Bottom-End, Writings and Reviews from Music Producer Pete Strobl

I have written a few words about the important role a producer plays in the recording process. My friends in the Sellaband community have made some interesting comments and have asked questions which caused me to take a step back and approach the subject from another angle.

In a perfect world, we would all abide by the sage words of Rodney King and “Just get along.” Musicians would make music, engineers would see to it that the music was recorded to broadcast specifications and producers would steer the ship in the most efficient direction. Ego-less collaboration would be the order of the day, flowers would be in full bloom, the lion would lay down with the lamb and every day would begin with a happy ending.

NEWS FLASH! This just in…it’s not a perfect world. Collaboration implies cooperation. Making records, as in any endeavor where success hinges on sacrificing the needs, goals or opinions of the individual in favor of the welfare of all, can often become a competition of urinary ballistics or an exercise in comparative male protrusion measurement.

Engineers often see themselves as producers or are themselves frustrated musicians. And musicians are forever grabbing knobs and faders to show that they also know a thing or two about engineering. After the smoke clears, the producer will have a word with the musician, telling him to ignore the engineer’s tips on how to play the guitar, tell the engineer to put the knobs and faders back to where they were before the drummer played with them, and try to get a good take so the day hasn’t completely been a waste of time.

My friend Pieps, a very talented guitarist and songwriter from The Netherlands checked into the Sellaband forum and asked, “…But what if it all goes wrong…and an artist with a huge potential works with a bad taste producer?” Well, producers can be thought of as soccer referees. They never have a home game and the operative word, “taste”, is in the tongue of the beholder. Is a recording bad because we don’t like it? Or is it bad because it doesn’t make money?

Pieps’ question opens a far reaching discussion concerning the cyclical cause and effect inherent in commercial music. The music must sell in order to justify the production costs which support the artists who make the music which must sell in order to justify the production costs which support the artists…etc. But what if we turn this question around? What happens when a producer is assigned an artist with worlds of potential but lacking in the skills associated with professional recording and/or the desire to acquire those skills?

The title of this entry is a direct quote from a young songwriter who was also the guitarist and bandleader of an act we attempted to produce at Shangri La. I’ll call him Dip-shit although that isn’t his real name. His band mates were John the drummer and an eye-candy bassist and co-writer called Dingbat. The band, Shit-for-Brains (also a pseudonym), had great potential. Their songs were catchy, they had a good look and there was commercial potential in their sound. We assembled a production team consisting of Dennis St. John, Neil Diamond’s former musical director and producer, engineer Ron Hitchcock, and me. I was to assist Ron in engineering, help the band dial in great sounds using Shangri La’s collection of vintage amps and instruments, oversee the vocal sessions, and help Dennis with any musical issues.

Dennis had been working with Shit-for-brains for two months polishing their songs. He helped them with song forms, had them re-write some weak lyrics and rehearsed the process of basic track recording. All of us, including the studio owner who was underwriting the project, believed that a hit record was in the making. After a long day of loading in, setting up the studio and getting sounds, we put a precious roll of tape on the Studer and mounted up.

What followed can only be described by a caravan of words. Funny, curious, innovative, frustrating, exasperating…and six weeks later, as we listened to the final mixes, the very walls of the studio oozed with vitriolic ill will. Shit-for-Brains respected nothing, learned nothing, acted every bit the superstars and left the studio without doing the production team the courtesy of listening to the mixes all the way through.

When we pushed the record button, Dip-shit lead his band through the first song. Without any discussion with us, Shit-for-Brains decided to ignore the weeks of pre-production with Dennis. It was a classic case of passive-aggressive nutless behavior. Dennis went into the room and tried to give Dip-shit a way out by humorously asking if they had forgotten their medication. But it was clear that there was conflict within the band. Dingbat, who’s day job was telephone dominatrix ( I swear I’m not making this up!), stared daggers at Dip-shit as he stammered to Dennis that the band felt that the changes made in pre-production didn’t reflect “where the band was coming from.” As the studio owners representative, I stepped into the discussion to explain that a great deal of money and resources were being extended to Shit-for-Brains with the intent of realizing commercial return on investment. Therefore the production team, respecting the best interests of all parties, had a responsibility to use our best judgement in creating a viable product.

Everyone pretended to kiss and make up…but every change, every suggestion, every effect, every tone…every last detail was a fresh battleground. We would talk to Dip-shit in the control room, he would go into the studio and talk to Dingbat, she would yell at him and hand him one of his balls so he could remember that he had a pair at one time, the band would half-heartedly run through our version, tell us, “See, it doesn’t work!” and go back to their original demo versions. It was absolute hell and if it were left to me, I would have stopped the bleeding immediately. The studio owner didn’t deal well with confrontation so he went to Italy leaving me with instructions to “just get it done.” I think Dingbat the Dominatrix scared the shit out of him and he couldn’t wait to get away.

Speaking of Dingbat the Dominatrix, She really set the bar for stupid when we began to cut background vocals. Her bass playing was weak and out of time. She complained that she couldn’t hear the kick in the headphones but when she took them off, they were roaring like a boombox. We decided that she was deaf and planned on letting her overdub the bass parts without the drummer later. When it came time to set her up for vocals, I noticed that before putting on her headphones, she put wax earplugs in her ears! I was twisting the knobs on the headphone box with a Makita trying to get her enough gain…and she was wearing WAX EAR PLUGS!!! I started to point out how counterproductive this was and she launched into a self-righteous ignorant rant that this is the way she always worked and why everyone should think about protecting their ears and do the same. I tried to explain the obvious downside of her listening strategy but it was like pissing into a stiff wind. Besides, it was really hard to make words, I was laughing so hard.

You will never hear the music of Shit-for-Brains. I listened to a copy of the mixes and wondered what could have been. Here was a band that we believed in strongly enough to invest six weeks of studio time and three salaried professionals toward recording a product that would benefit everyone. Ultimately it was our error. They just weren’t ready. And to answer Dip-shit’s question, “What does a producer do, anyway?”…well Dip-shit, you may never find out. But it’s lucky for you that euthanasia is not part of the skill set.

…is still a demo.

There is a lively discussion on the Sellaband forum which asks the question, “Does the quality of the sound recording really matter?” The comments in answer to that question display the wide diversity of experience and expectations present within the Sellaband community. Opinions vary between artists, investors and fans. I take a very firm approach and answer with a resounding and inflexible “Yes…and No…well, maybe…sometimes.”

Most of the mp3 recordings posted by Sellaband artists are of demo quality, that is to say, they are recordings meant to demonstrate the writing, performance and/or production potential of artists hoping to raise sufficient capital investment for the production of professionally recorded products. These recordings can vary widely from nearly complete studio versions to song fragments recorded on the humblest of devices. I’m not aware of any aspiring artists on the site posting previously signed material so I can only assume that the music, regardless of recording quality, is posted to demonstrate potential as opposed to finished, marketable product, although there may be exceptions.

I think of a demo as being in one of three distinct categories:

1. The Writing Demo: This can be as simple as a vocal rendition of a song accompanied by one instrument. The object of a writing demo is to sell a song to an artist, producer or publisher.

2. The Artist Demo: The purpose of an artist demo is to demonstrate the performance level of a particular artist. This could be a singer, a solo instrumentalist or an entire band. Artist demos are not limited to recordings of original music as they are frequently used to showcase talent for audition purposes.

3. The Production Demo: When a band or artist has written or secured material, a production demo can be recorded in order to demonstrate and conceptualize elements of style, instrumentation, character etc. An artist or producer will frequently make a production demo to focus attention on production concepts, explore different effects or to edit arrangements before spending precious or unavailable funds in a professional setting.

When an artist is also a songwriter and is struggling to hone his concept into something worthy of recording, he is frequently self-cast in the role of producer. The advent of relatively affordable recording technology has seduced many aspiring artist/writer/performers into believing that they can produce viable products. In some cases I’m sure that this can be the case. The fact that more and more of the listening audience hears music via mp3 and computer speakers further obfuscates the value of professional production techniques.

But again, allowing for the occasional home recording genius, thinking of even the best demo recording as a finished product can be a mistake. If you put two measures of ground coffee in your mouth, pour in boiling water and milk, and then put your face in front of a steam iron, you haven’t made cappuccino. All the elements are present, yes. And you’ve done a great job of gathering the ingredients and simulating the process. But what you’ve created is a convincing demo of a potential cappuccino. Before you go into mass production, you will need a pro and you will need pro-level tools.

The last project I took part in at Shangri La was the album “Suitcase” by Keb’ Mo’. Keb’ has many years of recording experience and two Grammys under his belt and I was thrilled to assist producer John Porter and engineer Rik Pekkonen for the project. During the process of recording, I was in awe of what I heard coming out of the studio monitors. To me, it was all gold. But time and time again, after what seemed like a brilliant take, John would go out into the room and have a word with the musicians or go into the vocal booth with Keb’. It seemed like he was just taking a short break or resting his ears or maybe just sharing a joke. But every time he came back into the control room and had Rik push the “record” button, the next take would be magic. And the difference between Keb’s original demos and the grammy nominated album demonstrates to me the inestimable value of the collaboration between artist and producer.

I have written reviews of various Sellaband artists and in every case what is most compelling about these artists is potential. When I listen to The Francis Rodino Band, I bow in respect to his songwriting and the performance abilities of the band. But I also know that what I’m hearing is the tip of the iceberg. The same goes for The Vegas Dragons, Kontrust, Lone Pine, Wetwerks and so many more. Mandana, the voice of Solidetube, and Lucia Iman have the potential of making beautiful recordings. And then there is ConFused5, a band that has resurrected itself after a 20 year hiatus and still retains the exuberance of a band of 20-year-old guitar rods. All of these artists and many more on the Sellaband web site have demonstrated massive potential by way of their demo recordings. But only the open-minded collaboration of a professional producer and all that comes with that will result in a great cup of coffee.

Because a demo by any other name…well, you know the rest.

There is still a stack of moving boxes that have remained untouched since my untimely escape from Shangri La. It has been over a year now, so I decided to start at the top and work my way through the hastily packed memories representing my years in Malibu. Years ago, when my grandfather died, I was sent a few boxes of his things, photo albums, trinkets, his military medals…I had the same feelings now as I unpacked my own things, as if they belonged to someone else…someone who had lived a different life.

In the very first box I found a videotape I had forgotten existed. In the last two months at the studio, I had a camera set up in the control room to record whatever may prove interesting. What a find. There was Jonathan Moffett cutting drum tracks for a Gary Miller production. There was footage of the great Greg Leisz demonstrating what was one of the first Rickenbacker electric guitars, nic-named the “frying pan.” There was Keb’ Mo’ cutting vocals for the “Suitcase” album. And most of all, there were people living, laughing and loving every moment.

Watching the footage cut short my efforts at organizing the contents of the boxes, but I couldn’t stop watching. Here was a studio that pulsated with music, life and laughter. I wonder if the final product ever conveys this ingredient to the listener of an album. Ultimately, a final mix is more than just notes, effects and soundwaves. That which reaches the ears of the listener is a combination of every emotion, every joke, every cup of coffee, every prank, every callous and every heartbeat of every soul involved with the making of the record.

As the tape unwound, my thoughts drifted back over the many studios, musicians and engineers that led up to the moments captured on that short video cassette. I tried to remember my first real studio gig. I had recorded in many makeshift multitrack home studios. There was the eight track living room of Steve Gillette. And I had done some commercials in another eight track room/garage in North Hollywood that I would later find out was built by my Shangri La partner in crime, Jim Nipar. And almost everyone had a four track. But what was the first real studio? Hmmm…

It was about 1980 I think. I played bass and was musical director for a revue type of show at the old Sahara in Lake Tahoe. We had been on the marquee for almost six months and I decided that I wanted to come back to Los Angeles. I secured a gig with a lounge singer who was quite successful and would play the occasional Nevada dates, but I would be able to spend most of my time playing in L.A. When I gave the show my notice, the producers decided it would be a good time for them to change over to recorded music. They asked me if I would be able to produce tracks which they could use for the show from that time forward. I told them that I would be happy to, providing that I could hire the musicians currently playing the show at premium rates to compensate for the fact that they would soon be without work.

Did I want to produce the recordings? Hell yes! Did I have the slightest idea of how to produce twenty-two separate cues and numbers? Yeah, sure! I was at least as well prepared as Balaam’s ass! But they were giving me a studio, musicians and money…what could go wrong? Luckily, not much did and the job turned out to be acceptable. But little did I know how deeply smitten I would become with the world that exists in the holy of holies, the recording studio.

At this time, I knew nothing, zero, nada about microphones, mixing desks, monitors and headphone mixes. To me, outboard gear sounded like boating equipment. These were all assets which I chose to hide from the staff of the studio which was a typical mix of gear geeks, roadies and solder junkies. I kept my ears open and my mouth relatively shut…didn’t want to show off…my ignorance. I had a strong musical background and was confident in my abilities in that regard so I told (lied to) the engineer that I was really under the gun to get the best I could get out of the musicians in a short time and that I would leave the technical considerations up to him. Whenever he asked me questions like “Which reverb would you prefer?” I would scratch my chin, look into the air and act like I was mulling it over. Then I’d ask him what he thought, scratch and mull a bit more and agree with his choice.

But where I got the lethal dose, the point at which I knew that I wanted nothing more than to live and breathe in this environment forevermore was when I sat and listened to the first playback. It was the first day of school, the first beer, the first hit of good weed, the first handful of warm breast and the first rush of acid all rolled up in one illuminating moment. It was the high that happens once and only once…but nevermore goes unpursued. I know that I’ve been in better studios, listened to better monitors, mixed on better desks with better outboard gear…but I have never heard anything that had a greater impact than the first time I pushed “play” in that little sixteen track room in Reno, Nevada.

Watching the tape of our shenanigans at Shangri La brought it all back. The holy “Why” of it all. Anyone who has spent time in recording studios has stories to tell. Stories of legendary all-nighters or marathon three day sessions. Most are amusing and many are true. But can you imagine an insurance adjuster or accountant loving his job so much that he stays at it days on end? I’ve seen musicians and engineers miss meals, miss weddings, funerals and graduations. I’ve seen people dodge phone calls or hide under the console to avoid having to leave the studio. And all for the ostensible reason of getting the perfect EQ curve, or the right reverb or a more precise edit. Once inside, they just don’t want to leave. Why? Why ask. I don’t know why, but every time I listen to a recording I get a glimpse of the sweat, work and sheer joy that went into it. Everybody should be so lucky.

And now… it’s back to the boxes. Maybe I’ll find another tape.

During the years that I was associated with Shangri La Studio, the studio owner very wisely invested in vintage microphones. Working with engineers like Jim Nipar, Chuck Ainlay, Ethan Johns, John Porter and John Hanlon, among others, was my education in the subtle nuances intrinsic to the various makes and models of vintage microphones available at the studio.

Every engineer has preferences as to how best to mic a guitar amp, which is the best vocal mic or which array will best capture the colors of a drum set. The single factor common to every great engineer, however, comes down to one word…EARS. Every engineer seemed to have a formula for quickly getting a sound up on the mixing desk. And although every engineer has a “secret weapon” or signature approach to mic strategy, engineers are always ready to try new approaches and different gear in their quest for the ultimate acoustic guitar tone or magic snare drum.

I remember setting up drum mics for a noted engineer and while we plugged in a pair of Sony C37a mics as overheads, I mentioned that “So and so” had just done a session and had preferred a pair of C-12s. After hearing about how “So and so” didn’t know shit about how to mic up a drumset, we put up a pair of C12s and made comparisons. Engineers can be stubborn, defensive and secretive of their methods, But they are also open-minded enough to listen and appropriate more effective methods.

One of my favorite engineer/producers has a much more open approach. Sammy (not his real name) has been making great records for over thirty years, and he reminds me of the magician you may have read about in a previous blog. Sammy had no secrets. He would tell you every trick in the book, how it worked, and how really simple it all was. And Sammy hipped me to a piece of kit that should be in every recording environment, from major studio right down to the most humble home writing rig…the venerable and extremely affordable Shure SM7 microphone.

Sammy came to Shangri La to produce a record that would ultimately be nominated for a Grammy so I was eager to learn from him. When I asked him about mic preferences he answered that the fine collection at the studio would suit his needs adequately and that he would be bringing his Shure SM7 “just in case.” We had C12s, M49s,M50s, U47s, U67s, 251s…anything an engineer could want, anything but a Shure SM7.

In talking to Sammy in the off moments, I would ask an occasional question…like “What would you use on an acoustic guitar?” or “What do you like for a vocal mic?” and in almost every case, he would answer with two or three options but would always end with “But an SM7 would work just fine.” During the course of the sessions I set up the SM7 on guitar amps, bass amps, Leslie rotating speakers, drums, acoustic guitars, pianos and to my surprise, the SM7 had the inside track when it came to recording the lead vocals.

I’ve recently set up a small writing/recording environment in my home. I record on an iMac using Cubase4 and the mic locker at Shangri La is a distant memory. When deciding on which microphone would best suit my needs, I researched all the usual suspects from the new affordable condensers to the USB models that would eliminate the need for expensive mic preamps. By chance, I had Sammy on the phone one day and asked his advice. “What’s wrong with you…get an SM7 and leave me alone!” were his words of encouragement.

This microphone is the best $250.00 I have spent on gear…ever. There are just no issues with it. I can’t remember cutting a track that didn’t work. It does exactly what it is meant to do and does it without offering an opinion or whining. The perfect partner in crime. I have used it through a really good mic-pre and have also plugged it directly into a Pre-sonus firewire interface with equally impressive results. And without getting into the technical minutia, I can say that the most important question…”How does it sound?” has been answered in a positive way every time.

It seems that everyone has a studio at home now. The industry catalogues are rammed full of the latest in technical breakthroughs that will allow the home-recordist an opportunity to realize the creation of a masterpiece. You can buy lots of shiny crap for $250.00, or you can invest in the real thing.

As so many producers and engineers have said, a recording can only be as good as what goes into the mic. So go practice, get really good…and put it through an SM7.

Have I sold out? I have been the quintessential analog snob when it comes to guitar and bass amplification. I’ve spent the greater part of my adult life pissing in the general direction of anything and everything new. During my years at Shangri La, we had just about any classic guitar and bass amp available. All of them were painstakingly maintained to original specifications. Pristine examples of ‘59 tweed bassmen, twins, deluxes and champs were strewn in every corner of the place. The Marshall collection belonged in a museum. Vox AC15s and AC30s? Had a roomful. And if so much as a handle or knob had been replaced, we would point and laugh. I had the luxury of access that allowed me to develop a finely tuned sense of outrage when forced to work with non-vintage equipment. I was an elitist of the first order.

I am no longer at Shangri La. Sadly, most of the amps, along with the room to record them in, are still there. I’m now living in a small house and have been jones-ing to make some great guitar sounds in a small room…with neighbors close at hand. No more, “Lets put two Marshall 100 watt rigs in the big room and see how loud they’ll go” for me. Even my ‘65 Fender Champ would probably get me in trouble. What to do…what to do?

Well kids, I crossed the line and got my hands on a Line6 Podxt…that’s right, a FAKE AMP. Fuck it man, you gotta do what you gotta do, right? I’ve had Gary Miller telling me to chuck my amps and try this thing for months now. What?! Chuck my ‘58 Ampeg B15? My ‘62 Fender Showman? My SVT? How can this little kidney-shaped piece of crap replace the handful of great amps I still had in storage? How? Just by plugging in…yup. I plugged my Strat into the little red plastic anti-christ and it was like experiencing the first of the twelve steps. I had to admit that I was powerless over tubes, transformers and greenbacks. My musical life had become un-manageable. Faced with the prospect of writing and recording guitar and bass parts in my living room without my trusty drugs of choice, vintage tube amps, I was paralyzed into non-productivity. All those little meddlers whispering in my ear, “try the pod, go on, it’s ok” were really pissing me off. And now I had to make amends to the gods of tone and admit that I was wrong.

I’ve only spent a few days with this little gem so I don’t feel qualified to write a proper review. I’ve only just scratched the surface of it’s capabilities. But I suspect that it will prove to have more to offer than I will require. I’ve already discovered most of the trusty guitar amp sounds that I’m used to. Then I went to the Line6 web site and downloaded the bass amp/cabinet models. I own a vintage B15, a Polytone Mini-brute, an Ampeg SVT, heads by SWR andTrace Elliot, along with an Acoustic 370, and I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that I’ll be spending more time in front of my Mac and much, much less at the chiropractor’s office in the future.

Is the Podxt the ultimate answer? Probably not. Is it a suitable replacement for an amp on a live gig? Time will tell if old school tolex junkies like me will flock to kiss the hem of its garment. But I have to say that I am impressed. When deciding which amp to use for a specific part, there should only be one thing to consider…what soundsthe best…period. And the Line6 Podxt sounds pretty friggin good to me. Have I sold out? Don’t ask til you’ve tried one.

It was with great sadness that I learned of the passing of Ken Fischer. My friend Bobby Salomone called this afternoon to wish me a Happy New Year and during the course of the conversation, he asked me if I had heard about Ken. The details of Ken’s passing are not as important as the contributions that he made, and the legacy he left to the world of guitar amplification.

Ken designed and built guitar amplifiers that have “Holy Grail” status among the tone-freak upper echelon of players fortunate enough to have plugged into one of his creations. His Train Wreck and Komet amps have already achieved iconic status.

I learned to love one of Ken’s creations during the time that Mark Knopfler was at Shangri La recording his album of the same name. The studio was almost obscenely outfitted with an array of vintage tube amplifiers. Mark could choose from multiple tweed Fenders, Vox AC30s or AC15s, Marshall 45s or 100s, and other rare units made by Watkins, Magnatone, you name it.

One day, A package arrived and Mark had me unwrap what turned out to be a Ken Fischer Komet 60. It was beautifully done up in red so we paired it with a vintage red Marshall basket weave 4×12 cabinet. When I first saw the Komet, I thought, “Gosh, that sure looks nice…now lets plug in one of these real amps and go to work.” Then Mark Spent the morning putting the Komet through its paces while graciously showing me how full of shit I was.

The red Komet responded to every nuance of Mark’s exceptional technique and played a big role in the recording of the “Shangri la” album. The greatest guitar amp, sitting in the middle of a room, doesn’t sound like anything until someone plugs in. I was lucky enough to witness a great amp being played by a guitarist who was able to coax everything out of that box of metal and glass.

Ken Fischer built amplifiers that respond to the abilities of great players and his passing puts into focus the finite number of units that are to come from his hand. I am grateful to have experienced Ken’s fine work first hand and I very respectfully wish him eternal peace.