How was it working with Andy Johns [producer] on Television's Marquee Moon?
I loved Andy, but you know he came in and we took him by surprise.
How's that?
I think he was used to being involved with bands that were three sheets to the wind as part of their philosophy. And then he came down and we were really interested in the vision about sounding like us. I think that threw him. Plus we picked this place that he was aghast at because the board had no EQ. It was A&R Studios on 48th Street, where the Musicians' Union is now. It was the Ramones's place — that's what we were thinking.
There's a story that you showed up and the drum kit was all mic'ed up?
See, Tom [Verlaine] doesn't remember this, but this is my memory. The day we were supposed to arrive, we get there at one o'clock with our guitars and amps and crap like that and the drums — which was a rental kit — were supposed to have been delivered the night before and it was set up. We were lookin' at it and saying, "Hmmm... that's interesting." There were mics on it and everything. But there was no Andy! So we're waiting, like two hours! And Andy comes in, "Oh I'm sorry I'm late, but I was here last night. I got a head start. I wanted to see the place and I set the drums up and put some things on tape." And we said, "Well who played the drums?" And he said, "Well, I did. Just as a test." So we said fine, let's play it. And he put the thing on and there it was, sort of the John Bonham-y sound — distance and thunder looming. We looked at each other you know... I mean, I like that sound but... Tom said, "No! Pull that all down! That isn't it! That's not what we want at all" and he [Andy] was like, "Really? But that's who I am. Isn't that why you hired me?" And we were like, "No Andy, we hired you because you're famous for recording great guitars and drums. We want great drums too, but smaller, drier."
Focused in a different...
Yeah focused. We don't want the drum kit competing with the guitars. So he got really upset and Tom and him went off into the hallway and had a tête-à-tête, and he came back and he sort of understood. He kept going, "Oh, it's a New York thing. Like a Velvets, New York thing." You know, sort of like, "Oh you want to sound bad!" or something like that. And we're like, "Yeah, okay Andy." You know, "You'll find out!"
It was kind of left alone, so the record ends up being very timeless. You could record that album today — you could've recorded that record a few years before.
Well, we were really concerned about making a record that just sounded like we already sounded. Basically I was the guy asking all the questions, "Oh, what are you doing to that, Andy? What knob are you turning now, Andy?" At one point he turned to me and he said, "I can explain it to you, or I could do it and you're paying by the hour in this studio, so which is it going to be?" "What signal path are you using?" — the most annoying question you could ask of somebody who's in the middle of turning knobs — "What's that signal path?"
"What'd you just do?"
Yeah, "What'd you just do? Can I hear a choice?" We had to rent things. When it came to the mix it was sort of like, "Well, we've got two Pultecs." One has to go on the vocal, and you know, it was like, "Which do you want on the guitar? Who gets the Pultec or who gets the LA-2A?" or what have you — the choice signal path.
Who recorded Adventure? [Television's second album]
John Jansen. He worked with Hendrix a little bit. John was also terrific. You know — business-like, corporate, coming in at the right time. The sound — I mean the color tones are more...
There's more variety and just a little more playing around with what the studio can do. The first record was an attempt to get the studio out of the picture and make it a straight...
That's a good assessment.
Later on when you guys did the self- titled record in '91 — where did you work on that one?
Sorcerer [Sound]? I think it was also called Acoustilog [Their parent company]. It just went out of business, down on the Lower East Side. They had two rooms — in the basement they had a big room and on the fifth floor they had the second room. We worked upstairs. During the recording they actually came in and redid the main room, and they were building walls and changing the shape of the room. So we would come in and they'd promise to be done by our start time, but you'd come in and the room would be a different shape, the next day, with the drum mics set up. It was very, very strange.
But did it feel noticeably different in the sound?
Not so noticeably, but yes, you wondered and you'd listen to things and say, "Hey is there a little more high end there?"
Yeah that's funny. Did you spend a decent amount of time on that one?
I think that a traditional length of time was always a six- week project. You know, two weeks tracking, two weeks overdubs and vocals and then two weeks mixing. So six weeks.
At that point coming back together and working, did you notice if processes in the studio had changed a lot over the years, the way everybody wanted to work?
No because everything was still on tape. The essential elements of the equipment were very much the same. The band — the dynamic remained viable. I mean, we wouldn't have done it if it weren't for the fact that we got together, and after about fifteen minutes everybody was comfortable playing together — so that had never gone away.
In the years I just skipped, many things happened for you. Solo records.
Yeah, the downward spiral — the trampoline effect of heading towards hell as a way to get into heaven. When they want to send a probe to Saturn they fling it around the sun. You could use your personal demons this way if you know what you're doing, but of course if you don't you crash land on the sun!
With the solo records and things like that, what kind of studios were you working in?
Well, Alchemy was done at Bearsville [Studios]. Bearsville was picked by the A & R person at Elektra to try and get me out of the city. It stranded me in this place where I just ran out of medicinal requirements. The sessions had a terrible go of it and the producers called the company and said, "Richard is all screwed up and it's ruining the sessions." I'm calling them up and saying, "The bastard has locked the door and is putting keyboards on my record against my will." And the record company said, "Well, you can fire him, however, you'll have to pick up the tab on everything from here on in and the release date of the record will be pushed back a year." It was one of those tremendous experiences. Basically, the record was also sort of conscientiously designed to be the opposite of the Television ethos. It is a very pop, smooth record with not much fiery guitar or soloing, etc. That was very much, kind of a semi-conscious choice at the time — which is why the next record that I did, which was Field of Fire in Sweden, that was one of the inducements. The record company said, "We've got our own studio, it has a 24 channel Neve in it, and it's one of the nicest studios in Stockholm," and I said, "But can I work at ABBA's place?" And they said, "Oh no, we own this one and it's free for you and we'll give you and apartment and a bicycle and free rent at the place." You can't beat that and I said, "Do you want to hear some demos?" And they said, "Oh no. We know what you do." And so it was an easy choice. That record was very brusque and sort of bluesy and full of "ARG!" as it were. I'd like to do some remixes because they were mixed by a fellow who was terrific, but very Euro-disco, '80s tinsel, gated snares and echoes.
Was that kind of a live and learn situation for you?
Well, the first mix engineer got fired because he would do things like set up a mic and go back in the control room, which was like a fifty foot walk and he'd have me play some guitar, then he'd come out and he'd move the mic a half an inch on the speaker cone, then he'd go back and come back and he'd go back and he'd come back and he'd go back and finally it was like eight hours to do a part, you know? I had the time then, so it wasn't that, but it was so incredibly ridiculous, I could've done it myself in my underwear and it would've been better. All that time I would always farm out the engineering with a little bit of self-insecurity. I always kind of suspected that the learning curve for me would not be that great, because I'm very observant. But until I kind of had this place where I could make mistakes any time I get into a situation in this studio, I'd have an engineer. You're really at their mercy in a certain way. I mean you could say, "Could you try this? Move over and I'll turn the knobs!" And then whenever I'd do that somebody would say, "Oh, you can't do that." I'd say, "Well, they shouldn't make the knobs go to 15!"
But say a record got mixed a way that you end up not liking. Was it just because in that time you were not really aware that it would sound dated?
There's a little bit of that and then there's a little bit of the fact that no matter how you dream of something, you've got the real world to contend with. There's going to be compromises. Making a record is usually a committee. There just are elements where you've just got to let somebody else have some say. And then there's the concept, and it's a very true one, that no matter what you're doing, it will hypnotize you. I don't care if you have the worst crap sound in the God-forsaken world — you keep listening to it, it'll sound good. You'll be pleased as punch with yourself. That's why you always should, if you can, leave a mix up and come back the next day, even two days later, and sit and listen to it.
Exactly.
Because you will fall into that phenomenon of hypnosis — so a lot of effects, they sound great, and fifteen minutes later it starts to wear off, you know? The timelessness of short wire versus effects. I've met a number of people who've made the great records that I admire and I think that I've almost, without exception, found out that they would like to re-do something about them — that for some reason, they don't hold them in the same sort of awe that I do. You've got a band who've been playing the damn songs — maybe they don't know what they sound like. They just don't. And then you've got a little bit of freshness because you're the producer or the engineer and you're not going to live with it forever. But even then sometimes it behooves you to ask yourself, "Well is that a bold move or a foolish move?"
When did you first start accumulating your own recording equipment?
I had a bunch of stuff lying around because I already had a 4-track cassette recorder and then a 4-track TEAC with Simulsync at home. I had, at one point, some kind of digital capture unit, but by then I had a bunch of outboard gear, because I'd buy pieces that I'd like and then they'd just sit there because I didn't have a studio. I think I had a [Roland] VS880 or something like that, but they had all these effects in it and you couldn't get any of the effects from the outboard into it. You could only use two or something like that. It was very painful.
Limited.
What happened — I put a band together and the bass player in that band said, "I have this place" (that's this place) and we can rehearse there — he had sub-tenants. So we started rehearsing here and every time we made a cassette in here it sounded really good. He kept saying, "I have an ADAT and a Mackie board." I kept puttin' it off. What happened was I went out and I spent a number of thousands of dollars buying time at a 24- track tape studio, and did eleven songs of mine and then ran out of money and they sit in a box waiting for me to have more money. I made a deal with myself, I said, "Look, let's see what that ADAT sounds like — I'll just buy equipment instead of time. I'll make an investment." So I began to accumulate stuff. I bought another ADAT so I'd have two, 'cause eight tracks just didn't interest me. Actually, more than sixteen didn't interest me. I figured 8-tracks came along in '67, '68? 16-track in '68 or '69 — by then you know, all the records I cared about were made! So 24-track was like a luxury — because you start to develop what the Buddhists call the dilemma of choice. Up there is the Alesis board — I hooked up the Mackie and the Alesis, and the Alesis sounded better in every way and so I used it. I mean, it was real little. So I made my own record called The Cover Doesn't Matter here, which did pretty well.
I listened to that and I kept looking back at it, going, "Where did he record this?" I imagined you were in a space like this, but it doesn't sound like that kind of space.
No it doesn't, does it?
No. I was pleasantly surprised.
Right. That was still a big part of the learning curve — that record. Then I did a few other things. I'll give you a record — The Blondes Inc. — some neighbors in the building. One day I came in and they had all these wires all over the floor and their door open. The next day there was a little knock on the door and they said, "Would you listen to this?" I said, "Well, when I'm riding the elevator and I hear you through the door, I think it sounds good. You sound better through the door than on this." So I went in and it was Pro Tools, some college kid, and I went in and I looked and listened to their space and it was terrible! I said, "Well, look, I can do a better job for you." So they came over here and we made a record. I did that and then Rocket From The Tombs [Rocket Redux].
Yeah, that's a really great record.
And what happened was, we were on tour and everyone kept asking us for current recordings of the band that — we didn't have any. WFMU Radio Station in New Jersey asked us to do a live broadcast and we said, "Well, we'll do it if we can own the tapes for our own merchandising purposes." So we did the set and it was like, an hour long there, and it came out pretty good and we were considering doing it as a merchandising item and I said, "Well look. If you can get to New York, then I can do a better job than that recording." And so they all flew in 'cause Rocket From the Tombs lives all over the place. David [Thomas] is in England and in Pennsylvania; Cheetah [Chrome]'s in Nashville; the drummer, Steven [Mehlman], is in Cleveland; the bass player, Craig [Bell], is in Indianapolis; and I'm in New York. So it's really something. We all reconvened. My family — my wife and kid were out of town — so they all stayed at my house and left a big mess. And then we did that over here and that was the last thing I did on ADATs. Now I have this Alesis HD24XR, which is great.
Has that been a lot easier to deal with for you than tapes?
Well, I was sort of a staunch supporter of the ADATs because they never gave me any trouble.
Yeah?
They really didn't. But the second I plugged this in, I recorded ten seconds of something and I played it back and I just went, "Wow."
Can you hook up a screen to this kind?
