What was the Lower East Side of the early 1960s like?
My grandparents escaped Russia and Germany. The Russian side settled on Orchard Street and were merchants when the pushcarts were out there. My grandmother was tenacious and fought to eventually acquire the building. They had an undergarments store, and when my mom became of age, she and my dad had Blue Chip Handkerchief, scarves and dry goods, on Orchard Street. The Lower East Side was the only thing that could happen on a Sunday. In New York City, there were the blue laws, and stores couldn't open up on Sundays. We closed on Saturdays, our Sabbath. On Sunday people could shop the wholesale, retail, and small stores. Unfortunately, my pop passed away very young. He was a great singer and an entertainer. My mom kept the store going. It was my brothers who said I should go with her on Sundays. I spent every Sunday of my life – 20 years, from 11 years old until Mom retired – on Orchard Street. It's an old neighborhood. Little Italy was a few blocks away.
When did you start playing music?
I still have my dad's Webcor [reel-to-reel] tape recorder, with the little plasma green light on top of the tube. I had this fascination. I had an uncle, Alex, who was an audiophile/photographer fanatic when I was a little boy. He'd talk about this amazing thing called stereo [that was] coming, and Les Paul. "Listen to this record!" Then I realized, "Music and drums!"
Your father was a musician?
He was a singer. He was a cantor in our Temple and had the ongoing Catskill gig at the Young's Gap Hotel. A big to do on the high holy days. My mom was a professional singer in her younger days as well. Doing the Loew's Theaters' traveling amateur talent contests through the NYC boroughs, and some radio spots.
So, you had music in your blood?
Neighbors used to talk about how my parents would sing opera duets on Sunday mornings. "We could hear it coming out the windows." It was music, and the fascination of tape. Later, Little Richard was an influence. Then The Beach Boys, Motown, and Chubby Checker. I was banging on everything, so I got a drum set. I realized that the Webcor tape recorder could record our fooling around. I became the band leader of The Esquires. I wanted to be Dave Clark. I loved The Beatles, of course. I thought, "I can do that!" We'd do the school dances in the '60s. Schools were beginning the first year of integration. My mom would let us rehearse in the living room with my noisy drums. She was a bohemian. Music took over then. It's like the story of so many of us who were born in the late '40s and early '50s.
Did you start recording The Esquires regularly?
I was able to use the Webcor and put a microphone in the room. It was mono, and the tapes to this day are still pristine. I transferred them to digital, but they haven't gummed up or anything. Thank you, Dad. Your spirit is keeping the tapes alive!
When did you first enter a recording studio?
I was in my mom's store, and this woman – Carmen Baby; a free-spirited Jamaican lady – came in. She was talking about making a record. I said, "Record?" She said, "You want to come to the studio?" I remember going to midtown. It was a 4-track room with a Studer [deck] and a Studer console – with the ashtrays in the end – and the [Altec-Lansing] Voice of the Theatre speakers sitting up high. I was actually seeing a 1/2-inch tape deck. I thought, "What the hell? Look at the equipment!" That affected me and got the bug of the studio going for me. That's the first time I asked myself, "How can I do this?" It fascinated me. The seed was planted.
How long after that did you start putting a studio together?
My grandfather lost everything in the Depression. We had the old tenement, and we held onto it. He filled it up with junk and instruments. He was a bohemian who sat on his steps and played guitar, which he tuned in his own weird way. When grandpa passed on, it took forever to clean out, but I had a section of the place. The carpet store on Essex Street was throwing out all these samples of carpet. I went with my friend, Bob Corchia; we filled up the car and brought it to the studio. I stapled them up, and that was the rehearsal room. No air circulation or anything. Then I bought a little Sony 2-track [tape deck].
What year would that have been?
This was like 1970 or so. I brought a microphone in, as well as my mom's upright piano. I built a little glass wall and went to Martin Audio. Norman Kassel was the business manager there. He said I was crazy for buying equipment. He even said, "Who in the hell is going to go to the dirty old Lower East Side and record?" I brought in a few thousand dollars to buy a hefty TEAC 1/2-inch, 4-track, and a Model 10 Tascam [console] with eight inputs and four outputs. I had eight microphones. I already had the 2-track [Sony] mixdown machine. This was semi-professional. My friends were more interested in me being on the other side of that glass than beating on the drums anymore.
But you still played drums though.
Oh, yeah. I was still a drummer and played professionally back then. But who the hell else was going to run that gear? [laughter] This was the beginning of teaching myself how to engineer. I had that room to play in and experiment. Then my friend, Brian Hurley – a wonderful musician and singer doing the Broadway world – came to my studio through a friend of someone and paid me $15 or $25 an hour. I said, "Holy shit, I can get paid doing this?" I realized I could actually do this for a living.
Did you start looking for clients after that?
My mother said, "You should go to City Hall and do something!" I thought, "What am I going to call the place?" I realized I had a receipt from East Side Glass – they sold me the control window glass. "East Side… EastSide Sound! It's great." That was 1972, and I went on the books.
There aren't many studios still around that were open that year that are still happening.
I know. We eventually worked up to 48-tracks and two rooms. I've had a few different partners over the years. Everyone worked so hard; it's a very hard business. The client is everything. That's it.
In the '70s, you started getting a few more clients. Did you have a designer redesign the studio?
I never had a designer then. I used to have a hallway, and I had a tenant next door – I had my skinny studio with the carpets. Then I did my own renovation. I closed up and ripped out the partial hallway. The rear control room still had the hallway and a small control room, but I opened it up a bit. Then my friend, Richard Bittner – a master builder, musician, and friend for life – he and I went on an endeavor in 1978 and '79. We completely gutted the whole floor. I called a steelworker in. We did everything ourselves. His brother Jeff helped a little bit, but we gutted it. We lead-lined, did the floors, everything. Richard was a master woodworker. He did all the finishing wood.
One thing that's very noticeable to anyone who comes into this version of EastSide Sound is the woodwork and the design of the studio. It's a very intricate design.
It's a very symmetrical room. It's a Frank Comentale control room. He designed the first Hit Factory. He's got a history.
The room is very true sounding.
Yes. The sound goes past you; it keeps going and doesn't come back to you. I did the recording area design using Frank's wall design. It was a joint effort. We all made the decision that we wanted isolation in the age of Pro Tools. We had to change.
What's the difference between this space and the old studio?
At that time, I was lucky enough to know some people in the cement industry who filled my backyard. Then I was able to use Allen Street as an entrance. A half flight of steps up to the entrance, and you could park a car or two there. You'd come in, make a hard right, go up a flight of steps, and you'd be in a lounge/kitchen area. Then you'd come down the steps again and be in the control room. The equipment entrance was on Orchard Street. I had a drum booth and a vocal booth. The rest was an open room with lots of gobos. It was a mid-size room. We were in a tenement: 25 by 100 feet. The old location is now Congee Village restaurant. The main dining room is the control room and studio floor. Twisted Sister had their reunion there without killing each other! Many records were made in that room. Cro-Mags cut their first album [The Age of Quarrel] there – [engineer] Steve Remote, of Aura Sonic, brought it to my studio. It became a cult classic.
How did you first choose the microphones and gear?
It's a cycle. At that point when you're a studio owner and you're coming up and everything's new, you have to go with the basics. The [Sennheiser MD] 421s, AKGs, and your Shures. That's how it starts. Then the dream of the Neumanns start hitting you, "Can I get a U 47 Neumann or a U 67, and a U 47fet?" That came with time and budget. Even back then they were expensive. But the bulk of it back then was dynamic mics. It was budget.
I asked because you have such nice vintage mics. I like the RCA KU-3A ribbon.
I was fortunate enough to get that years ago. Realistically, with a good engineer and a good room, you can do a session with [Shure SM]57s and 421s. It's those thumbprints and colors with the other mics that make it wonderful. It helps, but a microphone is catching those airwaves. When you've got a nice Neumann tube mic and somebody gets in close, you get the proximity effect. Then you get those amazing things. It's great with someone who knows how to work the mic. Case in point: I've done so many records (rest in peace) with Jon Lucien. Working with him was a pleasure; he could work a microphone.
It seems like a lot of jazz and avant-garde performers like EastSide Sound. I've worked with the late Hal Willner. My friend (rest in peace) Lou Reed worked here. Laurie Anderson, as well.
Years ago, in the '90s, Laurie Anderson would come. Hal would come. He did the Weird Nightmare: Meditations on Mingus album with Joe Ferla; a great engineer. He mixed it on my Harrison Series 10 automated analog board. I'd assist Joe. He can go into any control room and come out sounding great. We had connections through the National Lampoon [Radio Hour] over the years. My good friend Paul Jacobs wrote Lemmings with Christopher Guest – that radio show they did! He was doing so many voices. Judy Jacklin, John Belushi's wife-to-be, was organizing the whole thing. The outtakes were so hysterical. It was amazing.
That predated Saturday Night Live, right?
Oh, yeah.
A lot of those people became SNL's original cast.
Yeah, like Chevy Chase. I got to play a little softball on the show league with them; the Lemmings league.
Of course, Hal Willner was long associated with SNL.
Hal's everything. He brought the Mingus date. Years ago, John Zorn. I was lucky enough to have him bring all his friends to my old studio. When the new studio came, Hal would bring some work. Marc Urselli [see his interview this issue] came to me back in the '90s from Italy and rode me like a dog to work here. To see Marc and John Zorn work together is symbiotic. It's mind-boggling. John's got the charts out there. I don't know how they read each other's mind when they work, but it's incredible. John kept food on my table for a very long time. He's an East Village man.
That's what I love about EastSide Sound. You have nurtured that scene by providing a home base studio that so many artists can come home to. I know that Les Paul did one of his last recordings here too.
