Recorded April 1985
new remaster, 3/18/14

"A Man Who Was Here" contains material written between 1981 and 1985, some of which was originally performed by my first band, Watcher. (This makes me about 17 when the earliest ones were written.)

In 1985 my tax return was large enough to allow me to go into an 8-track studio and record.

This is the only one of my albums to have been recorded in a regular studio. At the time, I was frustrated that after 5 years of writing and performing, I had no proper recordings, no record of these songs at all, besides some versions done by "multitrack" bouncing with 2 mono tape decks. I already knew the songs on enough instruments to make the album. I was annoyed to still be receiving unbelieving stares from people who couldn't imagine me pulling such a thing off. I had no proof of my capabilities, just claims.

Even though I was in the middle of recording Night Circus on 4-track with Kenny then, this was the one I was banking on to get picked up by a label. It had more commercial elements and, I assumed, would have better sound quality. I believed that not only would having master tapes in hand increase my chances, but I also thought that a hard, progressive-edged one man band album would be both impressive and welcome. My goal was to make the kind of record that could comfortably have been put out between 1968 and 1973. It was an easy goal to embrace, since that's the type of music I listened to and made! But I thought the pop aspect could reflect some of what I liked in more current music. I was going to craft the album's structure so that it flowed in a way that many of my favorite albums did- eclectic, challenging, textured. Despite the lack of such things on the radio or in the charts, it was my belief that there were a lot of others out there like myself who were starved for something like this, which had been so hugely popular only a short time ago. (What's 15 years to "classic" rock? Especially when every stoner you went to school still with listened to much of it.) Even so....there were elements of a more contemporary sound, a blend which, it seemed to me, could easily have worked. Then as now, I saw no reason for a wide range of styles and approaches to be bad news. In retrospect, I can't tell you if it was delusion, hubris, or just plain ignorance that made me think such a thing would be welcomed by any A&R person in the U.S. after 1973. I'd quit doing drugs on a daily basis years before, so I can't blame it on that. Regardless....

I set the date a few months in advance, and got to work figuring out track distribution for each song. I estimated how much time I would need, and decided to do a marathon recording session. The entire project was to be recorded in two ten hour sessions, two days in a row.

For a while I was afraid that I'd budgeted my time too tightly.

April 21st and 22nd, 1985: Clean Machine Studios, Canoga Park.

Upon arriving at the studio, which was in a very rowdy part of town, I noticed an awful stench coming from the carpet. Apparently there was a butcher shop next door. Earlier in the week, one of their freezers had failed.The meat defrosted, and a good amount of blood and water had seeped under the wall and flooded the studio floor. Combine this with a heat wave and the fact that the studio was one large, un-airconditioned room- not pleasant. I figured I could breathe through my mouth during the instrumental tracks, but when I was singing I'd have to deal with the stench. I was vaguely worried it would hamper my performance. I hoped that maybe I'd acclimate after a few hours and no longer be aware of it. That didn't happen. It stank all the way through. But whether it was will power, acceptance, or both, I don't think it weakened my performance. I'd become aware of it and push that much harder to do well.

Time to unload. Being my own roadie was not something I would (or could) do again. I was used to hauling around the guitar equipment, but in addition to that I had a full drum set, a bass, every electric guitar I owned, and a "portable" organ. Loading and unloading the car was rough, and if I hadn't been committed to the point of insanity, I wouldn't have done very well.

Once unloaded, I set the equipment up, at least partially. At some point during this, the engineer told me if I had my reels, he could start getting the machine ready. Say what? He had not brought tape. He'd expected me to do it. I realize that in many cases this is how it's done, but I'd specifically asked him to handle it, and he said he could, and that I would pay him when I arrived. Now he was being a pal and telling me where I could drive to get tape, who would still be open. I told him that wherever the tape was, he was driving. He didn't trust me alone in the studio with his equipment, and I didn't trust him with mine. So we drove together in his truck. This gave me a chance to calm down a bit and relax before recording.

During the drive, the engineer also informed me he would have to try to borrow a half-track mastering machine to mix down to; he hoped he could get it, but he wasn't sure. When I'd booked, we had agreed that the tape would be mixed there, and he'd said he was reasonably sure he'd be able to get a machine to mix down to. This is why I'd booked two more days immediately following recording. This had been about a week or so previous, and I assumed he'd take care of tracking one down before the session actually arrived. Silly me.

I had also expected he would have enough microphones for the drums. He had three, and insisted on getting a "live" sound. It may have worked, even worked well; but I wasn't pleased; he had promised what I'd expected, namely close miking for everything. We managed to rig something in between, which was satisfactory to neither of us. To this day I still find the drum sound inadequate. (Note, 3/19/14: it's pretty danged good now, I tell you what.)

The drum tracks were recorded the first night (except for the section after the guitar solo in "King of the Night"). If I recall correctly, the main vocal tracks were recorded the first night too. The other tracks were recorded the following night.

One more detail concerning annoyances, this one squarely on me: I left the lyrics at home and had to sing them from memory.

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As the previous reveals, I'd had enough time left over both days to record extra tracks that had either not been rehearsed (Life in Gameland) or were improvised or written in the studio (Middle America, Because You Lied). Everything else had been planned out or rehearsed quite thoroughly. There are improvised sections in some of the songs, and I allowed my ideas to change in the studio, but not at the risk of running out of time. Things were handled decisively.

There were good and bad points to recording this way. I found the pace completely exhilerating. I hate to be stopped when I'm creating something (creatus interruptus- BAD!!!), particularly when working alone and multi-tracking. It's easier (and necessary) to relax a little when recording with a band. But when working solo, I find any interruption of momentum to be borderline infuriating. (Necessary interruptions such as going to the bathroom, eating and changing reels or setting up sounds are excluded, as they are part of the work. Even so, it may take a while to get me there sometimes.) Having a patient and energetic engineer is essential. I may have had a number of complaints about the engineer's handling of the session, but where this was concerned, he was excellent. I ran a marathon and dragged him along and he kept up. Of course where my solo stuff is concerned, after this and Night Circus, I've been my own engineer. On the one hand that's a pain in the ass; on the other, I never have to argue, or fear slacking, subterfuge, or mutiny.

At the end of the 2nd and final night of recording, the engineer and I sat and listened as we dubbed a rough mix of the tapes onto cassette for me to take home and study. I felt very satisfied and was excited to begin mixing.

He told me he still hadn't found a half-track mastering machine to mix down to; he hoped he could get it, but he wasn't sure. I was not happy about this and asked that he figure something out. I packed up the gear, took my tapes, and he told me he'd call in the morning to let me know how things were going.

Next day, early morning passed; late morning crept in, and afternoon wasn't far off. I called; he claimed his wisdom teeth needed to be pulled. He gave me numbers of alternate studios and wished me a nice day. I wanted to strangle him, or at least do his dentistry without anasthesia. (I'm so much nicer now.)

I was working with limited time. I'd taken my vacation from a horrible factory job to do this. My schedule was apparently wrecked. I spent the next two days looking for a studio to mix down in. Finally I found one that was semi-satisfactory, and did what was to become the first mix. This was accomplished in about 8 hrs. It was originally intended to be done in two 5 hr. sessions, but on the way to the first session, I forgot my money and had to drive back home for it. (The studio was about 40 minutes away by car.) The owner/engineer refused to negotiate the time, and I paid for the full 5 hrs., though I only got in 3. We finished the the next day without a hitch. The engineer liked "If I Die Tomorrow" so much he kept a copy of it (with my permission). Given the way things had gone, I now regret this and wonder why I agreed to it at the time.

My approach to the first mix was to give the whole album a cohesive sound, which was a kind of a reverb-laden gloom, a big sound, full of mystery. In some ways I feel I succeeded, but not without some problems.

I made up lots of cassette copies and sent them to record labels, gave them to friends, to other musicians, to family. Nothing happened.

Between finishing "Night Circus", my work with Paper Bag, and dealing with my personal life, I was kept very busy after shifts at the factory.

As time passed, my dissatisfaction with the first mix grew. I felt as though I had rushed it and that my production style had masked and hidden some good playing. My suspicions were confirmed when I dug up the rough draft tape of the unmixed tracks, made right after finishing recording. There were lots of things I felt to be important that were too subtle or just plain inaudible on the first mix. I resolved to set the matter straight with a re-mix at the first available opportunity.

That opportunity came in 1987. I found another studio that fit my budget (but as it turned out, not my needs) and began to remix. Because of the moniter placement and my misjudgment of the result this would have on my ears, some of the remix was actually too tinny and high-end. It still lacked bass response, overall. To compensate for this, I eventually had Hyam Sosnow use his home system to remaster it with some extra punch, which helped a lot. Overall, I feel the re-mix had some superior qualities and I rate it higher than the '85 mix. This was the version used for the Pale series releases.

The current remaster uses the first pass from '87 (minus the Sosnow bass boost) as its jumping off point. I loaded it into my digital studio and was able to boost the bass in a more controlled way, and to use other tools to bring out a lot of subtleties. It is not the ideal remix/remaster I'd always wanted, from the original multi-tracks transferred to digital; but considering I was encountering oxide flaking from the tape in '87, I can only imagine what condition the masters might be in now. They could be fine; they could also, very easily, be ready to leave a flurry of brown particles all over someone's studio. At this point I don't know, but kind of doubt, that such a remix/remaster will ever take place. There's only so many times one may flog a particular old horse. I think this is it.

"A Man Who Was Here" was my first attempt at a multitrack album, and in many ways, it shows. The beginning of a learning curve is usually awkward. But I have never been anything but happy with having made the move to record it, and with having done it the way I thought it should be done. This was the first volley in my personal war for musical independence, and I never looked back.