Tell us about how you got into recording music and your recording journey.
My recording journey started in seventh or eighth grade with a Tascam cassette 4-track. We were talking about it the other day, when we were chasing that sound. It's so nostalgic. My stepdad was into computers. My uncle was an amazing guitar player and had a science/engineer brain. My stepdad talked to my uncle and they helped me build a PC-based recording system in my bedroom – I was 15. That was when you had these massive A-to-D converters, and everything was weird and outboard. I was using Cakewalk Pro Audio. My friends in high school would call me "Missing In Action". Instead of going to whatever party at whatever dirtbag's house and smoke weed, I was in my room with this recording setup, writing songs and trying to sing along to practice Billie Holiday riffs.
Oh, wow. So you basically used the recorder as an avenue to learn and practice different kinds of music?
Yeah, as well as learn how to arrange, I think. But it was a little different. It was right at the beginning of that home studio world; a prosumer thing, but before, "Oh, I've got a Mac and it has GarageBand."
Back when there were a couple of extra steps involved...
There were a couple of extra steps involved. But it was different in that I had played in some bands too, but suddenly I could do it all myself. I think that I did more of that than jamming with people, in those days. It's neither here nor there. But yeah, it was always a more solitary confinement. What about you? How did you start?
Same thing, but playing in my garage. I was a drummer, so I relied on other people… sadly.
Yeah.
But yeah, same thing. I always had computers, but I never had the musical ability to create something all on my own. I had ideas, but then I started meeting people in high school and college who could actually write songs. The idea of starting and finishing a song was so foreign to me.
Mhmm. Is it okay to say that your dad worked for Apple?
Yeah, totally.
You've talked about how he was always bringing prototypes home. Did you ever experiment with any early Apple recording software programs?
Even though I had access to so much Apple equipment, I had this rebellious streak growing up where I would get a Windows laptop… just to try something different.
Oh, my god! What a nerdy rebellion too. I remember using Windows 98 and feeling like it was punishment. I remember going to college and still having a PC.
This was Berklee [College of Music]?
Yes, Berklee. Judge me. You couldn't possibly judge me harder than I judge myself. [laughter] But I got a Yamaha 16-track digital recording unit. It was big and heavy, and I remember being so impressed because it had motorized faders. I was like, "Fuck, yeah. Check out this fader recall." Great for showing off! The interface was all in that hardware box. I don't think it was particularly compatible with software. Also, I remember there was Cubase, but Apple still hadn't come out with GarageBand and Logic. I used that to make a lot of my recordings in college. When I think back to the Tascam 4-track, I feel a warmth and a vibe. When I think back to the recordings that I did on the Yamaha, I don't think of them as vibey. But maybe that was the kind of stuff I was writing at the time.
Yeah. Do you think that's the simplicity of the early days, combined with not knowing?
Yeah, it's possible that there's just so much nostalgia wrapped up in those early days of hearing yourself recorded back. "I'm making the thing that I love." But then, after the Yamaha, I got a Mac, and I remember getting so excited. I got a Mac and got Pro Tools.
Straight into the deep end.
Yeah. It was Pro Tools LE with the first Mbox. I recorded a lot of my first album on the Mbox. I did the classic buy: a preamp from Guitar Center, record, and return it. Oddly enough I did a lot of my first album recordings in my childhood bedroom with an Mbox. The same place I had started.
Then you evolved to working with other engineers and producers. Did recording in solitude still factor into that process, or was there a real shift between the earlier work and where it is now?
It was more like a comfort level. There's still a level of comfort that is unparalleled with being able to write alone. It's really vulnerable to try to come up with ideas, because it's like you're diamond mining. It's uncomfortable to have someone be in the room watching you not hit the mark. So, as far as writing goes, I think that's still a solitary process.
How did that factor into the new workflow of making records with other people?
Well, it was always like a file exchange. I'd start an idea and bring it in. Either we'd start from scratch, or we might use some things that I recorded by myself. A real mixed bag, still.
I find it common now with artists that they feel because something was recorded at home or on an iPhone that it's not legitimate.
Right. However, sometimes the demo vocal that you record into – like an Mbox with a [Shure SM]58 is magic. I don't know. I go back to Duke Ellington with, "If it sounds good, it is good." I might bum out some audiophiles, but does it speak to the heart? Does it move people? Is it evocative? Then great, we're good. It's a lot of hand-wringing.
The evolution of St. Vincent was making records alone to making records with other people. Now you're making records for other people. You just produced an album for Sleater-Kinney [The Center Won't Hold].
Yeah, which you engineered. Crushed it.
Hey, thanks! But now, as a producer, you're on the other side of the glass…
I would say that the most helpful thing about my experience being an artist in studios and in the recording process is that I know how vulnerable it is to sing. I know how vulnerable it is to try ideas, and I know the ways that I have enjoyed being related to by producers, or co-producers, or whatever; and I know the ways that I haven't enjoyed being related to. So I'm able to bring that to the process; I can be really supportive and not shame anybody for missing the mark. That's the point. We're in here to try and play and have fun. Also, I don't think there's any wasted effort. "Let's go down this rabbit hole and see what happens." The best case scenario is that we break on through to the other side and there's something exciting. The worst case scenario is that we go back and realize the first thing we had was great, and we didn't beat it.
Do you find yourself ever having to withhold ideas? For instance, when you go into a project like Sleater-Kinney, who are a band, and writing their own songs, but you clearly have musical ideas. How does that communication happen?
We were all in the room together. You met Carrie [Brownstein] doing music with her for a television show. Then she said, "I met this great engineer. I'd love to use him on the Sleater-Kinney stuff." Great. We met on that, and it obviously takes time to develop a rapport and figure out where the other person's coming from and what they're thinking. I think we got into a rhythm, which was great. There wasn't any creative gulf to traverse between us. A good friend of mine said to me, "You are the most underprepared overachieving person I've ever met." Did I give any thought as to how we were going to do the Sleater-Kinney record? No! I was like, "It's on the calendar. It's this day, at this time." You show up fucking ready to work and see what happens.
We're now working together on your own music again. Do you feel any urge to want to make records with more people?
