Can you give me an overview of the Swan Song Series?
Swan Song Series is a collection of EPs released digitally through my site and Bandcamp. They are collaborations, primarily with friends from over the years, but also with people that I reached out to, such as authors and other musicians that I admired but didn't know. I reached out to them to either write with me, or play on the music that I was making. There were also producers that I wanted to work with, such as yourself. Basically, the inspiration for this came from the Cabinet of Wonders that my friend John Wesley Harding puts together. At the end of those nights, people were reaching out to each other, saying, " Let's write something together." I followed up on those conversations almost immediately. The songs I wrote with Wes, Mary Gaitskill, and Rick Moody came from those events. From that point I just kept the ball rolling. That's where that was all born from.
Were you surprised how the results came out?
I was, and I wasn't, surprised. I went into it wanting to push my own boundaries and do something that felt more like a village of people making music together. That came exactly as I expected. I think that what surprised me was just the fact that when I went into it, I told everyone not to send me a song that they thought would sound like me. That was one of my prerequisites. I'm coming to these people because I like what they do, so I told them to send me what they do, not to try to tailor it to what they thought might fit me. Everybody pretty much rose to that, which was a happy surprise for me. I think it made the whole thing much more joyful and fun. For instance, if someone sent me words, I wrote music that I wouldn't have written in my own lyrical style. If someone sent me music, then the words that came out of me would not have come out otherwise. The whole process was really wonderful and engaging for me, in a way that I hadn't really felt in a while. Oddly, even though it was a massive project with dozens and dozens of people involved, it ended up feeling like a real community project in a way. It feels like a giant band to me. That's been really wonderful.
Do you think that the process itself created results that wouldn't have happened, had you gone in a more traditional direction?
Yes. Part of that is the fact that I wasn't just writing with other people. It was also the process of recording with so many of them. Sometimes I'm in the room when things are being recorded, and sometimes I'm not. That was a very different experience. I think there was more trust. For instance, Jacob Valenzuela from Calexico plays trumpet on a song called "Making Light." He came back with this beautiful, perfect part. That happened over and over again, and I feel like it was a very opening experience for me. I think it's difficult sometimes, as a songwriter and musician, to just say, "Here's my song. Do what you're going to do with it and I'll accept it!" There was not one case where I did that and was disappointed. I was just amazed by, and happy with, everything that came back. It ended up being a very successful experiment.
In a lot of ways, you had to act like a general contractor for these sessions, keeping tabs on the songs in different stages of completion in different studios.
I like that. That should be an official musical title. "General Contractor." It did feel like that.
You would send me an email and say, "Hey, are you available on this day? We'll do this piece." Sometimes it was even for pieces that we weren't working on directly.
I will say that the people that I worked with — you, [Paul Q.] Kolderie [Tape Op #22], and Scott Janovitz — were people that I already trusted implicitly from the production and engineering end of things. By putting it into the hands of engineers and producers who I could trust, and who I knew were going to get me something of great quality, I took less risk in that department.
How many different studios were part of the project?
Tons of them. A lot of people worked with their home studios as well and sent tracks in from their homes; like Chris Ewen did everything at home. It was really kind of all over the place. Probably eight or nine studios, at the end of the day. [See sidebar]
What was your methodology for keeping all of it organized and on time?
I didn't have any methodology at all. Any time constraints were of my own making, so it was very flexible. There were several times that I delayed a release because I was waiting for something to be mixed or mastered. The methodology was all over the place. It really went song by song. It depended on who was responsible for what, who was contributing what, and if we were waiting on a musician to finish a part and send the track. Every step of the way was just a very daily, organic process.
No project management software? No spreadsheets?
None. Nothing like that. Everything came together at Q Division [Studios], where I mastered half the stuff, and with Eric Masunaga [Modulus Studios] who mastered half.
I think the tightest one was something like, "I need this by Saturday." You were here on a Thursday, so I still had to mix what we did with Gail Greenwood [of Belly].
Oh, yeah. The one with Gail was the tightest one. It was hard to get Gail and I into the room at the same time for a while. Scheduling wise, not emotionally!
Something you mentioned once stuck with me. With all the time that you spent at Fort Apache, it was more than just a studio. It was like a creative homebase, and a community. Was this a way for you to recreate that?
I hadn't thought about that; but yes, I think that's it exactly. My ideal music making is like the zocalo at the end of the night, when the whole village comes together and everybody plays at whatever level of talent and enthusiasm that they are able. I love that feeling. It's even greater than being on a team. That's how the Fort felt to me. There were so many people invested in it, in and out of those doors, and I do miss that. That was part of this too, to pull all those threads together.
As an artist, do you feel that the studio experience lends itself to your creative process?
Absolutely. I think that when the Muses were very young and we were just getting started working with Gary Smith, in particular, and later [Paul Q.] Kolderie and [Sean] Slade [Tape Op #22], it was the training ground for us. Fort Apache was where all the pre-production happened. That's where the inspiration came, from being in the same room, with the same people, day in and day out, for weeks at a time. It absolutely adds something. The model of working with another pair of ears is really important to me. Almost every producer or engineer we ever worked with was as much a part of making those albums as we were. We were very open to suggestions. We started understanding how important the placement of a mic was, or how you can play with equipment outside of your own personal gear. That was illuminating. I absolutely am old school, in terms of how I feel about studios; as well as the people that work in them and bring their extra level and layer of inspiration to a project. I think that comes directly from Gary Smith, I have to say. He's just very egalitarian about how he produces, in terms of listening to everyone in the room. I think that set a template for us and what we expected from that relationship.
What you did for Swan Song Series is a lot different than what you did in the past, especially with the bands you were in. Making a Throwing Muses or a Belly recording, you're in one place for a specific amount of time and had to complete a record.
Right. It's totally different. This project is not an album. I never meant for it to be as cohesive and thematic, or for it to have the same feeling. In fact, I wanted it to be as scattershot as possible. I feel like with albums, that little microcosm of both space and time is really important for making something that sounds and feels like an album. Clearly this is an arguable point of view, but I personally feel like the albums that I love as a listener — and the albums I love that I've made — have been this finite thing where we're going from one place to another place, we're going with these people, and it's going to be in this room. You hear that. It's a whole, enclosed piece when you make it that way. You have a cohesive thing, as opposed to a bunch of songs put in one place to listen to. It's bigger than that. I think the downside is that you can have weaker songs that are supported by the stronger one. Now I feel like the songs really have to be stronger. If you're doing everything piece-by-piece, or putting out one song at a time, they have to be stronger. I've been guilty of filler. It's like, "Oh, we only have 12 songs. We should have 14."
"What's that other song you've got?"
"What's that awful thing that we hated? Let's do that."
You've worked with some "big name producers." Paul Q. Kolderie, Glyn Johns, Gil Norton, Gary Smith, and Dennis Herring [Tape Op #48]. Does working with somebody that is also a star in the recording world make a difference?
Yes. I think those were all like blind date situations. We were absolutely set up. I think that it worked out, particularly with Glyn, who I absolutely love as a person and a producer. That was a very good match for us in every way; personality-wise and work-wise. He brought Jack Joseph [Puig] with him too, which was great. They were an amazing team, because they totally complemented each other stylistically. It was just a great experience.
That record, Belly's King, was banged out live?
When we were auditioning and meeting with producers, Glyn was the only one who said that he thought we should make a live record. We thought that was exciting. He said that he'd seen us live and that we were a great live band. Of course there are layers to that one somewhat, but for the most part King is completely and entirely live. That really appealed to us. And we were smitten with him, I'll admit.
Just from your meetings?
