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John Wicks feels the pain. in studio
How do great engineers record bad bands? Recording sessions are grueling. For a musician they usually mean playing the same songs over and over in search of the perfect take - that elusive combination of tones and emotion which says it all. For a recording engineer they can be even more monotonous, listening to the same sounds over and over, trying to capture an artist or band at their very best and never knowing exactly when to say "Great job. I think we got it that time." The process is arduous if you love the artist. But what if you hate them? Recording bad music is like an audio version of Chinese water torture. Drop after drop of missed notes and awkward melodies flow through the microphones onto an engineer's ears and there's nothing they can do. Oh sure, some might storm out of a session when they've had enough, but if you want to stay in the business and pay your bills, you're going to have to put up with quite a bit of bad music along the way. We decided to ask a few of Philadelphia's most respected engineers how they face the (bad) music and smile. How does an engineer stay sane when they're saying "Let's try that again" for the umpteenth time? Are they saints, masochists or do they just know where to get great weed?
Phil Nicolo Nicolo, who works at Studio Four in Conshohocken, has recorded everyone from Urge Overkill to Billy Joel to Purr. It's been over five years since he's had to work with musicians he didn't like, but he remembers those days well. "You have to encourage the band, nod and smile like 'this music is making my dick hard' when it's really making my dick crawl up my asshole," laughs Nicolo. But positive reinforcement is part of this engineer's m.o., even when it comes to the worst bands. Sometimes, he contends, false praise is better than true criticism; you have to stroke the artist's ego to get the best performance. "Making a record is 50 percent psychological," he adds. Even great bands have bad days. Urge Overkill's lead singer, Nash Kato, has spent hours just trying to phrase one line of a song correctly. "There are times when you want to fill Urge Overkill's car with cement - with them in it - and drive it off a cliff," jokes Nicolo. That is a very love-hate relationship, he explains. Worse comes to worst, "You have to just look at the job with a very mercenary attitude and think 'The record company is paying me $20,000 to do this, at least I'll be able to pay for my kid's college tuition."
Shelly Yakus Even though Shelly Yakus has been in the business for 30 years, he still looks at every session as a learning experience. He's worked with John Lennon, Tom Petty, Van Morrison, Alice Cooper, Suzanne Vega and most recently, G. Love. Currently, he's spending a lot of time at Center City's Tongue and Groove studios. "If you're smart, the days of recording mediocre musicians are never over," he says. Not only is it a good way to test one's skills, it's also a great time to experiment. "I can't do anything if the songs aren't any good," he figures, but making a record sound great is a different matter. He loves to experiment with different techniques and microphone combinations to create sounds that cut through, "even on a car stereo with the windows rolled down." When musicians hear things in their headsets that they like, they're going to work harder and play better, he notes. But even if the instruments are well amplified and miked it doesn't mean a session will run smoothly. In the early '70s, Yakus engineered The Raspberries' "Go All the Way," a song he says initially sounded awful. "They were a good band, but they just couldn't pull this number off. The drummer sounded like he was hitting the skins with flowers instead of sticks," recalls Yakus. The producer thought the tune was a dog that the group should just drop. "Then I decided to run the whole mix through a Roger-Meyer limiter," says Yakus. "This piece of a equipment was unbelievably over-the-top: it squashed all of the peaks, but it brought the song to life." In the end, the limiter saved "Go All the Way"; it became a top 10 hit.
Jason Cox Jason Cox has recorded indie rock luminaries such as Bardo Pond, Space Needle and Sugarplant. After Studio Red closed last year he started working out of Manayunk's Cycle Sound. "There are times when I have to fake it," admits Cox, "and just say 'that's classic' or 'that's sick' just to encourage the band." If he really doesn't like what he's hearing and the band doesn't want his input, he'll shut down a part of his creativity and just get what the band wants. "I figure if we both can't be happy, at least one of us should be." When it reaches that point, he says, he might as well be working at McDonald's or shoveling dirt; it's just a job like any other. "I'm not a big enough producer where I can just walk in and dictate what a band should do. I just hope they realize what's wrong themselves." Most of the groups he's working with are on tight budgets, so they don't have the time or money to experiment for days to get a sound. "Recently, I was working with a band that said they wanted to sound like Tool and Rage Against the Machine," recalls the engineer. "Those bands have unlimited budgets and full-on, 48-track production." Cycle Sound, by comparison, only has 16 tracks and the local band's budget didn't allow them to spend months in the studio. On top of it all, their guitarist was using a Peavey amplifier, not the kind of equipment that's going to get you a chunky wall-of-guitar sound. "So we borrowed a Marshall amplifier from Miner Street studio across the street, triple-tracked the guitar parts [recorded the same part on three different tracks], and the band was happy."
David Ivory is known best for his work with The Roots and Erykah Badu, but he also engineers plenty of local bands out of his studio at Center City's Sigma Sound. Over his years of recording middling musicians he's learned you don't have to be "perfect" or even good to make a great record, but you have to know your strengths and work toward them. He has a whole bag of tricks when it comes to working with less-than-stellar acts. "Record everything," advises Ivory, from warm-ups to mike checks. "You'll be amazed how much better a band will be when they think they're not recording compared how they choke when it comes time 'record.'" In every band, there's usually one person who's good - accentuate them. If the guitarist is great, make sure they stand out. If the drummer can't play, simplify their parts. If the vocalist can't carry a tune, advise them to emphasize emotion over melody, maybe send them to a singing coach. "You've got to slow the whole recording process down, talk to the band so they know what needs improvement," he says. "Sometimes conversations are more important than anything to improve the sound of a band."
John Wicks John Wicks has been lauded for his work with King Britt on the new Sylk 130 album, When the Funk Hits the Fan (Ovum/Ruffhouse). But his days recording Philly musicians at West Philly's Third Story stretch back to the first Dead Milkmen albums and beyond. "The worst is when you get a bad band that takes themselves too seriously," says Wicks. "They're one of the reasons I quit engineering [to concentrate on producing]." On the other hand, The Dead Milkmen weren't great musicians, but they were hysterical. "Working with them loosened me up to the whole recording process," he figures. "I realized an album doesn't have to be super tight to be good." But not every sloppy band is as fun as The Dead Milkmen. "There's always the dim switch on the console," he sighs. "Hearing a bad band loud is just too much."
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David Ivory