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| My trusty, and still functional, Teac model 144 Portastudio |
"I Like To Stay Home" by R. Stevie Moore
Once I landed my first full-time job as a stock clerk at a big hardware store in Eastern Kentucky, and then as a sales clerk at the same store not long after, my next plan was to invest in better recording gear. Not an easy task, since minimum wage at the time was just barely past $5 an hour. But I was determined.
I attended a demo seminar that introduced the newly-released Teac model 144 Portastudio, hosted by a music store in Huntington, WV called The Pied Piper, the biggest music retailer in the KY/OH/WV tri-state area. That seminar convinced me that the Portastudio would be my next recording tool of choice. This magnificent machine would give me four tracks of recording space, and the ability to bounce multiple tracks to one channel. I could build up a lot of overdubbing in just one recorder, and the tape noise, while still pretty substantial, was going to be less than what I got on the gear I was using
Pretty much every musician back home at every level...rank beginners to working pros...shopped at The Pied Piper. They had a large inventory of the newest gear, the clerks seemed to know what they were talking about, and the owners weren't adverse to knocking a few bucks off here and there to seal a deal. That's what they did for me...the model 144 back then retailed for around $1,200, and I still needed microphones, mic stands and assorted accessories. Even after discounts, which were quite good, I still had to complete the process with a loan through a local finance company (and my Dad had to co-sign). I made payments in person at the finance company office every payday until it all was paid off.
Note: Today you can get a digital 32-track Portastudio for less than $500. Ah, technology.
But I had my studio. And since there was no room at my house for the recording gear, a decrepit drum kit, some really good Zildjian cymbals, one electric guitar and amp, one acoustic guitar and a borrowed bass guitar, I set up shop in the back bedroom of my grandmother's house. She lived alone, during the daytime she worked at her furniture store next door, and even when she was home, she only lived in three rooms of her house...the kitchen, the bathroom and the living room, where she also slept (I never knew her to sleep on anything but her couch). She seemed to like having me around, so I would show up at her place after work on Friday or Saturday, and I would seal myself in the studio until late Sunday night. I wrote song lyrics throughout the week while I was at work, snatching some stray moments here and there to scribble down a few lines, and by the weekend I would have a song or two to put to music and record.
I wrote hundreds of songs back then. The vast majority of those songs really sucked, but I kept at it, since I was totally in love with the process. Even when I didn't have a song to work on, I still loved being in that studio, surrounded by music, since that also is where my cassette collection lived. That was my first man-cave, my musical sanctuary, and when I wasn't playing, I was listening, and my listening tastes were (and still are) voracious.
Those were great days.
"Adventures In Modern Recording" by The Buggles
I attended a demo seminar that introduced the newly-released Teac model 144 Portastudio, hosted by a music store in Huntington, WV called The Pied Piper, the biggest music retailer in the KY/OH/WV tri-state area. That seminar convinced me that the Portastudio would be my next recording tool of choice. This magnificent machine would give me four tracks of recording space, and the ability to bounce multiple tracks to one channel. I could build up a lot of overdubbing in just one recorder, and the tape noise, while still pretty substantial, was going to be less than what I got on the gear I was using
Pretty much every musician back home at every level...rank beginners to working pros...shopped at The Pied Piper. They had a large inventory of the newest gear, the clerks seemed to know what they were talking about, and the owners weren't adverse to knocking a few bucks off here and there to seal a deal. That's what they did for me...the model 144 back then retailed for around $1,200, and I still needed microphones, mic stands and assorted accessories. Even after discounts, which were quite good, I still had to complete the process with a loan through a local finance company (and my Dad had to co-sign). I made payments in person at the finance company office every payday until it all was paid off.
Note: Today you can get a digital 32-track Portastudio for less than $500. Ah, technology.
But I had my studio. And since there was no room at my house for the recording gear, a decrepit drum kit, some really good Zildjian cymbals, one electric guitar and amp, one acoustic guitar and a borrowed bass guitar, I set up shop in the back bedroom of my grandmother's house. She lived alone, during the daytime she worked at her furniture store next door, and even when she was home, she only lived in three rooms of her house...the kitchen, the bathroom and the living room, where she also slept (I never knew her to sleep on anything but her couch). She seemed to like having me around, so I would show up at her place after work on Friday or Saturday, and I would seal myself in the studio until late Sunday night. I wrote song lyrics throughout the week while I was at work, snatching some stray moments here and there to scribble down a few lines, and by the weekend I would have a song or two to put to music and record.
I wrote hundreds of songs back then. The vast majority of those songs really sucked, but I kept at it, since I was totally in love with the process. Even when I didn't have a song to work on, I still loved being in that studio, surrounded by music, since that also is where my cassette collection lived. That was my first man-cave, my musical sanctuary, and when I wasn't playing, I was listening, and my listening tastes were (and still are) voracious.
Those were great days.
From the story Lo Fi LuvAs for the reference to The Buggles? Here's an explainer, and some insight into my odd sense of humor:
(Note: There are links to some magnificent little home recorded gems in this piece...all of them are worth a listen.)
By Robert Burke Warren
The Weeklings
I’m in a recording studio, working on a song, spending time and money like I’ve got both to burn. My cohorts and I execute take after take, piling on overdubs and effects, spending hours mixing, remixing, compressing all sounds into a pristine, vacuum-sealed pulp. It’s a kind of mania, this activity, not unlike some poor bastard casino gambler, operating in a clueless, timeless haze.
Finally it’s quitting time. Bill is paid, song is mastered, pressed up, and sent into the world. After some rest and brain recalibration, I find a battered cassette demo of the same tune, slide it into the tape deck, hit PLAY, and suffer an all-too-common songwriter’s dark epiphany: I made a terrible mistake. This tossed-off, lo fi version is better than the produced version.
The hairy, Hobbit-y little demo, crammed onto a tiny strip of delicate, distressed tape, is laden with hiss, the levels are off, mistakes abound, the singing is flawed, there’s distortion where there shouldn’t be, frets buzz and chairs squeak, and the ambient noise of the room and/or the outside world intrudes. But therein resides the soul of the song.
Granted, lo fi isn’t always the best way to capture one’s work. I love plenty of fussed-over, expensive, big productions. Some faves: What’s Going On, A Night at the Opera, Born to Run, Pet Sounds, Physical Graffiti, Nevermind, Paul’s Boutique, Achtung Baby, Odelay, Automatic For the People, Mylo Xyloto, etc. None of these would sound better, I don’t think, realized on four-track cassette tape, or through the pinhole microphone of an iPhone.
But some artists, even if they have access to cash, time, and pro equipment, realize (or, sadly, realized) such assets can actually impair the quality of their work.
"Adventures In Modern Recording" by The Buggles
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