When a band is just getting started, they need to make great music without spending too much money.

What would you do if a band you were hired to help got stuck with a producer who didn’t know how to do their job?

That is what happened to the studio owner in this story, so he worked with the band to go behind the producer’s back and make some great music.

Let’s read all the details.

Band screws over the producer

My studio was located in a larger rehearsal/recording studio complex in South London.

The studio manager had taken a local band under his wing and had given them free rehearsal and recording time in exchange for the band working in the facility, keeping things tidy, looking after incoming clients, yada, yada.

Essentially, they were treated as lackeys in return for free rehearsal and demo studio time.

Now these guys were seriously good: a really decent hard rock outfit who were all very talented young musicians.

They also had zero “attitude”, something of a refreshing outlook in those days.

One day, the keyboard player (Chris, and not his real name) came into my studio and told me that the studio manager had decided that it was time for them to put out their first single.

Things are getting expensive.

To that end, their manager had forked out for three days in a front-line studio, together with the services of a very well-known producer: in other words, several thousand quid’s-worth of investment.

Cool, I thought, and about time!

Chris then asked me if I’d be interested in programming all his keyboard parts for the recording.

Of course, I jumped at the opportunity.

We laid out a plan of action: I had a fair number of synths in my studio that we’d use to supplement his keyboard arrangement.

We’d record all the keyboard parts on the computer (around 20 tracks-worth) and lay down guide drums, guitars, bass and vocals on my 8-track tape recorder.

By judicious use of a timecode track, we could run all these keyboard parts in sync, together with the guide tracks, without having mixing them down to the 8-track.

They spent a lot of time working on everything.

So we then spent four days working: the first two days were spent programming all the keyboard parts and creating the necessary voice patches.

The other two days we worked on laying down both the keyboard parts into the computer, and recording the all guide tracks.

We then did rough mixdowns of both tracks for demo purposes: so far, so good.

The next day, the producer rocks up at my studio and listens to the mixes.

He then states he’s not happy with the songs’ arrangements and demands they be restructured, much to the annoyance of Chris who’d written both tracks.

I said that rearranging the keyboard parts was fairly trivial (it’s all on the computer, after all), but we’d have to re-record all the guide tracks.

“Get it done.”

It sounds like this will be a lot more work.

So, another day to rearrange the keyboard parts to the producer’s notes. and another day to re-record all the guide tracks, all the while thinking “well, that’s another two days on the bill—bonus!”

Again, we produced rough mixes and finally got the grudging approval of the producer.

Come the day of recording, I cart all the gear we’d used up to the studio.

I laid down the timecode track onto the 24-track on the studio and patched in all the synth gear to the mixing desk, so that they could drive all the keyboard parts from the computer without having to lay them down or submix them onto the multitrack.

For the curious, the drums occupied 12 tracks, guitar and bass two each, and there were four vocal tracks—20 tracks in total.

Another two were taken up with the rough mix as a guide, leaving one track spare.

They finally finished.

While I’m rigging everything, the producer was boasting about how he’d demanded the hire of a Lexicon 480L, at that time the pre-eminent digital reverb system, and one which cost a small fortune to hire, let alone purchase outright (about £15K).

It also became obvious that the producer and engineer were old cohorts and, judging by their demeanour, it was also clear that they were indulging their predilection for Peruvian Marching Powder.

Three days later I get the call that they’re all finished and to come and collect my gear.

By the time I get there in the evening, the only dude on duty is the tape operator.

He asked if I’m interested in hearing the final mixes.

Of course I am, so after loading all my kit into the van, I go back into the machine room to hear the results.

How could it have gone so wrong?

I. Was. Horrified!

Guitars so high in the mix it was obscuring the vocals, the vocals sounding like strangulated chickens, the drums… (the less said about them, the better—think flatulent warthog in a bath of custard), the bass (what bass?), and the keyboard parts that I’d spent so much time on virtually non-existent.

I was incensed, and expressed my annoyance at the tape op, whilst reminding him that I was not having a go at him personally.

I then took all the kit back to my studio, and went to the pub for the calming influence of a large single malt.

The next day I’m in my studio sorting out some stuff when the phone goes off.

It’s the producer, apoplectic with rage at the comments I’d expressed to the tape op.

Holding the phone away from my ear (he was rather loud) I let him rant on until he ran out of steam.

If it is that bad, the choice will be clear.

I then suggested he bring his tape down to the studio and compare it to my mix in front of the band and their manager and let them make a determination as to the relative merits of the two mixes.

He bit, and the next day he shows up full of bluster and bravado.

We adjourned to the main studio and played back both tapes to the assembled folks.

Afterwards the silence was palpable: the band expressed their opinion that my rough mixes were far better: the manager, however, said that he thought the producer’s version was superior.

He was lying.

Glancing at him, I could clearly see he was in a bit of a quandary: he’d just dropped the best part of £4K on the recording session and thus felt justified in his opinion, even though it was apparent his real feelings went the other way—he wasn’t about to lose face in front of the producer.

I left them to their own devices: frankly I don’t care what you do, as long as you pay my invoice.

The next day, Chris pops into my studio and says that their manager is going with the producer’s mix, despite the band’s vehement objections, and is sending that tape to the pressing plant.

“Fine”, I said… then Chris adopted a conspiratorial tone: “We think your mixes are exactly what our sound should be. Can you give me the master tape?”

“Sure, but why?”

Good on the band for standing up for themselves.

He then said that he had been tasked with sending the tape to the pressing plant and, with the approval of the rest of the band, was going to substitute my rough mixes for the producer’s version.

Ooh, delicious!

“OK, but on your own head be it—you’re responsible for the fallout.” He readily agreed.

Fast-forward a couple of weeks: 1000 copies of the pressed single have been delivered to the studio.

I turn up and go into the main office to collect my mail.

Sat there is the producer who, as soon as he saw me, adopted a smug expression.

He then proceeded to slap the single onto the office’s stereo system and proceed to crow about his talents as a producer, while expressing the opinion that I had a lot to learn.

How did he not notice?

I politely listened while he ranted on, and once the record finished said,”I’m sorry, dear boy, but what you just heard was actually MY mix. Perhaps if you spent less time indulging in the Devil’s Dandruff, you might have noticed.”, whereupon I discreetly withdrew to my own studio to the sound of the producer howling like a valkyrie on steroids.

I learned later that the band had managed to sell virtually all of the singles at their subsequent gigs.

Not bad for a “rough” mix 🙂

Sounds like the producer let pride get in the way of quality.

Read on to see what the people in the comments on Reddit had to say.

It was confusing at times.

Here is someone who used to do this type of work.

I would bet he couldn’t.

Yeah, this story was educational.

This commenter makes a good point.

This producer got humbled fast.