Ruckus in the garage: A local audiophile discusses his noisy recording obsession and recommends several worthy (professional) studios

As a person who’s recorded hundreds of hours of local music in my home studio, I get to hear all sorts of sonic creativity that never reaches a wider audience. In fact, none of my recordings have ever ascended beyond the level of vanity projects, other than a couple of indie releases by the Pink Lincolns and Flat Stanley. (Leave it to the punks to act like businessmen.) It doesn’t bother me at all, just reinforces the idea that I’m doing it purely as a hobby, not as some sort of business venture. The musicians bring the beer and I help them get their sounds on “tape.”

When I get to hear new sounds and shape them into a cohesive whole of my choosing, I tap into some sort of special pleasure center in my brain. I’m not claiming I’m good at it – I just love doing it and I’ve been fortunate enough to have worked with any number of aspiring local artists who usually think I’m doing them a favor. They’re wrong. I need them as much as they need me. They bring original songs, their instruments and voices, and I get to assemble the sounds, to feed my head. What could be better? Playing music is rewarding in its own ways, but done right, it’s hard work and the rewards can be elusive. Recording it is like catching a snowflake on my tongue; it makes me feel lucky, and if the results melt away into oblivion, there is always the memory and another project around the corner.

This is where I usually jump on my high horse and comment on how too many amateur musicians are under the misguided assumption that their DIY ethic has automatically bought them the sort of “indie cred” that allows them to forget they are nobodies. I say it’s totally okay to be a nobody as long as you embrace it. If you want something bigger, there are many, many tasks at hand. Do all of those tasks, or shut the fuck up. And by that, I mean there is a clear distinction between a hobby and a profession. Don’t mix them up, because if you do, you’re kidding yourself. That’s called – in a word – delusion, and it’s embarrassing.