You grew up in Santa Monica, California. Did you have a childhood that was filled with music?
My mother had a piano, and I couldn't stay away from it. I played by ear, and I thought I could play nearly anything I heard until my parents gave me lessons. [laughs] I hated them, and I quit playing piano. This was when I was five or six. I still loved music, but that ended my playing the piano.
Your father, Robert Landee, was a musician?
No, he was an electronic engineer. My mother and father divorced, and my father remarried in 1957. He married a musician, Janie McFadden. She had a trio and played Las Vegas. She had a contract with RCA Victor Records and recorded at RCA Studio A in Hollywood in 1964. So, that was another real music connection.
Did you attend that session?
Yes, I was at her 1964 session, which was the first ever in the then new RCA Studio A. In fact, the RCA staff hadn't completely moved in yet. Twice a mic on the strings failed and someone had to run to the old RCA studio, which was on the other side of Vine Street, and get a replacement. It was live to 3-track. The producer was Neely Plumb, and I think the engineer was Dave Hassinger, but I was never able to confirm that. At the time, I didn't recognize any of the session players. They had piano, bass, drums, and two guitars on one channel, twelve strings on another, and Janie's vocal on the third track.
You grew up with another musical family, the Dragons.
I didn't meet the Dragon family until 1961. I met Dennis Dragon [The Surf Punks, Tape Op #69] in September of that year, during the first week I was going to Santa Monica High School. He lived in Malibu, and at the time Malibu kids would go to Santa Monica High. We were both applying for the school's sound crew because we both thought it would have something to do with recording music. It didn't. It had to do with running PA systems for football games and pep rallies. That was truly the bottom of the barrel. There were special requirements, like, "You're going to have to work in the rain." [laughs] So, we didn't much get into that. I got to know Dennis, and as soon as I could drive I was regularly going to their house in Malibu. That's how I met his father, Carmen Dragon, and the rest of the family.
What was the first record you remember falling in love with as a kid?
Harry Belafonte's Calypso. The sound of that record was like nothing I'd ever heard. It was fantastic for its time, in "glorious monaural" and all that. It was a great record, and was the first LP to sell a million copies.
Back in those days, record companies often didn't credit producers, much less engineers, on the albums. Were you able to learn who worked on it?
No. I later found out it was done at RCA in New York, but that's all I ever found out about it. At that time, my father was a chief engineer at Collins Radio Company; they built radar and communication equipment. After he married Janie, he would bring recording equipment home, like an Ampex 350 recorder, an Altec mixer, and Telefunken U 47 microphones. In our living room, I did my first recordings. We had three microphones. It was Janie singing and playing piano, accompanied by a string bass player. In fact, [I recorded her playing] the seven-foot Steinway B piano that my father sold to Ed [Van Halen] in 1985. It's the same one that we used on Van Halen's "Dreams" and that Andy [Johns (Tape Op #39)] and Eddie Van Halen used on "Right Now."
How old were you when you did that recording?
I was ten.
Even at ten, you were getting ready for bigger and better things in the music business?
I thought that [audio engineering] was maybe what I wanted to do. I was pretty sure I was going to be in radio in some way, because I had just received my amateur radio license at age nine. I learned pretty quickly that a lot of what I'd learned about electrical stuff could also be applied to recording.
Did you build radios?
I built kits. I never built my own radio from scratch, but I bought Heathkit and Dynakit amateur radio and stereo kits.
You later worked at the radio station at Santa Monica City College.
Yes. After I graduated high school, in 1964, I enrolled there. The school had a radio station called KCRW. I spent about three years at KCRW, doing radio shows and maintaining the equipment. I learned about broadcasting and the music business.
Am I remembering right that Howard Weiss, the engineer who later worked at Sunset Sound for many years, worked with you at KCRW?
Yes, we met at the radio station. A few years later, when I was at working at Sunwest Recording Studios in Hollywood, we needed somebody. Howard had just gotten out of the Navy. I said, "I think Howard Weiss is available, and he'd be great." Sunwest hired him. Later on, after things fell apart at Sunwest, he went to work for Sunset.
Did you have a radio show, or did you only do tech work?
I played records. My program was called Eclectic; that way I could play anything! [laughs]
What did you learn from your stint at KCRW? Did it change your mind about a career in radio?
I decided that I wanted to make records. The more records I listened to, the more I'd wonder, "How would I record that?" I'd listen for hours to everything that came out. I got to know where the L.A. pressing plants were, and when new records came out, I would drive, get them, and play them on my show.
When I was working on Ted Templeman's autobiography [A Platinum Producer's Life in Music] with him, he told me that when he heard how bad the first Buffalo Springfield record sounded it made him angry. He'd seen the band live and knew how incredible those guys sounded together when they played.
Yes, he and I talked about that. One of the reasons we both got into production the way we did was from listening to records we didn't like. But then there were some that were just great. Like anything done by Al Schmitt. I learned that pretty early. He did Henry Mancini's Hatari soundtrack, and that just sounded phenomenal.
This is around the time you first met Al. How did that come about?
I was working at the radio station and there was this guy named Bill Becker. His nickname was Toad. He would hang around the station, but he never really did anything. I got to talking to him, and he said, "I make guitars for rock stars." I thought, "Sure, Toad, yeah sure." And he kept telling me stories about the guitarists he built guitars for – the only one I remember was Eric Clapton. One day he said, "Hey, do you want to go to a recording session at RCA?" I said, "You can get us in there?" He said, "Yeah, it's Jefferson Airplane. I've got to get a guitar to Marty Balin. Can you drive me?" We jumped in my car and drove to RCA in Hollywood. Oddly enough, when we got to the gate, the guard waved us in like he knew Bill Becker. It was Jefferson Airplane recording Crown of Creation. Al Schmitt was an engineer, but he was the producer of this album, and so he was not allowed to touch the console. At that time, if you worked at RCA, producers couldn't touch consoles. That was the union [rule]. It would be an engineer who would have to do that. Al had just been elevated to producer and he was not happy.
Do you remember what type of console the studio had then?
I had seen that board before because I'd photographed a lot of sessions at RCA. Carmen Dragon would record orchestras there, and I'd been in the same studio many times before [as a photographer]. I don't specifically recall the manufacturer, but I have pictures of it. I remember I spent a lot of time looking at it, thinking, "This isn't too complicated." It had about two percent [of the capability] of a modern recording console.
Carmen Dragon was quite famous in his time. Tell me about him.
He conducted the Hollywood Bowl Symphony Orchestra and the Capitol Records orchestra. From there, he was the principal conductor of the Glendale Symphony Orchestra. His records were on Capitol. I remember the first time I was in his office there was an Academy Award statuette [Oscar] on his desk.
He must have been pretty inspiring to you as a kid.
He provided great opportunities for me. At that time, I was sure I was going to be a photographer, and here I was shooting these sessions at RCA that are 50 and 60 pieces – big sessions. I got to know the [recording] process and about how they did things at RCA. Eventually recording became more interesting than photography was to me, as time went on.
After college, you went to work in Hollywood?
Actually, the entire time I was at the radio station, I would spend probably at least one or two days a week driving to studios in Hollywood trying to get a job. I absolutely wore out my welcome at Sunset Sound.
What was Sunset Sound like in the mid-1960s?
I don't know, because I never really made it inside! [laughs] Back then, the entrance to the studio was not in the parking lot [off of North Cherokee Ave.] like it is now. It was right on Sunset Boulevard. There was a woman who worked there. I talked to her the first few times I went there, but the last few times I went there she would see me coming and wave me off before I even got inside the building. [laughs]
What other studios did you go to looking for work? Did you go to Gold Star?
Yep. I went to them all. I'd go to Capitol [Studios]. I'd go to United [recording]. I'd go to Western [Recorders]. RCA. Columbia Records. Radio Recorders. I didn't even know T.T.G. existed until I heard from a friend, Jack Hunt, that I should go there and apply for a job.
It's amazing how many recording studios were operating within just a few square miles of each other in Hollywood in the 1960s.
Yes. Within about a mile of Sunset Boulevard there had to be ten studios. That's why the studio musicians of that era could make a great living back then by doing many sessions a day. All they had to do was drive up and down Sunset, from studio to studio.
Based on your knowledge of electronics, it's surprising that no one would hire you. Did you exaggerate your credentials to get hired at T.T.G. Studios?
I was honest at T.T.G., because I knew a guy working there and he had told me to come and apply for the job. During my radio days at KCRW, I worked part time for a remote recording company out in Burbank called Location Recording Service, or LRS. Its basic business was [sending its engineers] around Southern California with their equipment and recording school bands, orchestras, glee clubs, choirs, and whatever needed to be recorded. The company would sell records; they had their own pressing plant. That's how I got to know mastering. When I was working at LRS, I became friends with a coworker, Jack Hunt. He then left LRS and went to T.T.G. Jack called me about a year later and said, "You ought to come here. They're looking for somebody." I did and I met [T.T.G. owners] Tom Hidley and Ami Hadani, and they hired me on my 21st birthday, February 26, 1968.
You had mastered records for LRS?
Yeah, I mastered at LRS with the owner, Steve Guy, so I got to know the process. I never did it by myself. Steve had been a mastering engineer at a lot of studios in L.A. and then he built his own business.
You were a teenager and doing mastering?
There was a learning curve. It was not easy. There's a saying: to be a good mastering engineer, you should be a musical plumber because there are so many adjustments and pressures and valves to get right. And then, you know, the music was kind of important too. [laughs] It was an odd job.
What was the first session you worked at T.T.G.?
I don't remember. But early in the morning, we started by doing all [ad] agency sessions, which would be beer commercials, car commercials, cigarette commercials, and whatever. We'd record music for Budweiser, Winston, and Chevrolet. If I was there a little later, some of the pop artists started to come into T.T.G. That's why I worked with Eric Burdon and the Animals, Ricky Nelson, Sammy Davis Jr., and people like that. Then, at night, that's when the real rockers came in. That's how I met Lenny [Waronker], when he brought in The Everly Brothers. That's when I worked with The Doors.
You had quite a memorable experience working on the Waiting for the Sun sessions with Jim Morrison and The Doors at T.T.G., correct?
Yes. One night we were doing a playback. At that session, for some reason Jim would come in, stand right in front of me, and stare at me. I could not handle this, so I'd look down and work on legends, the patchbay, or something. Then he came in once [again] and he was still staring at me, but he was drinking a beer. A moment later, I looked up and he was pouring the beer into the patchbay. I yelled, "No! Jim! No!" Bruce [Botnick, engineer (Tape Op #74)] and everybody else heard that, and they all jumped up and grabbed him, but it was too late.
The damage was done.
Yes. When you get a patchbay dirty like that, you've got to take it apart completely and really clean things up. That took the studio down for a week. I kind of thought it was maybe my fault. In fact, I still do; like maybe I should have already been watching what he was doing with his beer. I didn't think he'd intentionally pour it in the console.
Who would?
When I was leaving that night, [Doors' keyboardist] Ray Manzarek stopped me and said, "Donn, it's not your fault." I said, "Yeah, but I could have stopped him." Ray said, "Do you know why we're not working at Sunset [Sound]?" I said, "No, why?" He said, "Well, Jim tried to burn down Studio 1 last time we were there." That made me feel a little better since it had happened before. [laughs]
What was it like to second for Bruce Botnick?
Terrific. He and [producer] Paul Rothchild were complete pros. Waiting for the Sun was The Doors' third album. One great thing about The Doors was that the same people worked on all those albums – same engineer, same producers, same talent. That was great.
Do you remember the songs you worked on?
I don't. I don't think we got a single [usable] vocal when I was there. Jim would want the lights out [in Studio 2]. Then he'd start singing. But he'd walk away from the microphone, and we turn the lights on to see, "Where's Jim?" "Oh, he's in the corner [still singing]." "Ah, no. You can't do that, Jim." [As the second] I would have written the names of the songs down, but I don't remember them.
I remember reading interviews with Paul or Bruce saying that it was incredibly difficult to get vocals from him during the Waiting for the Sun sessions. He was either sullen or belligerent, and they would sit in the studio trying to get Jim to do something productive.
That sounds like the few days I spent with him, yeah.
T.T.G. was a happening place back then. I've seen photos of Jimi Hendrix recording at T.T.G.
Yes, the studio that Hendrix was photographed in was the downstairs studio. That's where I worked with Lenny [Waronker] and that's where I worked with The Doors.
What was the board like in there?
It was made by Bushnell [Electronics]. It was all Universal Audio [components].
What do you recall about the way Bruce engineered at T.T.G.?
I don't remember much about the way he recorded. I just know he did a great job and music he did when we worked at T.T.G. sounded terrific. I do remember he wanted a Neumann mic for Jim, and we did not have a single Neumann mic at T.T.G.
You used something different?
Bruce used an AKG C12. I always thought that was unusual because everybody had, and used, Neumann microphones. But not at T.T.G.
So, was Lenny the first Warner Bros. producer you met?
I'm not sure. But I had met Lenny about a year before I worked with him on The Everly Brothers' Roots at T.T.G. Fortunately, he didn't remember meeting me.
What happened?
Well, Dennis Dragon called me. This is around 1966. He said, "I have a session at Liberty Records. Can you give me a ride?" I said, "Sure. Can I watch?" He said, "Yes." I picked Dennis up in my station wagon and got his drums driven to Liberty. Lenny was producing. Everything on the session sounded really good, except the guitar player could not get the part right. Back then I played guitar quite a bit, so I told Lenny, "I think I can play that." He said, "Really? Hmm. Well, okay." He figured out a way to get the guitarist off the session, and I went in there and played it. I don't think I played it very well, because [afterwards] it was never discussed. [laughs] When I met Lenny about a year later, I was thankful he had forgotten all about it. I think that was the last time I played guitar on a session.
Then the next time you were in the studio with Lenny you met The Everly Brothers. That must have been a trip.
Oh, it was fantastic, except all they did was fight. I recorded a lot of bands with brothers: the Dragon brothers, The Everly Brothers, the Van Halen brothers, and The Doobie Brothers. The Doobie Brothers were the only ones that didn't fight, because they weren't actually brothers! [laughs]
Ted Templeman told me he saw Phil and Don Everly warming up for a show in 1964, and they were arguing. But when they performed that night, they were perfectly in sync.
[You'd think] they'd be on their best behavior in the studio. No. They just fought all the time.
That's quite the way to kick things off with Lenny. Over the years you did so many albums. What was it like to work with him?
Lenny was so easy to work with, and work for. It's hard to verbalize. He had a way of working with artists that was absolutely unique. He'd typically give them a lot of [leeway], and they usually didn't disappoint.
How did he handle Phil and Don Everly?
Here's an example. It was our first night at T.T.G. with them. I couldn't believe how Lenny didn't mind what was going on [even when] things weren't going right. They were arguing and screaming. But [in the control room] Lenny seemed okay with it. He said to me, "Could you turn [the monitors] down? We don't need to listen to that." We just let them go until it looked like they had calmed down. He had me turn them up again, and said to me, "How do they sound now?"
A very low-key yet strategic approach.
Lenny was very easy to work with. That's probably the number one thing I can say about him, because I've seen a lot of producers that weren't.
Ike Turner?
He was demanding. Ike was different. [laughs] I had no trouble working with him, but for some people on the other side of the glass it was very uncomfortable. I know that.
Soon after you started at T.T.G. as a second engineer in the spring of 1968, you did the flanging on the U.S. single version of "Sky Pilot" by Eric Burdon and the Animals. That was a cutting-edge technique at the time. Did another engineer show you how to do it?
No. I learned that at KCRW. How I learned it was a complete accident. We had two turntables. They were professional Gates turntables. I was complaining that they sounded a little different. I liked the one on the left, and I brought the program director, Myles Weiner, in there to show him. We had two copies of many records, so I would play him the same record by putting the two copies on both turntables. Then I'd switch back and forth. I pointed out to him which one sounded better. He would say, "Well, that's just the preamp," or something else. Well, one time I accidentally turned them both on. The two [needles] were in exactly the same spot [on the records] and it [generated] perfect slow flanging. The two machines were off speed ever so slightly. And you would hear whoooooosh, just like a comb filter, going through the music. I said, "That's how they do it!" That was all I needed to know. From then on, I did the same thing with tape machines, amplifiers, and oscillators to get them to run at slightly different speeds.
When you did the flanging on "Sky Pilot," did you touch the tape reel or "wrap the capstan"?
No. That's kind of crude. That's the way [engineers] did it at first. People talked about [flanging] by putting a blackboard eraser on the supply reel. I would use an oscillator that changed the speed of the machine ever so slightly. You could do it very smoothly.
That way you can carefully control the entire process?
Yes. On "Sky Pilot" we had it all worked out. I didn't do the mix. Ami Hadani did the mix, and [Animals guitarist] Vic Briggs was the producer, but we talked about it [beforehand]. "Okay, right on this break on the second verse, we're going to bring flanging in from here to here." I'd say, "Okay, I'm ready," and we all did it. It was three people working together, but the actual flanging, I did.
That's a landmark recording, and to now learn that you had figured out the technique completely on your own is pretty remarkable.
It was a complete accident that I even learned about it. I always tried to get the records to play as closely as I could on both turntables. But it was only when I turned them on at the exact same spot, and at the exact same time, were things perfectly right [for flanging].
In the fall of 1968, you went to work at another Hollywood studio, Sunwest. Who owned it, and who did you work with there?
Sunwest [Recording Studios] was owned by singer Pat Boone and run by his business partner and manager, Jack Spina. Bob Mahoney built and maintained the studio. Gary Brandt, Joe Leahy, Mark Richardson, and Denny Shaw were the main engineers.
One aspect of your career I was amazed about was that you had worked with Neil Diamond at Sunwest on multiple albums, ones that included hits like "Cracklin' Rosie," "Sunday Sun," and "Sweet Caroline."
I didn't record Neil's tracks, but we'd sometimes fix vocals. The most extensive repair was having [Wrecking Crew bassist] Joe Osborn come in – late on a Sunday night – and replace a bass. At that time, he'd track in Nashville, sweeten in New York, and come here [to L.A.] in the winter. Then we'd mix.
I was interested to learn from you that Neil's producer, Tom Catalano, had a ton of faith in Neil's abilities behind the board.
I met Tom in the Sunwest parking lot on the first day I worked with Neil. He showed me his personalized plate: TOP10. He said, "I wanted TOPTEN, but it was taken." I said, "Huh, who has it?" He said, "Hal Blaine." We walked inside and talked, but not long after Neil showed up that day, Tom left and let us get to work in the control room. Tom trusted Neil's ears.
I take it that Neil had a great sense of what he wanted to hear.
Neil knew exactly what he wanted, and he knew exactly when he had what he wanted. The tapes were ready to go; they were so easy to mix. There were eight tracks. It was a cinch.
This is back in the days when engineers didn't get any credit in the liner notes. You definitely deserve major credit for working on "Sweet Caroline," and everything else on those albums.
Yeah, nobody got credit in those days. The engineers that did the tracks and all the vocals on those records of Neil's were great. They didn't get credit either.
One thing that's interesting to me is that a big part of your reputation as an engineer was built on your ability to capture incredible electric guitar sounds, like Van Halen and Montrose, but you tracked so much great acoustic music as well.
I played acoustic guitar, but I never really played electric. I had an idea of the way I wanted them to sound. I also worked with Ron Elliott, a producer, on several projects at Sunwest. Ron brought in one of my favorite records that I ever did, which is Levitt & McClure's Living in the Country. There are a couple of songs on it that I still really like to this day. It's funny, when Lowell George first came to Sunwest with Little Feat, he said, "You know, you have a reputation for recording guitar." I almost said to him, "Yeah, but I really don't record electric guitars." I primarily recorded acoustic guitars. He didn't know that. But honestly, Lowell was so easy. Guys [like Lowell] were so good; it was not hard to figure out. You put a microphone on the amplifier and record it. Not difficult.
You also recorded Arlo Guthrie.
I think I did four albums with him.
That started at Sunwest?
