How did you get your start?
I was very fortunate at the age of 19 to get a job at MediaSound Recording Studio in New York City. Everybody started in the shipping department. After hours, I spent as much time as I could in one of the four recording rooms, eventually assisting Tony Bongiovi [Tape Op #127], Harvey Goldberg, Bob Clearmountain [#84, #129], Ron Saint Germain, Alec Head, and Mike Delugg. Later, I had some great assistants; Michael Brauer [#131], Gregg Mann, and Ramona Jan. There was a high bar to deliver great sound fast to major label clients paying top New York City rates. You either had to be good or get out. On an average day, we'd be recording musicians like Steve Gadd, Will Lee, Paul Shaffer, Bob Babbitt, David Sanborn, Neil Jason, Elliott Randall, Bernard Purdie, Carlos Alomar, and Allan Schwartzberg; not to mention brilliant singers such as Robin Clark, Luther Vandross, Gordon Grody, and Lani Groves. I found myself in this musical playground with some of the best musicians in the world. I was laser-focused on becoming a producer/writer, and it was obvious to me that engineering was a path to this goal. But engineering quickly became more than a means to an end, it became another passion, especially in recording basic tracks, partially because I love recording drums. Being a drummer myself, it challenged me personally to play around with drum sets, mics, and tuning, as well as experimenting with EQ and compression. To develop a well-rounded set of skills, after sessions ended I would mix every night for hours and hours and figure out how to do it.
That's the classic way to learn.
I did a couple of albums with Desmond Child & Rouge back then. Desmond Child, as we all know, is one of the most popular writers in the pop world. I recorded both of his albums way before he penned "Bad Medicine" and "You Give Love a Bad Name" for Bon Jovi. Aside from the sessions, I learned a lot about writing from Desmond. I think some of the players from his albums liked the sound I was getting, and word got out – I started getting calls. One day I was doing a record at Media, and I got a call from another studio, perhaps Sundragon. I used to moonlight there, so I knew the room pretty well. They said, "Listen, can you get me a drum sound? I'm desperate! I've got a check for you right here." I told my assistant, "I'll be back, ASAP. Keep this train a-rollin'!" I ran down and got a drum sound super-fast, made the producer happy, and got back to Media and kept working without skipping a beat. A bit stressful, yes; but this was when I realized I would eventually need to go independent.
Your brother, Gregg Diamond, was a writer and involved with the disco scene.
Right. I was a New York City kid, 15 or 16, and I'd go to Max's Kansas City to check the New York Dolls and watch the waiters carry out a smashed Alice Cooper at 4 a.m. – drinking age was 18 then, so they'd let kids in if you didn't look 12. When my brother's band, Five Dollar Shoes, played there I would help lug gear, go to rehearsals, and watch them work up tunes. Mike Millius, the lead singer and a great writer, would say to me, "What do you think of this? Do you like this part or that part?" Off the top of my head I would say, "You could repeat that chorus, or try a different intro." I would tell them what I honestly thought as a kid and a fan – I didn't think they would listen to me. What I figured out later was that I was an amateur record producer before I even knew what a producer was.
In a lot of ways, a good record producer is also a good fan.
Exactly. Those early days gave me a solid background in how to interact with musicians. As far as the disco, that started later, in '75 – we made a lot of disco records at Media. My brother and I had the opportunity to do a song for this movie More, More, More, which was a flop porn film. We had $1,500 to go in and do it. He called me one day at Media as I was wrapping up microphone cables and said, "You know that song we came up with and rehearse all the time? Can you come over and play drums on it? I've got two hours at Dick Charles Studio around the corner." I said, "Sure man! I have a break at 3 o'clock. I'll be there." I went over and we recorded the song "More, More, More." I played drums, Gregg played piano, and Jimmy Gregory played bass. We gave it to Andrea True – who was a fledgling porn star and friend of ours – and it became a number one record for The Andrea True Connection. Around the same time Lou Reed's Coney Island Baby became the 4 a.m. NYC club closer. After that I found myself on this blurry Ferris wheel, recording and mixing dance records all day at Media and going downtown to hear punk rock all night with Lou.
Who were the engineers you were learning from?
I learned a lot from Tony Bongiovi back then. You learn what to do and not to do from a mentor. He totally inspired me about making records, and inadvertently showed me how to move smoothly from the engineering chair to the producer chair. I think the people who influenced me the most when I was coming up were Tony, arranger Bert De Coteaux, Joe Beck (Miles Davis' guitarist) and, believe it or not, Joni Mitchell. While we never worked together, we did have a very long night talking in L.A. back in the late '70s – I've never agreed so much with any artist about recording philosophy; she's a treasure. Harvey Goldberg was also generous with his knowledge. We spent a fair amount of time together recording Kool & The Gang. But the reality is, it's been my experience that a lot of guys don't give up their secrets. They don't share. One engineer I assisted (a non-staffer at Media) would normal the board as soon as the session was over! This was the climate that I grew up in. You had to watch closely and get what you could on the run, because nobody was going to hold your hand and show you.
I can see why you're so appreciative in mentioning those who didn't covet their secrets.
I've probably had 15 to 20 interns and assistants over the years and because of that, I tell them everything. With some people it goes in one ear and out the other, but others have become great engineers. Honestly, it's very satisfying to pass it on and pay it forward.
You came into it wanting to be a producer, but also recognized that being an engineer and a mixer would aid you in the production process.
Absolutely. As an engineer, basic tracks are still my favorite part of recording because I'm doing the nucleus of the record. As a producer/engineer I also love overdubbing and mixing, because it's always important to me to be part of the creative process in making the record. It can be frustrating to only be on the technical end and not have any say on what goes down on tape; when there was tape. I realized that a lot of the producers and arrangers who worked with me wanted my input, not only on the technical level, but they wanted to hear my ideas. I had this alert system, these red flags that would go off when I heard arrangements conflicting with each other, and I would let them know. I think they appreciated that. It's one of the reasons they would come back to use me. Honestly, I think most good mixers and engineers share this gift.
In reading over your discography, it's impressive how well-known the artists are and their musical diversity. I think it's important to mention that you've paired up with some very challenging personalities.
I think that I got all the crazies! And I'm saying that in a very affectionate way, because I love the artists I've worked with. I worked with some artists who people have claimed were extremely difficult. When I started working with Lou Reed, this A&R guy said to me, "Oh, my god. I can't believe you're working with him! He's such an a-hole." I said, "Well, I'll keep that in mind!" But I gotta tell you, I had already had so much training working with people who were hard to work with. Lou was a walk in the park next to my brother. I was trained right from the beginning on how tough personalities can be. When I began producing these other artists, I was super prepared. I learned a long time ago that amazing talent and self-destructive instincts often coexist. It's my job as a producer to get beyond the problems in order to harvest the ideas that lie below the surface and come out with a record that their fans want to hear. On the other hand, I also work with a lot of young artists, which brings a completely different set of challenges. In fact, I created a mnemonic. It's TCPPP. There's a sign in my studio with those five letters, which stands for: "Tone, Confidence, Pitch, Phrasing, Projection." I developed this because it's a great way to communicate with younger artists as a producer when they're in the vocal booth. As much as I love producing experienced musicians and singers, I also enjoy working with artists who haven't done it all before. It's a whole new world to explore. The reason tone is number one on TCPPP is because I find it is something I constantly need to remind some inexperienced singers about. I want to hear great tone coming into the mic before the EQ or any processing. People are not always sensitive to this, so you have to remind them – it's not a gig where the audience is in and out and no one will hear it again – they are recording something they're going to want to listen to ten years down the line and be proud of.
Although nowadays, you can go out on stage, and everybody could possibly hear it again on YouTube and elsewhere.
That's right! It also goes for playing guitar or any instrument. I learned something a long time ago about guitar players and tone from Mick Ronson. I was in the studio and he popped in to say hello and asked, "Do you have anything you want a solo on? I'm early for my gig downstairs." I said, "Of course!" I pulled out a song that needed a solo, he sat down in the control room with me and plugged into an amp. I sent the sound out to a cabinet in the live room and he started playing. I didn't even have the time to set the mic at the sweet spot, but what he did made it sound amazing. The way his fingers, the strings, and the fretboard came together produced this magnificent tone. Voila! It was "Moonage Daydream" by David Bowie, all over again. Tone is king.
Get it at the source. You're a producer and engineer, however there is a songwriter in there as well. I can attest to this through our own collaboration.
Oh, wow! I remember that song, "Million Dollar Face." That was a blast. I love collaborating. Some people don't like to write with other people. I love it and encourage it.
How do you develop an artist, from a songwriting perspective?
Usually what happens is that they're playing a song and it hits a section that I think might be either a little weak or might still need to be written. I'll suggest something. It usually comes organically out of the situation. Sometimes people come in and go, "Dude, I have this song and I love it, but I don't have a bridge or a chorus. Can you help me?" We sit there and hammer it out together. It's a challenge I enjoy.
You're a producer, engineer, and mixer, but then there are times you'll work with another engineer. I met you working at Waterfront Studios in Hoboken, NJ, on a Piss Factory record in the early '90s with Tim Hatfield [Tape Op #67] as the engineer. In doing that, how does this relationship affect how you produce?
