Lincoln Fong | TapeOp

The first time I saw Lincoln Fong's name was in the EP credits for shoegazer escapees Moose back in '91, as the bass player. The next time I saw his name was in '93, in the credits for Moose's second LP, Honey Bee. This time, Lincoln was credited as the engineer and producer. 13 years later, I don't think I have a better made record in my collection. The NME wrote of Honey Bee that, "...the whole record sounds as if it's produced by François Truffaut and not an engineer called Lincoln Fong." It was another ten years before I saw Lincoln's name again, this time in conjunction with my all-time favorite rock 'n' roll hero (and surely the patron saint of home recording), Pete Townshend. These days, Lincoln's day job is in-house engineer and tech at Townshend's studio — he's credited with mixing the DVD that accompanies versions of The Who's new record, Endless Wire. I did some digging and figured out that Fong had engineered a good chunk of the Cocteau Twins' catalog and helped build their studio, September Sound (which, it turns out they had bought from Townshend and he later bought it back from them). I also learned that he played bass on the road with the Jesus and Mary Chain in the mid to late '90s and recorded the Dirty Three's Whatever You Love, You Are. On the side, he has designed and manufactured his own "instrument level checker," the SonicEye (reviewed by Andy Hong in issue #52). Surely I think this guy has some stories to tell.

You started with dance music, right?

Someone's been tipping you off. I'd always had this kind of technical skill — I didn't study it. I just like electronics. But I combined that with music, so I wanted to do something in studios. My girlfriend persuaded me to apply to these studios in 1982 or 1981. This one place — Main Track — was run by Ron Gilbert and he had this band called Torch Song. The main musician in the band was William Wainwright, who later changed his name to William Orbit. After a few years of [engineering them] I kind of fell out with William, even though I greatly respect him. The Cocteau Twins had cobbled together a studio — this place was tiny, like a garage. You could just about get a singer in the control room. I really liked them and we started working together in about '84. They asked me to come on tour with them and do their live sound, which was a lot of fun. I also worked with other people there [at the Cocteau's studio]. In about 1990 they signed their big deal with Mercury and decided, "We got this deal, we need a bigger studio," which I think is the folly everyone goes through when they're more successful. "I'll finance it by getting clients in" and it always kind of fails, but that doesn't stop anybody. So I put that together. It seems like every studio I've ever worked in, I've had to build it first. So we rented this place that Pete Townshend owned [Eel Pie Studios]. We moved in upstairs there. It was already a recording studio, but he'd given up on one floor of it. Originally it was a medium-sized studio upstairs and a big, old recording studio downstairs in the old-fashioned style. So I made the studio, did all the wiring and stuff and then I became an engineer there. Then Pete decided it wasn't really happening at the studio downstairs. I think it was doing okay at one point, but he was going through that thing where artists buy their own studios then realize they can't get in them — then they build another studio somewhere else. So he moved out of that whole building. So the Cocteau Twins thought, "Okay, now we can have a big studio as well as a small studio." That was the start of the end, really.

Why?

The studio was doing okay for a while because they had their publishing money and their advances, but the shit really hit the fan when they broke up and they weren't able to subsidize it. Essentially, if there was ever a shortfall at the studio, they could always subsidize it with their own money — but when they broke up that all ended. By that time they'd also started their own record label [Bella Union] and to be honest, I don't think they were that interested in the studio as a going concern. It was kind of heartbreaking for me, and the studio manager as well — she was still trying to book bands. It just became difficult and in the end, they lost it. They just moved their record label to smaller premises. This takes us to '97. By this time I'd also been on the road with the Jesus and Mary Chain for a while.

What was that like?

It was great fun.

You always hear horror stories about them.

Yeah, there were horror stories, but I'm very passive. [laughs] If someone wants to pick an argument with me they'll get a good one, but if they just want to fight amongst themselves it doesn't bother me. I've always got on well with people because I don't try to rub them up the wrong way. I think that's a prerequisite for a good producer and a good engineer. Having said that, I'm sure the Mary Chain didn't choose me for my good nature. Basically what happened was, in 1989 (this was around the times of Darklands), I knew their road manager because he'd been doing the Cocteau Twins as well, and he said, "They need a tech to go to Australia." I wanted to go off and explore exotic places so I said, "Yeah, I'll do it." And they remembered me a few years later. They'd been through so many people that essentially, if it had Jim and William [Reid], and later on Ben [Lurie], then it was the Jesus and Mary Chain. There were a lot of punch-ups and things flying around offstage and alcohol consumed — but that was the fun of it, really.

What was your role with the Cocteau Twins?

I shouldn't take credit for the Cocteaus, because Robin [Guthrie]'s the sculptor there. I recorded some vocals for them — the vocals are obviously the centerpieces of their music. I did record some guitars, but it was really put together by Robin. I don't know if people know this about the Cocteau Twins, but the writing credit for the sound that was the Cocteau Twins, I think, should go to Elizabeth [Fraser]. There would be a backing track which, despite the fact that it sounded quite like the Cocteau Twins, in some ways it was blandish until she would add her stuff to it. She would go in the room, record a line and then come through to the control room, listen to it, redo it a few times until she got something she wanted. The whole time she had a Dictaphone so she'd be putting ideas down — she's just a mine of ideas. She built things up until it was saturated, and there wasn't a great deal of what she did that didn't make into the final cut — but they worked on 2" 24-track so there were never really that many tracks left. Even though things got really thick with her vocals, there were probably never more than six. You ended up bouncing things together, so in the end you had a pretty good track already recorded that didn't need much mixing.

Do you remember what she used for mics?

She nearly always used a [Neumann U]87 through the desk. We had an Amek Angela. Robin was very no-nonsense about equipment, despite the fact that he's a great collector of pedals, guitars and things — and a gearhead. He was never one to say he couldn't do something because he didn't have the right preamp. But, from the point of view of trying to sell the studio, it was a problem!

Did he record everything direct?

He used to direct everything. He bought every preamp available. In the early days he'd use the Tom Scholz Rockman, and I'm sure he was just doing it with Boss pedals and things before that. He probably started off using an amp, but his no- nonsense approach didn't involve wasting time setting up amplifiers. After a couple years he realized he could get a sound he really liked through processors.

What kind of delays did you use for vocals?

Do you remember the Bell delays? We had those and AMS delays. I remember him buying the Alesis XT and then the dreadful Korg 3000, SPX90s and everything that came out that was cheap. Ultimately they had basically everything that you could get before the market just went wild.

For Moose, I just can't say enough good things about Honey Bee.

That's wonderful because I don't often hear comments about the record — it's a minority kind of record.

Well, I've wondered why aren't you doing more stuff? I'd think that if people heard it, you'd be working non-stop.

I would love that, but one of the reasons why I haven't been working [more] in the engineering field is I got married and have two kids, and it's really a hard thing to juggle without compromising one or the other. I just wanted to see the kids grow up, so I've got a 9 to 5 job now. What I remember about the Moose record was the band had really hit hard times. Just before I joined them they signed this big record deal with this subsidiary of Virgin called Hut Records. They'd gone out and bought some amps and things and we did the first album with Mitch Easter [ Tape Op #21 ]. They spent a lot of money on this album and it didn't do well. Then some quite big bands got dropped, like Public Image [Ltd.], and one of the bands was Moose. Undeterred they got themselves another record deal with Play It Again Sam who gave them four thousand pounds. So we did it cheaply at a studio called Protocol, which was a great place. It was a place where all the bands in the scene were recording, like Boo Radleys, My Bloody Valentine, Pulp and Lush. It was a great place to hang out — you could sleep there if you like. It was a pretty small space and I think it was essentially done bit by bit. We had a great drummer and we rehearsed — I think rehearsal is key to making good albums. So we rehearsed for a while, got some drum tracks down — what can I say? The element that runs through it all is: I was there for it all, behind the desk, and other people came in and out. I really enjoyed it.

What were you mic'ing guitars with? They sound great. They were using Twins?

Yeah. I used 57s and probably an 87. I don't know what the bass was done with — a [U]47 maybe. But I'll tell you what I do with the bass: I put it through a [Berman tube] guitar amp because I like quite a clear-cut bass sound that you can hear. I think you have to run SVTs loud to get that funky sound, and you can't afford that volume in a studio that doesn't have the best separation. You keep expecting your mum to tell you to turn it down! Protocol had a DDA in one room, though I may have mixed it at September Sound. I've always been places where I can get free favors — I guess a lot of engineers do.

Well, it's a great-sounding record.

I'm so pleased you say that. It's what I strive for. Getting a good sounding record is kind of like the Holy Grail. It's so disappointing when you think you've got a fantastic mix and you A/B it with something you like and it just sounds rotten.

What can you tell me about the Dirty Three sessions?

With the Dirty Three it was quite a live experience. To begin with, they tried to do it without headphones playing as a band, and I think in the end we kind of reverted to headphones. They were all playing the songs and what you hear — the guitar and drums were pretty much live. It was all done to tape, with Dolby at 15 ips. The thing I spent a lot of time doing was trying to control the dynamics of the band, which is why I used the Dolby. They went from almost below the hiss level to just banging the meters. It was a dynamic I'd never really come across before — it wasn't a rock dynamic, it was kind of a classical dynamic. And Jim White, the drummer, was just the most dynamic drummer I've ever come across. He always had another level to go to. When I thought I'd finally set the levels he would just beat the shit out of it and come up with something even louder. They had a completely different sort of approach — they don't sound like they're trying to be a pop group to me — and if any one of them was replaced by a certain musician, it just wouldn't work. I just stuck a mic front of the violin, it was probably an 87 or [AKG] 414 because it was done quickly: "Okay, I've got a track. Okay, I've got another track. Okay, I've got another idea. Okay, put this one down." It was a case of trying to keep up with things without running out of tracks and then erasing something accidentally. I put this violin down with a microphone and I thought, "It's a pretty good sound for a violin," and he [Warren Ellis] was like, "No, we don't have it like that — we put it through the amp." He put it through this Mesa Boogie amp that was hanging around at the studio and it just sounded like this squall — and that's the sound you hear. It cuts really, really well — like a guitar. I don't know if people listen and think, "That's not the sound of a violin."

What about the drums? What was your method?

Well, my method would've been to go get a better drum kit and then ask him to tune it — but it has a sound of its own. It certainly wasn't what I always hope to do, this misguided way of mine trying to make this great heavy metal record. I always start off thinking, "Okay, I'm going to make this drum sound amazing" and you get 20 minutes to do it. I probably did what I normally do, which is a 57 on the snare, and some kind of small condenser underneath it — like a [Neumann] KM 84 or something. I probably put a 451 on the hi-hat. We recorded it at September Sound, so it had this big room and at one end of the room is this booth, which is kind of like a little stone room — you can close the glass doors and it makes a little chamber. If you put a pair of [AKG] 414s in there you get a fantastic, bright, shimmering reverb, and that is the sound of the drum kit that you're basically hearing — the kit's only ten feet away from it. Basically I never set up a drum kit without getting this sound on two tracks to see if it works. I'm quite particular about toms — my favorites at the moment are these Sony C37s. Then I will mic the cymbals quite close — as close as I can get without those mics picking up loads of other stuff. The kick was a [AKG] D112. I try not to be one of these anal engineers. I've discovered an incredible technique. The technique is to get somebody to play something well. I know the conditions weren't perfect for that drum kit — it was not a good drum kit. I think the sound [of the band] took a lot of getting used to, because the guitarist had a baritone guitar and the "bass" didn't go as low as a bass and the "guitar" didn't go as high as a guitar. It was a case of getting used to the fact that you're making a record without bass.

And that's pretty disorienting for a bass player, right?

Yeah. But there's something wonderful about hearing a naked kick drum, a snare without something going along on top of it and hiding its beauty. I recorded a band called The Inbreds, and that was even harder because they had a bass player and a drummer (the bass player sang), and there were just two of them. I ended up having to get guitars on there somehow. He [Mike O'Neill] was a very skillful bass player — he would have different pedals to make the bass sound different, but it was a bit of a head spin to begin with, trying to hear a song with just bass.

What are you doing with Pete [Townshend]?

In about 2000 when the studio [September Sound/Eel Pie] once again became vacant, I just started doing freelance tech'ing and a bit of engineering. I saw the big old building that was a purpose-built studio, and it was just kind of getting damp and going to ruin. I knew Pete's building manager, who'd managed it the whole time the Cocteaus were there, and I said, "If Pete ever wants to bring this place back to life as a recording studio then I'm right there. I know every bit of wire that's going anywhere in that building." A few months later I had a meeting with Pete, and shortly after that he bought this old Focusrite Forte that he'd tried to buy ten or twelve years earlier. The desk was such a mess — it was all in bits by the time we got it in through the doors. He wanted it restored and put back so that we could use the studio again. I did have visions of the studio being used as a commercial studio again, although I don't think that was his view at all. [laughs] We have done a lot of sessions there, but it's nothing like my old work rate and, at any rate I just do the technical stuff — I don't do much engineering.

Is getting a live-sounding performance something you strive for?

It's probably just in me. Despite the fact that I don't make my things sound anything like this, I always try to get a big, heavy metal, American sort of sound. It doesn't come out that way. Like, a Nirvana, Bob Rock [ Tape Op #121] kind of thing — I know it doesn't come out sounding like that, which is great, that's fine by me — but when somebody takes the trouble to play a guitar part, I want it to be heard big. It's funny — big is not necessarily where it's at. Some of my favorite records don't sound like that at all, even records from the '50s and '60s have great drums sounds on them that we just totally lost around the late '60s. There are people on this planet who know how to make things sound great and I think that should be a prerequisite for a record, that it should sound exciting. The real point of the exercise is to get to great songs and great music, but it's a shame not to present them well. Great music with bad production is still better than the other way around. A lot of people make these claims for themselves when they're trying to climb this greasy pole of production, "Oh, I worked with this person and that person." I did work with many people, but you can't hear any of my influence on the records — any engineer would've done the same thing.