THE
STUDIO - A REFLECTION
by Bill King
I remember the first time
I stepped into a recording
studio. The elation and
sense of wonderment I
felt was akin to the astronauts
first landing on the moon.
The sensation was like
walking through an invisible
door into a mysterious
world beyond comprehension
in 1964. The session lasted
all of six hours culminating
in a top fifty Billboard
hit titled "Moanin"; released
on the Nashville label
Smash by the Chateaus.
Two sides were recorded
for the single, the B
side an original I cloned
from Herbie Hancock's
"Watermelon Man" called
"Seven Come Eleven". Not
only was I immersed in
the art of recording ,
but I also learned a painful
lesson when the forty-five
was released. The co-producers
name and publishing company
were credited for my particular
rewrite of Hancockšs hit.
Needless to say, I never
saw a penny from the successful
arrangement I did of Bobby
Timmon's "Moanin" or my
crafty take on Hancock.
I was eighteen years old
with no understanding
of the music business.
I would learn over the
ensuing years how little
my approach to recording
would modify to my present
capacity as co-president
of Radioland Enterprises.
I eventually moved to
Greenwich Village in Manhattan
during the peak of the
sixties revolution. One
of the bands I hooked
up with were recording
at A-1 Sound on 56th street
, the old Atlantic studio
where Ray Charles pounded
out the hits for one of
the labels original founder's
, Herb Abramson.
Herb was a two-track man
in transition. Every thing
in his studio were relics
of an era in the twilight
of enormous change. The
Beatles were multi-tracking
with George Martin's four
track while Herb rarely
overdubbed opting for
the precise performance.
ESP records would rent
long stretches of time
from A-1 and let the tape
flow cutting as many discs
as could be crammed into
a two week period. There
was no mixing, aural effects,
samples or multi-verb
systems. Just the documentation
of the session at hand.
I rode through the sixties,
seventies and eighties
halfheartedly on board
the technological juggernaut.
I marvelled at the advances
in sound reproduction
but still knew in the
back of may head this
was a mute point if the
players couldn't make
it happen.
I spent six weeks in Cherry
studios in L,A. in 1982
with the very finest engineer
and studio musicians recording
with a new mega band ,
China; and two twenty-four
track Studors perfectly
in synch. What did we
get? A 186,000 tab; paid
for by Epic records. The
record sounds quite good,
but believe me the same
or better results could
have been obtained by
efficient pre-production
and nineties like austerity.
The eighties were beyond
control with bands like
Fleetwood Mac spending
a year and millions of
dollars in the studio.
None of the excesses guaranteed
hits. Look at the fifties!
In and out. Everyday a
new artist, a monster
hit. As I write this in
August 1997, I can honestly
say I'll never revert
back to the mind set of
the seventies and eighties.
It's all in the quality
of artist and preparation
that brings a song to
life. I make a practice
of securing the very best
engineer who is quick
and sensitive about the
music. The artist must
be thoroughly prepared.
We work on strict budgets
which includes studio
costs, musician fees,
graphics, photography
etc. I donšt like to spend
more than twelve to sixteen
hours in a studio on a
project. Everything straight
to DAT.
I'm not a fanatic internally
struggling with the merits
of analogue over digital.
It's a matter of economics.
Digital sounds great to
me. I couldn't wait to
unload as much lumpy vinyl
replacing my favourites
with CDs. That was four
years ago and not once
have I cried with nostalgia
it's passing.
The essential trick is
capturing the right performance.
That means my role is
that of champion of the
cause. I massage egos
when necessarily and dissect
and solve problems when
they arise. I listen behind
the engineer usually perched
near the back of the room.
My partner Greg Sutherland
likes to stay close to
the console where he can
quickly communicate a
given response and exchange
dialogue with the engineer.
Our main man is Kevin
Doyle one of the most
celebrated engineers in
the country. We all work
as a team. What one misses
the other will log in
memory. There's no yelling,
arguments, or bruised
egos. We've all survived
those recordings, steering
clear of such encounters.
There's a level of maturity
that comes when entering
a studio that must be
maintained. You're there
for one purpose. Follow
through and the results
can be quite exhilarating.
We usually allot two hours
for each song, giving
the artist time to find
a comfort zone. Somewhere
between takes one and
three the magic occurs.
Much beyond that and spontaneity
is lost leaving each additional
pass emotionally cold.
I like to exit with good
feelings and satisfaction
work has been accomplished.
I wait a couple weeks
before reviewing the DAT
to listen with open ears.
This is the moment I begin
to sequence. I don't worry
to much about the hyperactivity
of the moment influencing
my objectivity. I'm very
clear-headed and tuned
in during each pass. The
only surprises I hear
two weeks later are always
pleasant.
With the right players,
material, engineer , studio
and attitude the music
with essentially play
itself. A sound recording,
especially jazz can last
a lifetime and serve as
a reminder of a moment
when some very special
players got together and
spoke magnificently as
one.
