Though he's the first to tell you that he's still finding his voice, Mike Odmark's sonic signature had arguably begun to rear its head by the time he made his first attempt at recording an album. After following his brother Matt Odmark out to Nashville in 2004, the younger Odmark landed an internship at Mitch Dane's Sputnik Sound facility. Dane had co-founded Sputnik with Matt's band, Jars Of Clay, whom he's worked with extensively. Nepotism aside, once Mike got his foot in the door he moved quickly from errand boy duties to testing the waters with comp vocals and trying to deconstruct and put his own spin on Dane's mixes. By the end of 2004 he hit the ground running, essentially beginning his career in earnest by working as producer-engineer on childhood friend Evan Goodberry's full-length, The Middle of the World. As Odmark explains, he threw himself into the producer's role without hesitation in spite of having little prior experience. For that project, Odmark relied mostly on his memory from watching Dane, notes he'd taken and of course late-night phone calls to the producer for advice. Mainly though, Odmark — who is still at somewhat of a loss to explain how he managed to sculpt the record into the shape he was going for — relied on his instincts. Clearly they've served him well. Since completing Goodberry's album, he's racked up twenty producer/engineer credits over the last four years. While that alone wouldn't necessarily set Odmark apart from any other aspiring studio rat, a cursory listen to his various credits reveals a distinct touch anchored by a definite, if unobtrusive creative vision. Odmark possesses an unmistakable flair for crafting spacious, earthy mixes and brings a fresh perspective to recording acoustic-based roots music. He has also attracted a group of upstart artists flying well below the radar in Nashville's underground folk scene. Now working mostly on his own using a combination of his home space and various studios throughout Nashville, Odmark caught up with Tape Op to discuss his principles and working methods.
How much did you ever envision that you'd be recording people for a living?
Growing up in Rochester, NY, I did a lot of recording and producing in some way. In high school I had this room in my church that used to be a radio studio, which I was given a key to. I used that to record stuff with friends — demos and writing stuff with people. So when I was thinking about what I wanted to do for college, I wanted to do producing, engineering or something in music, but I wasn't really thinking that I could do it as a career. My brother had lived in Nashville for about ten years at the time. He told me about Belmont University, and it seemed like a good fit because he's 11 years older than me and I'd never really gotten to know him. That was reason enough to move there. I started working for Mitch Dane almost right away.
Since then your career seems to have fallen together very gracefully.
I think that mainly happened because I fell into this community of artists, either from Belmont or just from having met all these songwriters and making friends with them. The next project after Evan's was an EP [Already/Not Yet] with Aaron Roche, and it was really natural for him to approach me. At that point, I was still working at Sputnik after hours and it was still free, so that had a lot to do with it. [laughs] I think it's been so natural because I'm genuinely excited to collaborate with them and not just get something for my production reel.
How did Nashville differ from what you were expecting when you arrived?
When I moved to Nashville, I expected it to be a lot larger. I thought of it as a big city, where it would be really difficult to tap into a community and easy to get lost in. But it's pretty small. A lot of the indie singer/songwriters see each other a lot. They all hang out at the same coffee shops and go to the same shows. It's pretty easy to meet a bunch of people, and before you know it they're your friends. It's the main reason I really love it here.
How much do you see the role of the producer as a collaborator?
I see it almost completely as that. When an artist comes to me with the record that they want to make, I don't feel it's my place to take it in a completely different direction, grab the wheel and run with it. Sometimes an artist wants that, where they just have these guitar-and-vocal songs and they don't really know where the destination is. But for the most part the artist knows what the destination would be, and I'm sort of offering them another way to get there. I'm just trying to push them (lightly) in a direction, and set the scene up so that they can do what they do naturally. I need to help them highlight what makes them unique and authentic so that the listener will be able to hear those aspects first.
You recently wrote on your blog, "Sometimes I think I have a secret crush on the '70s."
I think it's pretty clear that the '70s are the high point for how records sounded. I often go back to that with the sound or vibe I'm trying to get. That seems to have been an age when it was very much about capturing a performance. You could hear a band playing in a room, whereas it just doesn't seem to be about that anymore. It's about everybody doing things separately and everything being too perfect.
What records do you hold up now, either as sonic reference points or albums that had a profound impact on you?
Lately I've been listening to [John Lennon's] Imagine, a lot of Otis Redding and Stax stuff. I'm talking a little bit about the sonics, but mainly there's just this magic where those performances are so incredible. I think those are good examples of the golden age of how records were made.
There are elements that are common to the various recordings — a rustic feel but a modern clarity as well.
I try really hard not to over mix or control things too much. One thing I really don't like about the Nashville sound is how over mixed everything is. Drums are completely separated and everything sounds larger than life. I can't really relate to that. I don't feel like anybody can listen to that for longer than ten minutes before their ears start bleeding. The only conscious thing I try to maintain is a natural feel, where the instruments sound like they should, not like this huge thing that's super-processed. I do try to approach every mix differently, but that would be the main tie between them.
Some of the elements in your mixes have a softer impact.
I think that's very accurate, and I'd say that's mainly from the production side of it. I really love when recordings cause you to lean in, when they have that sense of detail. So yeah, my stuff is quieter in style. I'm just naturally drawn to that in my taste, so I tend to produce that way and the final mixes end up being that way too.
You have an attraction to unsigned rootsy artists and country-tinged folk. What other styles would you consider branching out into?
I have this dream of doing a hip-hop record someday. In general I'm attracted to any music that's honest.
Would you consider working with a louder band?
I have done a little bit of that. I worked with The Four Kicks, who are very much a pop-rock band. I went into that for the challenge, but I was attracted to their music because it's still very natural. My approach was to make sure that it still sounded like these guys playing. I didn't want everything to sound like The Black Crowes or something where it's just huge.
You were lucky in that you got to have creative input with artists early rather than strictly an engineering role. What would you recommend to people who are trying to get on a collaborative track like yours?
I think we're now in a place, for better or worse, where anybody even with a tiny bit of money can make a record. If you know somebody who writes songs that you enjoy, offer to collaborate with them. When I started I decided that I was a producer. When I worked on Evan's record I was thinking, "I'm the producer here" — even knowing that I didn't have any experience. I would say to do that instead of just recording demos for people. It's easy to get stuck with your modest recording rig and just offer to do demos for people. I don't really feel that that gets you anywhere, because the line between a demo and a record is so blurred now.
You knew early on you wanted to help Evan make a record, and then the engineering skills followed.
I engineer mainly so that I can produce. I've gotten to the point now where I'm fairly able to get the sounds that I hear, accomplish what I hear as a vision. But still, I think of myself — or what I want to be doing — as a producer first. I'm not working with budgets where I can hire an engineer, but I would like to because I'd love to be able to focus on just getting the right performances.
How did your mixing and recording style develop as a result of working at Sputnik? For example, what room properties appealed to you the most?
Sputnik Sound is basically just a house with wood floors, so I got attached to the sound of a good-sized bedroom with a wood floor. The tracking room I was using there at the time was pretty much just big enough to fit a drum kit, but it can still sound like a big room. It has this really intimate, yet roomy sound. [Sputnik has since added a "giant" (in Odmark's words) main tracking room. — Ed.]
What reverbs do you like to use? How do you approach getting the sense of space that you do in your mixes? How much of that is a result of what you had to work with at Sputnik?
I really like the [Digidesign] ReVibe plug-in. I tend to use that a lot when I have access to it — anything that sounds really natural and not digital. I try not to rely on a digital reverb for that sense of space. I try to incorporate natural things, like the room sound. On the "Quote" record [The Pace of Our Feet] we used this big concert bass drum that I have for a lot of the reverb on the vocals. We realized it was resonating a lot, and my instinct would have been to just cover it up, but we decided to put a mic on it. I just rolled off all the mud, and it gave this really interesting texture, almost like a plate.
What are some techniques you use to capture the room sound?
It totally depends on the record, but I typically lean towards a roomier drum sound — but not always. I don't want to force that kind of vibe on everything. I don't usually set up a room mic for things like vocals, but pretty much always for anything louder, like electric guitars or percussion. I really like the feel, when it's a really percussive song, of that being a little bit back, a little bit behind everything. Sometimes I'll even just take the mic away from the source just to get that room sound that makes you feel like these people are all standing in a circle.
How do you keep your mixes sounding natural?
I think it's just a matter of always using a little less reverb than you instinctively want to. I'm always trying to look at it objectively and ask, "Does this make sense that there's a singer in a church while everyone else sounds like they're in a small room?" I just want to get it to a point where the listener won't think about it — where there won't be this clear separation between the instruments. If everything has a different spatial vibe, it takes away from the feel of playing together.
How much of a challenge is it for you to achieve warmth in a digital format?
I would love to have the limitations that tape puts on the process. It bothers me that every artist is familiar with what can be done with Pro Tools. It diminishes the need to actually be able to perform your songs. An artist will come in knowing that they can lay down a guitar and we can nudge it and copy it. I would love to be able to say, "We can't do that." [laughs] That way the performer goes in knowing that they have get in the right mindset to perform really well.
What is your current set-up now at your place? You're using it mainly for overdubs, so where else are you tracking?
My setup at my house is pretty bare bones. I have a few good mics. It's based around a Pro Tools Digi 002 interface, and I have an API 500-series lunchbox with some good preamps. I still do drums and live tracking elsewhere. I have an extra bedroom that I use for tracking, but the whole house is basically a tracking room. I have lines going everywhere, a piano in the dining room and random keyboards and organs everywhere. I can pretty much do everything but drums here and (I feel) make it sound good. It was an adjustment at first, when I stopped working at Sputnik Sound. When I left, Mitch said to me, "Don't constantly be thinking, 'I wish I had this desk.'" He encouraged me to use limitations to my advantage. That's helped me, because I think that creativity often comes from problem solving.
www.mikeodmark.com www.mitchdane.com www.sputniksound.com
