How did you got interested in recording and music?
I was always fascinated as a kid. I was an information junkie. I took in all the album notes and credits. I was obsessed with who did what, and what did it mean when it said, "Produced by," "Engineered by," or "Assistant Engineer." I didn't even know what most of that was. Pre-internet age, when no one was smart about this! Now everyone seems smart, because they can look it up. You had to stumble into it, especially when you were in northern, rural Georgia in a small town. The only music exposure I got was what was on the radio or, after 1981, what was on MTV. [I also relied on] what I read in music magazines, which I was obsessed with. It didn't matter if it was Teen Beat, Tiger Beat, Hit Parader, Creem, Guitar Player, or Modern Drummer; I loved all that. I was able to acquire a little bit of knowledge from those magazines. I saved up my grass-cutting money and bought a 4-track cassette recorder. The first one I had was a Ross 4-track recorder. The "chicken coop" was my parent's antique and crafts place behind our house. My dad was an antiquer and my mom made country crafts, and they had this cool wooden shack built behind the house. It eventually became my playroom, jam room, and make out room; everything as a teenager. I started having band rehearsals there. All I had was some cheap, shitty microphones. I hooked those up and started learning from trial and error. The first time I played back what I recorded, they were all super distorted and crappy. But it was a really cool experience, and a way to learn.
You're a songwriter, a band guy, and a multi-instrumentalist. At what point in your career did you really take a look at things and say, "I'm a producer and engineer"?
Well, I don't know if I ever did. I always grew up admiring people who were able to have their hands in all kinds of cookie jars. Prince was one of my favorites growing up. It was always public knowledge that he was the writer, the composer, produced everything, and played all the instruments. I loved that. I didn't know if I was ever going to hold a candle to what someone like a monster musician and artist like him could do, but I definitely aspired. Todd Rundgren was another one of my favorites who did that. I wanted to learn it all and know how to do it all. I didn't grow up with any money, so I didn't have money to go into a fancy recording studio. Back then it was super expensive. You could spend $2,000 a day, and you might not get shit when you went in on your dime. You had to make sure your inspiration was always hitting. Over time I got it set up myself in my own private spaces. I guess I've always been a producer, but definitely not one everybody knew. That didn't happen until around 1998, when my band [Marvelous 3] had a runaway freak hit single ["Freak of the Week"] on alternative rock radio. It got us a record deal, got us signed, got us a lot of recognition, and had us touring all over. That was something that I had recorded in my bedroom; that opened up the floodgates. I started having labels calling me going, "Who produced that? That sounds great!" I'd say, "Well, I did." They'd say, "Well, who engineered it?" "Me." "Okay, cool. Who played it and wrote it?" After answering that it was all done by one person, I started getting calls asking me to do [the same] for their artists. I started doing production for signed artists and had some success right out of the gate with it, which was awesome. Basically, my own little records that came and went – and didn't really amount to much in the grand scheme of things – paved the way to producing outside records for other people. I'm still doing it now.
Do you only work at your studio, RubyRed Productions, or are you working in other studios?
I don't like playing in other peoples' sandboxes. I did it a lot coming up. Before I was established, and could make records wherever I wanted, a lot of times I'd have to fly to L.A. or New York – when I was living in Atlanta – and work out of places wherever the artist was. It was always hit-or-miss. Sure, the studios were incredible. I got a chance to work in pretty much all the greatest studios in New York and L.A. I'm envious of the build of these places, the vastness of them, and how cool the vibe and the history is; but, at the end of the day, that doesn't fucking matter. I could have the worst musical experience of my life on one of those days, and not only would it be a total waste of money and time for me and the artist, but half the time I didn't feel inspired. It felt disruptive. It didn't feel fluid to me. It felt like it was always a distraction; people coming in and out and watching. I realized growing up, making music by myself in a bedroom or making records in houses and makeshift garages, that that's where I was most comfortable. I spent the time collecting and accumulating the gear. We'd get to the point where I was able to make records that sounded like they were on the radio and ready for mastering, right there in one little room. That's the way that I'm still doing it today. I mean, sure; I've got a pretty elaborate garage, but it is still a garage, my studio here in California. It's just a big fancy modified garage. It's a one-room setup, and I like it that way. All of my toys are always within reach. I can grab something and it's already mic'd up, plugged in, and ready to go.
There's huge value in that, in terms of workflow. What are the pillars of each production that you're doing? Are the songs the most important part for you?
Yes, always. It's probably an overused statement, but the song is the most important thing. I record songs where I'm the only "band" – I'm the guy playing every instrument. Or sometimes it's heavily-programmed and it's one singer doing everything. Then I've got situations where it's a full, live band in the room tracking with no overdubs. A song is what's going to potentially save someone's life one day, not the kick drum sound. Most people would like to think in a bigger picture about how they're working. If they have an album full of incredible sounds but lame songs, then what's the point?
Do you do much pre-production outside of the studio, or do you hit the ground running with the artist working in the studio?
I used to do a lot of preproduction, especially when we were still on tape and I really needed to "see" the end of the tunnel before I started making the record. If I didn't, there was a lot that could go wrong. Now, with technology on our side and most people being in DAWs and working in Pro Tools and whatever, I've changed the workflow a little bit, and most other people have too. Instead of sitting in a rehearsal room and working out kick drum patterns with a drummer, with everybody playing at once... I'm not saying that it's not important; you can do that with great results. But I find that if I have everybody here in the room mic'd up and we're going, the pre-production is usually getting done as we're going. It goes in tandem with the actual production. Let's say it's a live band set up in the room, everybody's playing, and I'm tracking it at the same time. If we get it, which a lot of times you do when you're not thinking about it, then we got it. But if we're like, "That pattern isn't working on the snare or the kick drum," or, "That pattern on the bass is not working," then we can sit there and do it all together. I find that there's a freshness and a fire in the tracking when I do it that way. Anyone who's way too rehearsed on a song sounds more phoned-in to me when I finally go to record it, because you're too comfortable with it. I don't always make records that sound like this, but most of my favorite records were where they recorded ten songs in one day. They went with the first take and nobody knew the songs. Like old Motown records; the session guys came in [and generally] had never heard the song before. They hadn't practiced the song at home. They heard the song for the first time, worked it up together, and then, boom, they recorded it as a band right then and there. There's something exciting about that. They might not be perfect, but perfect is boring. That's why I try my best not to over-abuse the tools of digital, where you can make people like me an incredible drummer when I'm not, just by clicking one button and putting every single kick and snare on the grid and on the beat, or take a singer and make every single syllable in perfect pitch. I don't love the way that sounds. I certainly don't like it, and fight artists who want it. A lot of times now, everybody wants it. You've got to be a little cautious if you want it to have any character at all.
With a band like Green Day [Father of All Motherfuckers], did you have a conversation beforehand about how you wanted to work? I can see that being a challenge with some bands that are super-established. They've gotta buy in.
A lot of my pre-production is having a lengthy conversation of, "Okay, here's how I like to work. Are you open to arrangement ideas? Are you okay with me being an extra band member in the room?" That's what I like to act like; I'm an auxiliary band guy. A lot of that you can find out from the get-go, and that's important to get out of the way. With Green Day, with Billie [Joe Armstrong], he was excited. He was stoked; he liked the records that I'd made. Especially the ones that I did on my own, so he was a fan of the production element. I was a huge Green Day fan, so I felt like, "Let's make something fresh." He was already to that point. He was a little burned out on making and producing the band's records for the last decade by himself, basically. It was perfect timing to come in and have him say, "I'm open to anything." It was great. We ended up getting a different dimension of Green Day, and it worked. We got a number one album out of it. I'm pretty happy.
That speaks to the value of collaboration. A lot of younger artists say that they're open to collaboration, but, when it comes down to it, they want to put their arms around it and claim it as their own.
We've all loved listening to this record and playing it back, because it was a collaborative experience. I'm as proud of what I did on it as they're as proud of what they did on it. That does make for a great experience when you're making a record. I have a lot I won't listen to anymore, because making the album was such a dreadful experience!
Yikes, yeah. What are some questions you don't get asked in interviews, but wish you did?
"What's the daily routine? What's the schedule like? What do you do before you come in? What do you do after?" There's always a question about the process, but that's usually more technical.
So, what are your days like?
I get up, usually at about 6 a.m. I get up with my kid, we make breakfast, and he gets ready for school. He's 12, so we can the shoot shit for a little bit. I'll get out the door after he starts school around 8 a.m. – right now, he's doing video school. I have the luxury of being able to go to the studio every day and work in isolation. I have at least four shots of espresso, listen to some music, work on my shitty 50-year-old lower back, do some stretches, and, if I'm feeling adventurous, I get on my bike and try to get my blood pumping a little bit. The normal routine, pre-pandemic, would be everybody I'm working with – if they're coming into the studio at all – they're rolling in by noon. I do a lot of work between 10 a.m. and 12 p.m. to the songs I've been working on the day before; the most important part of the day for me. I'm alone, my mind is busy, it's working, it's racing, but it's focused on what I'm doing. I tend to experiment more and get the track more realized when I'm alone; modeling, shaping, and forming the song. When everybody gets in at noon, I can press playback and they'll hear something that's as close to done as possible. Then it's the face-to-face hours, where we'll record from noon until five or six. Not grueling hours, but I get a lot done. I tell everybody to come in and be ready to go, and to have already had lunch. So much downtime always frustrated me when I was on the other end of the glass, growing up and making records with producers. It always bugged me if it was a two-hour lunch break. I would be like, "What the fuck! I've got all these ideas in my head. I want to work and can't stop obsessing about making music." Distractions and downtime do nothing but dilute inspiration. That's the most creative part of the day for me, and for a lot of other people. Work in between the meals; from noon until dinnertime. I'll go home after that. Nothing after dinner for me. Never. I'll take the track, put it in the car and listen on the way home, and get a better perspective outside of the studio. My drive home is easily 30 minutes to an hour, depending how Los Angeles traffic is. My studio in Tennessee is at my home, so I don't have to drive. The one here is all part of this routine that is really helpful and productive to the record-making process. Then I get home and I can have dinner with my family. I can talk to my wife about the day, go to bed, and then get up and do it all over again. I don't work on weekends. It's Monday through Friday, and I love it that way.
