on Lifted, the Bright Eyes record also recorded around the same time, it sounds nothing like those records. Then also, The Faint's, Danse Macabre, recorded around the same time, all within the same year. I guess some producers have their sound that they stamp on a band — I don't know if that's true or not — but I've heard people say that certain producers have a sound and bands come to them and that's what they kind of want — but that tends to homogenize their projects, I think, and I'm really not into that. So I try to focus on what each individual group wants or needs.
It's interesting — the first thing you said in answering that questions is almost exactly what Steve says is why he started recording, which was to make an accurate picture of the band. But yet you've both gone down different, divergent paths.
I found when people would come to me — a lot of times you get demos from the band and they say, "What do you think should be done?" I like that aspect of it, working more musically, internally with the band as a musician, you know what I mean? I don't know, obviously Steve is a musician so I don't know if he ever does that sort of thing with bands. I'm not sure, but I do know that he makes extremely thoughtful records, and great sounding ones. Some of my favorite guitar and drum tones — period. The essence of what he does, he does perfectly.
Maybe it's because you've tended to gravitate more towards singer- songwriters with whom you have a more collaborative role, and Steve's doing more band stuff.
I guess that's true. The people I work with, like if you take Rilo Kiley — they are a rock band, but it's kind of two singer songwriters in the band — Jenny Lewis and Blake Sennett. With Conor, it's obviously that way. With bands like The Faint, on their last record, Wet From Birth, there was a lot of collaboration on that record. I've done a few other electronic records. Actually Joel from The Faint, he has a group called Broken Spindles and we did collaborative stuff, re- arranging things. I added a lot of loops and played a lot of instruments that weren't there, just things that — I guess you're right, I do tend to work with people that want to collaborate versus a band that has their sound all ready that they make between themselves. I guess that's what I tried to say, but it sounded kind of cheesy when it came out of my mouth. What I tried to say was I ended up sort of becoming involved like a band member in a way on some records.
When I first heard that Rilo Kiley record it really struck me — and the pedal steel is a lot of this — I was like, "Well this guy is the indie rock Daniel Lanois." [Tape Op #37 & #127]
