The Secret Double-Identity of a Recording Engineer

Image by Jason Lander.

Anyone who has spent some time in the music business would probably agree that it’s a pretty strange way to make a living.

But even in spite of all its strangeness (or maybe because of it) I can think of no better and more fulfilling way to carve out my little slice of life than helping a band, facilitating an artist’s vision, or being a supportive-yet-driving force in the creation of music.

I rarely have a problem getting myself motivated to get to work on a project. Without having any supporting data in front of me, I would guess that there are few other industries where this is the norm. I guess that means we’re lucky, right?

It’s no secret that the vast majority of professionals on the production end of music were either players or artists themselves at some point in their lives. For many of us, the desire to be on the other side of the glass, or backstage, or otherwise behind-the-scenes, became the new focus of our musical ambitions.

For this reason, most of us who switch sides have a clear understanding about what an artist wants, needs, and expects to achieve when they embark on a project. This is no small detail. It seems reasonable to assume that those who better understand these drives firsthand are better at helping an artist achieve what they want, with a high degree of success.

If you read enough interviews with successful producers, recording engineers, live front-of-house mixers and the like, you will find a common thread between them all: They listen to the artist and try to give them what they want, while taking care of what they need.

But there is another side of this “service to the artist” that isn’t discussed as often, especially not with the general public. It has to do with the strange duality that comes from working for an artist while working with an artist. On the surface, those two roles seem like they should be similar, but when it comes to your level of personal investment in a project, they couldn’t be more different.

Are Your Collaborators Working “With” You or Working “For” You?

Let me give you an example:

I still vividly remember an encounter I had with a studio manager many years ago, when my inexperienced band and I were scouting “real” studios in which to make a high-quality demo.

We had money to spend and knew it would cost a lot to do it right. We looked at several of our options, and set up meetings to discuss the rates, the recording process, and what our expected outcomes could be. We were green, admittedly, but were respectful, curious, and intent on choosing the best studio for our session.

When we arrived at one of these prospective studios for one such meeting, to put it bluntly, this guy couldn’t have chased us out the door more quickly if he’d been wielding a machete. Beyond collecting a paycheck for his services, he wanted nothing to do with us and made no bones about it. We went somewhere else.

In a nutshell, if we had booked his studio, he would have worked for us, but there was no way he was going to work with us.

This experience always stuck with me and provided a guiding principle when I moved to the other side of the glass. I felt that it was important to be engaged and interested, and to always look out for the artist’s interest if I got the gig. This sentiment had to be sincere. I couldn’t just pretend to care about their project—I had to really be invested in the project and always give them my best effort.

But this kind of deep investment can come at a price, which is where the duality comes in.

When I’m hired for a project, I always make sure that I fully immerse myself in the songs and the performances. I try to gain an understanding of the music equivalent to the level at which the band understands their music.

It’s not just about knowing the arrangement (intro, verse, chorus, bridge) it’s also about paying attention to the interplay between the instruments; paying attention to the way each musician does what they do; paying attention to what the focal point is at each part of the song; and so on.

To do, this I have to become a fan of the music and, in a way, a temporary member of the band. The proverbial Fifth Beatle. This allows me to get more wrapped up in the song, and to feel more motivated and conscious of how to get it right for the artist.

A logical byproduct of this level of personal commitment is that I will likely have strong opinions and convictions about the way the songs will ultimately turn out. I have to take ownership of the outcome of the project do my best work. Unsurprisingly, this can lead to some trying situations for the “fully-invested-for-hire” guy.

Take, for instance, when I’m mixing a song: I know it’s done when I feel that I can’t improve the mix anymore, but also when my head is bopping along with the song because it’s got me.

I need to be able to listen to and enjoy the music as a fan might. Once I reach that point, I can then send the mix to the client and await their notes and revisions with nervous anticipation.

This is where it things can get a bit uncomfortable.

Dealing with Disagreement

It’s extremely rare for a band to not have notes and revisions on a mix, no matter how good a job I (think I) did. There’s just no way to account for everything that they may want or deem to be important.

But even knowing and anticipating this, when you’ve been immersed in a song for many hours and feel a connection to it, it’s not always easy to then have that worked judged—and sometimes judged harshly.

This kind of judgment, of course, comes with the territory and anyone who does this professionally has to learn to accept the criticism, make the changes, make it right, and move on.

The duality lies in the fact that there is no way to do superior work in music without caring a great deal about the outcome. But once you’ve completed your specific task, you have to suddenly be objective and professional. Like, right now!

When you’re on the receiving end of this kind of feedback, you have to become a facilitator and operator again, and not so much of a personally-invested co-creator anymore.

You have to let go of the many details that were so near and dear to you a short time ago, and give the artist exactly what they want and whatever they ask for. And you have to do it graciously, because it’s their music, not yours—even though, earlier, it felt like it was your music. Weird, huh?

All The Way To the Top

I had the pleasure of producing a record that was mixed by Andy Wallace many years ago. At the time, Andy was responsible for mixing about 30% of everything that was in the Top 40 on the rock charts. Needless to say, he was on top of his game. Andy was wonderful to work with and was very receptive to my input and never made me feel like what I was saying was not valid or worthwhile. But all in all, I pretty much just had to let Andy do what Andy does.

Inadvertently, he taught me a lesson about this duality, albeit in a gentle way. On one particular mix he played his first version for me and I listened and took notes. Once I had made my notes we started doing revisions, with me asking for changes and Andy making them happen.

We got to one part of the mix and I was uncertain about what was bugging me, but I couldn’t figure it out, nor could I articulate it at that point. I said to him “something’s bugging me on this part. What do you think?”

“I already showed you what I thought when I played you my first mix”, he replied.

Wow. It made me chuckle because he was exactly right. He had done the work and put his artistic stamp on the mix. He had no doubt about what he had done or he never would have played the mix for me.

“Here’s my opinion”.

The ball was in my court.

This made me think about a mix project in a new light. The first mix is mine; every mix thereafter is the artist’s.

It’s really that simple. You have to give your all and then give it to them and help them cross the finish line with their music, their record, their sound. That’s the gig.

I think that some engineers try to remove themselves from deep involvement early in the project, perhaps because they don’t like the band or the music. When the band solicits their opinion. they are met with a “Hey, it’s your music. Whatever you think”.

This doesn’t do the artist any favors. While this may be necessary in some circumstances—like if the band has already made it clear that they don’t want the engineer’s input—for the most part, it’s a cop out.

The band may be uncertain and need an informed opinion to figure out what to do next. They may just be uncomfortable with the recording process and don’t know what to expect when it’s done. You just never know. It’s incumbent upon the recording engineer to be the bridge from the creation of their songs to the completion of the record. You know how to do it and they don’t.

Refusing to get involved and help guide the artist’s choices along the way is not only subjectively wrong, it is a disservice to the client. If you really don’t want the gig, then don’t take the gig. Once you accept it, give it your all.

At times, you may have to mediate what it means to give it your all. But it’s still better than having a regular job that you don’t like or have any passion for. While it can be a difficult balance at times, and the hours are often long, unusual and intense ones, it sure beats working “for” a boss any day. It’s a much better life to work “with” your clients. Even if, in the end, the final decisions are always theirs.

Mike Major is a Mixer/Producer/Recording and Mastering engineer from Dunedin, FL.

He has worked with At The Drive-In, Coheed and Cambria, Sparta, Gone is Gone, As Tall as Lions, and hundreds of other artists over the last 30 years.

Major is the author of the book Recording Drums: The Complete Guide.

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