How did Dirt Floor come about?
By accident. I was a singer-songwriter in New York City, struggling while recording in various studios that weren't quite giving me what I wanted. It was very uptight and very intimidating to be in those spaces. There was never a recording experience that I felt good about, and I never got anything musically that I felt represented me. So, in 2003, I amassed some equipment, like a [Tascam] DA-38 machine and a little Mackie [mixer] board. I just wanted to record some of my own stuff. I borrowed a friend's drum set, I found a cheap organ, and put it all in my apartment. I started to learn how to play them by listening to '70s-era singer- songwriter, folk-rock albums.
I know you studied music, but you trust your ears and the feel...
More than I do the mathematics of it. I didn't study music enough for it to make a difference. When I turn a knob on the mixing board, or on the preamp, I feel it more than I can see it. I know what it does to me inside. It's like when you're tuning a guitar with harmonics. When they're perfectly in tune, you get that feeling of ahhh.
How many Dirt Floor locations have there been?
This would be the fourth spot within a two-mile radius. I'm still trying to find the spot that will be home for the rest of Dirt Floor's existence, which I hope is a long time.
It's interesting that all four locations have revolved around the town of Chester. Why here as opposed to Boston or New York, which are both two hours away?
I feel like I'd get swallowed up in any of those towns. There are so many studios; by having some distance from those places, I can be a bigger fish in a smaller pond. Chester is a very artistic place. I get a lot of artists from Boston, New York City, and Providence [Rhode Island] who want to get out of the city and come here.
Is there a way to sum up what you call "the Dirt Floor sound," other than just hearing it? Can you describe it?
It's honest. I don't want to leave a mistake in just because it's a mistake, but I like the imperfections. I remember those records as a kid, like [Neil Young's] Harvest, where there were these moments of imperfection — a reversed, screwed-up drumbeat or a really bad note. When you listen to those songs, you wait for those parts — those little stops along the way. I really wanted to keep that tradition. I realized that using tape and using old instruments are ways of getting that sound. Also, I like helping artists to be themselves. I want them to be completely comfortable with the imperfections, without wanting to correct everything and polish themselves until they're boring.
Do you have a gut-meter for when an imperfection is going to add character versus when you need to do another take?
