How did Dirt Floor come about?
By accident. I was a singer-songwriter in New York City, struggling while recording in various studios that weren't quite giving me what I wanted. It was very uptight and very intimidating to be in those spaces. There was never a recording experience that I felt good about, and I never got anything musically that I felt represented me. So, in 2003, I amassed some equipment, like a [Tascam] DA-38 machine and a little Mackie [mixer] board. I just wanted to record some of my own stuff. I borrowed a friend's drum set, I found a cheap organ, and put it all in my apartment. I started to learn how to play them by listening to '70s-era singer- songwriter, folk-rock albums.
I know you studied music, but you trust your ears and the feel...
More than I do the mathematics of it. I didn't study music enough for it to make a difference. When I turn a knob on the mixing board, or on the preamp, I feel it more than I can see it. I know what it does to me inside. It's like when you're tuning a guitar with harmonics. When they're perfectly in tune, you get that feeling of ahhh.
How many Dirt Floor locations have there been?
This would be the fourth spot within a two-mile radius. I'm still trying to find the spot that will be home for the rest of Dirt Floor's existence, which I hope is a long time.
It's interesting that all four locations have revolved around the town of Chester. Why here as opposed to Boston or New York, which are both two hours away?
I feel like I'd get swallowed up in any of those towns. There are so many studios; by having some distance from those places, I can be a bigger fish in a smaller pond. Chester is a very artistic place. I get a lot of artists from Boston, New York City, and Providence [Rhode Island] who want to get out of the city and come here.
Is there a way to sum up what you call "the Dirt Floor sound," other than just hearing it? Can you describe it?
It's honest. I don't want to leave a mistake in just because it's a mistake, but I like the imperfections. I remember those records as a kid, like [Neil Young's] Harvest, where there were these moments of imperfection — a reversed, screwed-up drumbeat or a really bad note. When you listen to those songs, you wait for those parts — those little stops along the way. I really wanted to keep that tradition. I realized that using tape and using old instruments are ways of getting that sound. Also, I like helping artists to be themselves. I want them to be completely comfortable with the imperfections, without wanting to correct everything and polish themselves until they're boring.
Do you have a gut-meter for when an imperfection is going to add character versus when you need to do another take?
Yeah, I wince! A bad note is a bad note. A lot of times it has to get fixed. But there are other elements, like the way something is picked — maybe picked a little too hard — or if the voice breaks. To me, that's emotion. A lot of times I'll argue with the artist, and I'll say, "Listen, sit with it overnight. If you don't like it tomorrow we'll fix it." Very seldom do I have to go in and fix it. I'm not the first person to do this — it's been going on for decades. I just want the artists to be entirely themselves. I feel that if you let people see and hear who you really are, it does something to them. The music isn't perfect, but it is perfect because it comes from a real place.
How do you approach a session?
Before a client comes in I'll schedule a meeting. We'll get coffee before we book a session. When an artist or band comes in I don't want to feel awkward, and I don't want them to feel awkward. This way we're buddies by the time we start rolling. We've hung out and we're on the same page. I tell them, "We're gonna have a whole hell of a lot of fun, and we're gonna work our asses off." On the day of the session everything is all set up when they get to the studio. I like to be prepared. It cuts down on my anxiety if everything is ready to go. At the end of the first day I want an artist to feel like they got a shit-ton done. There's nothing worse than being in the studio all day and thinking, "I just spent $500 bucks and I don't have anything." My goal is to surpass their expectations, every time.
You work with a lot of singer-songwriters. Most of the time you function not only as a producer and engineer, but you also end up being their band or session musician.
I feel like there are a few selling points as to what makes this a unique place, and that's definitely one of the big ones. The fact that I can very tastefully act as their backing band, as well as take the song and deconstruct it and put it back together again — while also playing drums, keys, bass, guitars, harmonies, pedal steel. It's a combination of all of those things.
How do you handle playing instruments, producing an artist, and running the board at the same?
It goes back to the initial meeting. I want them to know that I'm egoless when it comes to that. I'm basically acting as their hands. Even though I'm giving a large part of my own "art" to them, there's no ego because there's no room for it when I'm trying to please the client. I think that makes it easier for them, and it takes the burden off of me as well. During the process I'll ask, "Are we going in the right direction?" I grow from every recording situation that I'm thrown into. It's a learning situation, and I haven't failed yet.
