What were your early musical influences?
As early as I can remember, I was drawn to the guitar. My older cousins were in bands and introduced me to a lot of alternative music. Everything from Bad Religion, to Pinback, to Pig Destroyer. They gave me an old guitar, so I started teaching myself. Allentown and the Lehigh Valley had a pretty active scene, so my friends and I formed bands as soon as we could play. There was a high concentration of aggressive, technically-minded guitar bands of a wide variety. Arthur Rizk [Tape Op #150] is from nearby Easton, PA, and I would go see his grind bands completely tear the house down. It was inspiring.
It must be something with that grey valley weather. What lead you to producing?
From moment one, my role has always been the strong "support the bigger picture" ideas guy. I did write songs alone, but I was more often writing with others; helping them arrange and conceptualize. I got an 8-track not long after getting a guitar, and I obsessed over the navel gaze of recording my own songs but also helping other people record theirs. A family friend, Eric Eisenberg, played in my favorite local bands and had one of the busier local studios. He took me under his wing when I was in high school; he included me in his bands, showed me how to cut records and use gear, and generally how to see/hear a project to the finish line. My mom is an amazing pianist, and her cousin, Lori Goldston, played cello with Nirvana on the MTV Unplugged in New York album, as well as on some later tours. That planted this seed in my head that one could have a rock 'n' roll career without being the rockstar.
How did you end up in Brooklyn, [New York,] at The Gallery [Recording Studio]?
I went to college as a music major and continued to make records for myself and others. I interned at a few different studios and landed at The Gallery in 2010. It was in the infamous McKibbin Lofts in Bushwick, and it was built by Brian Forbes and Keith Parker; hungry New York engineer types working on a lot of neo soul and free jazz, respectively. They taught me the Jedi brain of handling sessions and dealing with artists. They, along with my collection of Tape Ops, taught me that it was less about scooping some mids out of your kick drum, and more about realizing that you shouldn't compare an artist's music to another artist's music during a session. After graduating, I joined the band Such Gold and started working at The Gallery full time, thrust immediately into back-to-back sessions and touring for six months a year. For the first few years my rent was very low, and studio overhead was even lower as I was living in the studio at the time. There is an incredible scene in New York. I would record an MC on Monday, a jazz ensemble on Tuesday, and an EP for a punk band on Wednesday. It's a creative mecca for a reason.
Your last stop in Brooklyn was in the Pfizer Building. What was the pivot to leave the city?
It became clear that I had to leave when I realized that 75 percent of my work was with full-time touring bands. I love New York City, but I was feeling a little creatively stifled by being around everyone's anxious energy. I'm not an anxious person myself, but being around that, as well as not having access to nature, was starting to grate on me.
How did you find the Animal Farm?
I came here to buy a pair of Yamaha NS-10s from John when I came back to Pennsylvania to set up a studio. He's passionate about making records, but he's also a teacher with a full-time job. I immediately asked about doing a record here, and I've done about 90 percent of my tracking here since. There is something about the recording studio itself; it's cliché to say it's an instrument, but it's that holistic lens that helps artists get creative and connect with the producer. I love to be in a place where people feel onsite. People feel exploratory every morning. They go outside and talk to the cow. They pull into the property and are greeted by a bunch of chickens saying, "Welcome!"
The idea of an animal rescue meets recording studio is incredible!
Most artists and band types are more in touch with their feelings than the general person. Coming to a place where they're surrounded by animals… it's hard to describe, because I didn't expect this to happen, but it opens people up to the creative experience. Completely, diametrically opposite to New York City. They come here and feel on location, and in the mindset to make a record. Not because the chickens are coming into the control room to hang out. They can step outside to clear their heads for a second in a way that's hard to do elsewhere. There's something idyllic about it that feels like a getaway. Bands love coming here, and I love working here.
Have you had to deal with chicken noise on overdubs?
No, but everyone develops a relationship with the cow. They all go out every morning and talk to him. "I hope that my palm mute sounds good today." It helps people get into a creative moment, and that's one of the most important things in the studio. A band's energy and songs are paramount, but then the major lenses are the producer and the facility. In the temporal collection of moments when we're all creating something and those three elements resonate together, it's incredible. There's something magical about surrendering to a space and letting it guide what's happening.
Let's look around the studio a bit. That's a whole lot of microphones in that tool drawer!
It's inspiring when everyone looks in it together. This telephone mic sounds amazing on a guitar solo, or on vocal overdubs. It's so pointy around 1.9 kHz, where your ears are the most sensitive. As guitar tone junkies, John and I both love having different choices for dynamic mics. We have a ton of options, but it's usually a Peluso 22 47 SE or a Shure SM7B for vocals.
There are drums here for use too.
Feel the heaviness of this snare drum. [hands over an ungodly heavy brass Oriollo Bellmaker] It's the heaviest, biggest, loudest snare drum you could imagine. Drummers' rim shots may sound weak if a shell is bending under their hand, but this shell will never bend. This snare ends up on a lot of records because it projects and has so much body and tone. Metal snare drums are always my preference on rock records, and we have a ton of different dimensions and builds to experiment with. On the Regulate [self-titled] record I used a kick tunnel and put the sub kick on the end of the tunnel in pursuit of extra low end extension for a hardcore record. I love old Altec preamps on room mics because they restrict the signal and immediately sound crunchy and midrange-y. Delay that by 25 ms and I'll get a slap happening from the snare drum. Diffuse the room mics in a small drum room, delay them 25 ms, and bus with a touch of close mics to a distortion and a reverb and we've got something happening!
In addition to having "one of the best snare collections on the East Coast," there's also an incredible array of amps here on The Farm.
Yes, and this golden Marshall 100 watt JCM800 head used to belong to the guitar player in my band Such Gold. Word has it that Steve Evetts [Tape Op #56] offered to buy it from him because it sounded so good. One amp that I use on almost every project is the Fender Vibro Champ. With the volume, bass, and treble at 10, it has this natural, creamy fuzz. If I stick a Sennheiser MD 421 mic off axis, right in front of that 8-inch speaker, I get this bass response that is never bloated but, instead, so loud. Combine that with the 800, or this Sovtek Mig 100h, and you have something incredible. I've always been obsessed with combining amps, and I have enjoyed making my life complicated in pursuit of tone. [laughs] I often combine two or three different sources, as well as a parallel blend of a [Tech 21] SansAmp, for texture and attitude.
What about bass guitar?
For bass I love solid state amps, like this Acoustic [Model] 470 with built-in distortion. Or, I'll take a Mesa Boogie Bass 400+ into an 8 by 10-inch [cabinet] with a SansAmp for a modern clangy sound, and combine that with an Ampeg V 4 with the mids all the way up into a 15-inch [cabinet]. I want to get them as well in phase as possible, while letting the intense difference between sources add up to something that I could never get out of just one [amp].
How would you describe your production style?
I'm not looking to make it impossibly slick. My natural inclination is to take the thickness and intensity of punk and communicate that loudly and broadly. I also have a predilection to hearing tuneful vocals. Even in aggressive music, I always end up comping and directing for pitch. Drug Church is the perfect case in point. When we first started working together, none of us expected to get as "tuneful" as it did. Working through vocals with Pat [Kindlon], I started to hear this internal melody to his cadence. At some point the vision "clicked" and we ran with it. That lead to this notable "non-singer" attempting to be melodious and stumbling his way into hitting extremely catchy melodies (somewhat) precisely.
Where does that pop influence come from?
I appreciate the nuance and schmaltziness of certain kinds of vocal deliveries. The emotion that comes across with a vocalist or guitarist on how they approach or hang on a note is powerful. I get obsessive about the sound of a vowel in contrast to the note. If someone's singing an "ah" sound, we may try different ways of singing that note in contrast to the music. At times I can get myopic, but when something is really ringing from a vocal performance, the performance of guitars, and the whole image of a band, I will get extremely pumped. I'll jump up and down.
I imagine you're pretty light-handed on editing and tuning.
I'm actually heavy-handed, but more so on comping than anything. I will do a lot of vocal takes. Sometimes the magic is all in the first three takes, or maybe something only reveals itself after we do it seven or more times. For pitch correction, some people may need it more than others. Brothertiger [John Jagos] has developed some interesting singing habits from monitoring his [Antares] Auto-Tune-d vocals for so many years. We'll work through two vocal layers that are pretty bang on in tune, and then chorus the bejesus out of them in a million ways. We can craft layers of harmony and vibe, and help them be translucent by not rubbing against the lead vocal. One can obviously go too far and remove the energy with tuning, but there is something so musical about helping a vocal sit confidently, no matter what it takes.
The Brothertiger material is sonically very '80s-based. Were you using a different set of tools compared to more straightforward punk productions?
It's not dissimilar from what I add in a rock music environment, both musically and sonically. I want the production to hit a certain way, and I'm giving the band lots of little sub hooks. Every moment needs to have a memorable sticky element to it. He uses a ton of analog synths, and the new album relied heavily on a Yamaha DX7 and Ensoniq samplers. We used these '80s Roland guitar and bass preamp boxes that have this vicious compressor in them. We'd put spanky synth bass guitar through it, or use it to abuse drums.
