BACK TO THE FUTURE by JEFF LYNNE

I was always led to believe that you had to record in a proper studio and that you had to have all this state-of-the-art equipment. This was true especially toward the end of ELO, during the mid-eighties, when I became deeply involved in high technology. I started using all these machines and all these tracks and all this digital stuff and then I suddenly thought, “I hate this now. I don’t even enjoy making records anymore. I think I’ll go back to the old way I used to do it in the first place.” This meant analog, lots of acoustic instruments, odd little rooms to record in, and a lot less than 48 tracks.

Actually this was when it first dawned on me that you could create a great recording outside of a proper recording studio. George Harrison asked me to help out with his album, “Cloud Nine”. I went to George’s house and his home studio didn’t have any kind of modern stuff. At least it wasn’t pandering to any kind of new gadget. It was just an old - a really old - desk, a great one, and a 24 - track tape recorder and that was all. There were a couple of outboard things, but not much to be impressed with. Just some great musicians, great sounds, and a great recording environment,

We made this anolog record and it was a big success. And I realised, “Wow! You really don’t need all that stuff.” From then on I’ve gone on to do a few successful records using the same principles, just analog and 24 - track recording. And I really enjoy myself now. I mean, I can just do it. And it’s done. You don’t have to hire 43 technicians just to tell you what’s gone wrong with the equipment. But you do need a good engineer, and for me that’s Richard Dodd, who I first worked with when recording “Cloud Nine”.

BACK ON CLOUD NINE

After seeing the kind of studio George set up at home, I set up one of my own, in my 15th Century English house. It’s a real analog environment. In fact, it’s where I did my first solo record, “Armchair Theatre”, for Reprise/Warner Bros. I literally did almost do it from my armchair. I put in a desk, a Raindirk, which is not a famous one, but the guy who builds them makes them all by hand. It’s really warm on the bass end. A lot of desks, I think, are just too hard. The Raindirk also has a nice EQ on it, which you don’t have to use much anyway. For recording, I always use a Otari 24 - track, which is very robust and it seems to always work for me. It doesn’t go bang in the night. I got to a point where I was sick of linking up two machines. The one sound I got to hate more than any other was that “rrrhhmm, woooooow!” as the two 24 - tracks got into sync. And I decided, “If I can’t get it all on 24 tracks, when the Beatles used to get it on four...”

Of course, I do sometimes think, “Ah, Shit! If I only had another six tracks I could really have some fun on this.” But I’ve been trying to discipline myself. In the past I tended to go, “Well, it needs piano,” So I’d have eight pianos. Of course, I retain my options. It’s still an inventive process. I may still want eight pianos on it. There aren’t any rules. But the way I work now has evolved through trying all these various systems and working things out. Now I’m thinking, “Simplicity is the best thing after all.” The fewer gadgets and boxes and shit in the way, the better. To tell the truth, I like a microphone and a tape recorder best of all.

BANG (&O) OUT OF LIFE

That’s how I got into producing in the first place. It was in 1968 and I was with an English band called the Idle Race. We went in to make an album and there were just these two engineers producing on a part-time basis (Gerald and Eddie, who worked in Advision) in addition to their regular jobs. It took us a long period of time to make that record. Every Sunday for a month of Sundays. I was only a young lad then, but I knew I had what it took to produce.

At home I had a Bang & Olufsen tape recorder that did sound-on-sound, so you could start with a rhythm guitar, adding the piano by bouncing from the left to the right as you went along. Then you would add another instrument by bouncing from right to left and put the harmonies on, etcetera. I could get up to 20 tracks on it doing it this way. It sounded like shit; it was mostly hiss at the end of the day. But you could hear all these parts going at once, and I was fascinated by it, and it taught me how to produce. I realised that the first thing I had put on tape sort of disappeared, so I always had to put it back on again. The original rhythm guitar would be gone entirely, having gone down with each generation. So I’d put it back on and then that would sound like shit. So I’d wind up doing everything over again - on the same bit of tape, which you could practically see through by the time you were finished.

When the Idle Race was asked to do another album, I said, “Well, I’ll produce it. I know how to do that.” In any event, I did it. And got away with it. Nobody said, “Well, it should have had a proper producer.” The second Idle Race record was my first official credit. That B&O was really small, too, about a foot wide. But I kept it in this great big box, with a couple of lights on it so it looked really impressive.

ELO - pement

My next career move was joining The Move in 1970, after which we formed ELO. Producing ELO, even though we were using only 16-track back then, I used to go into the studio every day and go, “I can’t believe my luck! Nobody’s gonna kick us out. It’s really a proper studio and I can actually do it!” It was just an amazing thing for me. I was overwhelmed, really.

Later on, I began working in the following way: I’d record the 30 to 40 piece orchestra, the choir of 20 or 30, do all the backing, lay it down first, having everything finished - but no tune and no words. That’s when I’d go home and write the entire song in one go. In fact, nobody ever knew what it was going to be until I tagged it on at the very last. Frankly, I didn’t know what it was either - sometimes. I had a rough idea, of course, but I operated on the theory that all that great backing would inspire me to come up with a really great tune and lyric. That’s living on the edge, I suppose. I don’t do it like that anymore.

When I tell people like Tom Petty now that that’s what I used to do, he’s totally amazed. “How’d you do it?” he’d say. Because producing Tom is a whole different procedure. When I write something with him I’ll say, “We’ve got it just playing on the guitar, with no fancy stuff. In fact, we’re pretty much confident from there that it’s going to work on record. If the melody and words stand up on guitar, then it’s a proper tune. Tom’ll call me up in the middle of the night and say, “Oh! I’ve got that verse now!” And he has got it. He really works tremendously hard.

For Tom’s latest album, “Into The Great Wide Open” (MCA), we recorded in Studio C at Rumbo Recorders. It’s as close to recording at home as you can get in a commercial facility. It’s this tiny little studio, with an Otari 24-track and this tiny little Trident desk. We even used the kitchen there to record the drums,

I like commercial studios and many do a great job of making you feel comfortable and at home. But that’s just it - they’re trying to recreate the home studio experience. Unfortunately, they can’t recreate that suprise when you turn the corner in your house and go, “What a nice airy cupboard sound.” These days, I don’t miss anything from the studio when I’m recording at home. In fact, I think the home studio gives you more scope because you’ve got places like the cupboard to put mics where you’d never have them in most studios. You get at home different, funny-shaped rooms where you say, “Wow!” There’s just an endless supply of different ambience.

ROOM TO WORK IN

Of course, you can change homes as much as you change studios. I’m planning to move to France, and I’ll be moving my English home studio with me. It’s very modular, you see, just cables and plugs. I can pull all the plugs and take it anywhere, really.

I haven’t picked out the house in France yet. But when I go looking I’ll walk in, clap my hands a few times and say, “Yeah ....

Article taken from EQ magazine Oct/Nov 1991.