In your projects, you don't have one job. You're not just the bass guy or the horns guy. Why do you enlist the help of others for a job that you could easily do yourself?
A number of things. One, I work with a wide range of artists that come to me with a wide range of needs. I fell into this job accidentally; I didn't pursue being a producer. It was a job that somebody asked me to do, and people continue to ask me to do. I find that it changes all the time with what people need, and there are some records I work on where I might want the actual sound, style, or performance of another musician. I might be more curious to hear what they have to offer. I've been doing this long enough where I know what I would do, but my curiosity is going to always outweigh my ego. I don't believe that there's a finite way to accomplish anything. A good song can live in a lot of different ways. I'm not as fast of an engineer as I'd like to be, though I understand it. I do engineer records still. Especially in the last couple years, I've found myself attracted to parts of engineering, but I can always move faster when I have someone dedicated to that position. I feel we're able to flow better as a team when I'm not trying to do everything; I don't feel that produces the best result all the time. That's the root of it. I love community, I love having a team of people floating around. I want the right energy in the room as often as possible.
How do you define the role of a producer?
Mostly, I see it as a functional role; hopefully to provide perspective to the artist. Sometimes that can be a real musical task, like helping someone find their sound, or a sound in general. Other times there are records I make where I don't touch an instrument. I sit in the room the whole time and have conversations with the artist, but they know what they want. They need to be able to have a conversation with someone and check their gut. Whether they think they're right, or they think they're wrong, they need something to go up against. I don't see it as a power role; I don't think the producer knows more than the artist. I rarely feel like it's anything other than, "How can I help provide the resource that you need to do what you're trying to do as an artist?"
When you started out, was it like that too? Or did you have to come to that conclusion over time?
I arrived at that conclusion. I had played in bands for a long time. I had my own band, for a long time, that I was one of the main songwriters and singers for. Eventually, I decided that I was ready to not take up that space [anymore]. Probably ten-plus years ago now, I started to feel a little bit embarrassed being on a stage and taking up space as another white dude singing songs. I felt like I could do anything else but that. I took a break from music and eventually I started [producing]. My brother [Phil Cook] asked me to produce his first solo record, [Southland Mission]. Another friend of mine asked me to produce a record. I don't know why that started happening, but once it started happening it was so natural. I never asked anybody to [let me produce], I would just get asked. Each project would be so different that I would find myself grateful that I'd played a lot of these roles before. I've been a session player with great musicians in the room. I also know what it's like to share your songs with people for the first time. I did that for a long time, too. It fell into my lap, and it became something that defined itself over time.
Can you describe your first time in the producer's chair?
Well, for starters, I brought an engineer with me who I had already worked on a lot of records with. Because I came into the studio and production through playing and arrangement, I didn't have the confidence to do any of the actual engineering on someone else's thing. My brother and I had engineered our own records before that, but, right off the bat, I knew that if I was going to do this that I needed help. I wanted to free up as much bandwidth as possible to stay as objective as possible. That's been at the core of how I've operated since. I appreciate objectivity when it comes to this. For me, if I start worrying about something in Pro Tools, or if something doesn't go right, it can kick me out of the headspace that I was in. If the song doesn't go right, and I have an engineer in the room that's dedicated to that job, they can take that stress on and I'm able to find another place to go with the artist. Whether we shift gears and start working on something new, go get lunch, or whatever it may be, I feel I'm free to work from a different headspace in those moments. It starts there, in terms of things that are necessary for me to do this job.
When I hear your work with Bon Iver, I'm reminded of a clip from Wilco's I Am Trying To Break Your Heart, where Jay Bennett [Tape Op #41] says something like, "We're seeing how the song is supposed to sound and then deconstruct it a little bit." Is that intentional?
Yeah, sometimes. Justin [Vernon, Bon Iver], my brother, and I have been making music together since we were teenagers. That Wilco record documentary came out long before any Bon Iver record. We were still just kids living in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. I was a die-hard Jim O'Rourke [Tape Op #16] fan when I was 19 years old. My entry point into Wilco was through Jim O'Rourke, and that's how I got into Wilco on Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. We were right at the perfect age to be given permission to deconstruct our songs, discover new form, and find ways to make music free of, and about, the process. I credit that whole Wilco story as being something that was exciting for a lot of people of a generation. Seeing how they made that record and [questions like] "What is a song?" There are so many allegiances that were taken down when they made that record: allegiance to genre and form, for example. It was freeing for a lot of us. I remember one weekend where Justin Vernon, Chris [Messina], and BJ Burton [ #137] figured out what is now referred to as "The Messina," where he was able to reharmonize anything via a MIDI keyboard. One of the first experiments was on [Bon Iver's] 22, A Million, [on the song] "__45__," I believe. That was such a mind-bending moment for all of us, but, for me, as a listener, that was one of the most satisfying things I'd ever heard. It was so new to me to hear a sax manipulated that way. The way Justin's bone-dry vocal sits over it, made me feel that it was such a brave statement [to] leave it hanging on the experiment. I think that's a powerful statement, in and of itself.
Can you describe The Messina in a little more detail?
I think so. Chris Messina, who's Justin's main day-to-day engineer, figured out a routing that allowed a tonic to be sent to the Eventide H9000 (or maybe the H8000) and then a MIDI keyboard would work as a gate. Depending on what voicings Justin played, that's what would gate the information. So, when it came to reharmonizing, it wasn't parallel harmonies anymore. At that point in time, when someone did any kind of harmony device, it was parallel harmonies the whole time. As far as I'm aware, that was the first time I'd ever heard someone be able to manipulate the actual harmony around it and create whatever they wanted to hear. On "__45__" in particular, it's so powerful to me; not only because of the voicings Justin's playing, but the actual sax is able to maintain its sonic integrity because it's still a dry signal. You know what I mean? There are people who just sing with [Antares] Auto-Tune on because the actual turning on of the plug-in has a certain sound to it. With [The Messina], I felt, as a listener, it was very different because I didn't lose the best parts of the human voice, or the actual instrument that's being manipulated. The umami of a particular voice. It's able to work in this exciting way together. This would have been 2014, so eight years ago that was a wild thing to hear relative to where things are at today. You can do this easily with Antares Harmony Engine now.
Did you go to college for music?
No, I went to college for special education, but we moved to North Carolina before I graduated. Eight of us moved at once. That was 2005. Then, our band [DeYarmond Edison] broke up after being here for a year. That's when Justin started Bon Iver, and my brother and I started a band called Megafaun. Megafaun made four records, all in North Carolina. We toured like crazy. We toured in Europe a shitload. We had much more success in Europe than we did in the U.S. I met BJ Burton during that point in time. He moved in with me and ended up doing the last two Megafaun records. He had a big impact on the way I work. I can't stress enough how much he elevated all of us, in terms of how to approach studio recording. He was young, probably 21 at the time, and was already bored with the way everyone was doing it. Megafaun was a perfect band for him, because we didn't have any allegiance to anything. We just wanted to make exciting music for ourselves.
