Shameless Studio Sessions in Seattle (2001)
by Martin McCarrick
Well, as there’s not too much happening in the Therapy? camp to fill our lonely web pages I thought I’d regale you with a few tales from our Seattle recording sessions. Rather than bore you with the whole lot (there’s an autobiography there somewhere), I’ve chosen excerpts that should give you the general idea. Here goes…
Seattle’s Kind Of a Small Place
To be honest we’re still recovering from New Year celebrations when we arrive at Seattle International Airport on January 7th, 2001 and a sleepless 10 hour flight hasn’t helped matters. We collect together our belongings—a motley collection of bags, suitcases, flight cases and guitar shaped boxes—and head towards the exit. Needless to say we are stopped countless times to have the equipment checked and for various airport officials to ask why we’re in Seattle, why we have so much equipment, and do we play Freebird!
Jack Endino who is to be our producer, confident, spiritual Guru and main source of amusement for the next 6 weeks is waiting for us in the arrivals hall. We’d never met before today and to be honest I was expecting a large guy with long hair and a loud voice, so I was surprised to meet the tall, wiry, softly spoken gentleman. Decked from head to toe in black with equally black hair, he had a kind of Joey Ramone quality which endeared us to him immediately.
Okay, we’re shattered after the flight and haven’t slept in what seems like ages but it’s impossible not to be excited as the first sight of Downtown Seattle looms ahead of me like a great Alien Spacecraft. Here I am in Jack’s Buick staring out of the window at the sheer size of the place, skyscrapers disappear into space with hundreds of illuminated windows and Jack is mumbling about how “Yeah, Seattle’s kind of a small place.”! WHAT? He should see where we come from!
The Bagel Oasis
I wake up at about 7am in a hotel. We move into our apartment which is to be home from now on—tonight. The phone rings at about 7.30—it’s Graham! Now anyone who knows G. well enough will know that the only way he can be up at 7.30 is if he hasn’t been to bed yet, but instead of a torrent of drunken abuse I get a breakfast invitation! Ah, that will be the jetlag then.
And so it comes to pass that Andy, Graham, Michael, myself and our mega-tech Sean Brady pile into our hired red truck and drive to Denny’s—the USA’s most famous breakfast establishment for the full American deal. What’s with those damned waffles though?
We spend the next few days at Private Radio Studios for pre-production, tightening up song arrangements and working on a few new ideas. We’re in an area called Fremont—kind of Bohemian, health food and thrift store type neighbourhood—but somehow Sean Brady still manages to locate an English pub that is showing English soccer within spitting distance of the studio. As the saying goes—you can take the boy out of Birmingham, but you can’t take the Birmingham out of the boy!
So while all the cool Seattle-ites are sauntering along in their jeans and hooded tops that advertise bands like Dwarves or The Germs only Therapy? waddle to and from the studio like four lost Arctic Explorers.
Our manager Gerry is equally at home. A bit of an office supplies and coffee junky, he’s in his element, high as a kite on caffeine and buying a ‘mouse’ for every day of the week. And Michael—who has enjoyed many a date with a good sandwich, finds a cafe called Bagel Oasis and slowly begins to work his way through the entire menu. Oh, the rehab’ bills bring tears to the eyes.
PS. Watch Out For The Polar Bears
We were told that Seattle in January was the coldest place on Earth and we should come prepared for some harsh weather. But it’s not cold at all! It’s sunny—OK, not bikini weather, but a decent jacket will suffice. But Oh No! Some bright spark in Britain tells us to be prepared to build our own Igloos and ps. watch out for the Polar Bears and we’re straight down to the mountaineering shop to buy thermals and ice picks. So while all the cool Seattle-ites are sauntering along in their jeans and hooded tops that advertise bands like Dwarves or The Germs only Therapy? waddle to and from the studio like four lost Arctic Explorers. People always lie to us.
Our apartment is north of Seattle in Shoreline. It’s in a kind of yuppie development called Ballinger Commons. The apartment is cool but it soon becomes apparent that we scare the neighbours. Problem is we don’t know which parking space is ours and we keep parking in the wrong one until one morning Andy gets shrieked at by an irate Vietnamese woman for the crime. Time to find out which space is really ours!
As I attempt to throw the rubbish into the big communal dumpster, a huge—OK—sizeable raccoon shoots out from beneath it scaring me half to death. Nasty ring-tailed critter.
I’m in the apartment shaking with terror! Everyone was in the shower or on the phone or hiding somewhere so I decided to take out the trash and throw out Sean’s half-eaten pizza collection in the process. As I attempt to throw the rubbish into the big communal dumpster, a huge—OK—sizeable raccoon shoots out from beneath it scaring me half to death. Nasty ring-tailed critter. I’ve never been too good with vermin so I won’t be doing trash duty for a while.
PS. While writing this I have to mention that sadly the wonderful Joey Ramone of The Ramones died earlier this week. We’re all big fans, so Joey—wherever you are—a big thanks from Therapy? for all the great music and inspiration that you provided. R.I.P.
The Nesting Instinct
So we’re leaving the relative cosiness of Private Radio today (thanks Pat and Dave) and moving to the more expansive (and probably expensive) Bob Lang Studios where we’ll begin tracking the album. So once more the gear is loaded into our trusty red truck and into Jack Endino’s not so trusty 25 year old green Chevrolet. We’ve been here a week now and are beginning to feel at home. Jack is brilliant to work with (no pressure), an extremely funny guy and we’re really looking forward to hearing what he’ll do with / to our new material.
Bob Lang’s Studio is built into a hillside overlooking Puget Sound—basically the ocean, with the Olympia mountain range in the distance. It’s a beautiful place to be although I hope our music doesn’t start to sound too beautiful as well! Therapy?’s new direction of sublime-aromatherapy-ambience will not be coming your way soon!
We’ve hit on a regular routine now. Wake up around 10.30am, breakfast, shower, TV, then head into the studio at about 12.30—1pm via Starbucks. We work like slaves, whipped into action by Jack the masochist and generally don’t finish until midnight—1.30. Back at the apartment we have no sound system which is driving us crazy so we watch videos whilst Sean Brady swaps his soldering iron for a cocktail shaker and mixes the most glorious Margaritas. Is there no end to this man’s talents?
Our apartment consists of three bedrooms, two bathrooms, living area, kitchen, a dining area and a laundry room. It’s all ‘tastefully’ decorated, although to whose taste I’ve no idea! There is one problem—no curtains in the bedrooms means that the morning sun streams in at about 7am like lasers to the eyeballs.
First, we try hanging the spare bed sheets at the window but with no luck. 7am arrives and once again its sizzling eyeballs for the Therapy? boys! Then we hang towels to cut out the offending ball of fire. Success? Not a chance, mate! I give up and sleep with a t-shirt over my head. Graham however comes up with the idea of taping black trash bags over the entire window, successfully blocking out the sunlight, but effectively cutting off his oxygen supply in the process. We’re a bit like dogs that piss on everything to mark their territory—we do whatever it takes to become comfortable away from home, whether it’s a tour bus or an apartment. Anyway, back to my nest of twigs and feathers…
The Man Is Certifiable
Tracking (that’s tech speak for ‘recording our instruments’) is coming along really well. We lay everything down ‘live’ and then make repairs where necessary. We’ve banned Pro Tools—a system that is often used in studios to rectify musicians’ mistakes via computer, and as a replacement we’ve hung on the wall a big bag of every kind of confectionary imaginable—except Twinkie Bars which are basically LARD masquerading as sugary snacks, and along with sultanas, marmalade and crabsticks are the work of the Devil. For anyone who is uncertain: DEVIL’S MUSIC = GOOD. DEVIL’S FOOD = BAD.
Starbucks coffee shop is usually our first stop on the way to the studio. The guys who run the place recognise us now and know our orders better than we do. One of the staff, on hearing Graham’s accent asks him if we have coffee in Ireland! Guess who’s not on her way to university? Jack turns up with a guitar for me to try today but instead of the normal 12 frets to the scale this one has 19. The explanation is long and complicated but it’s enough to say it sounds wildly out of tune and is (almost) impossible to play. The first indication that the man is certifiable.
One of our favourite bands—The Murder City Devils are playing tonight so we leave the studio early. We arrive at the club just as The Gun St. Girls Burlesque Show is starting. A selection of girls wearing nipple tassels and not much else is an unusual but not altogether unpleasant choice of support group, but as they wriggle about to Lounge music one gets the idea that they think what they’re doing is quite outrageous. Hmmm… Come on girls, this is hardly Sunday School!
The danger of coming into the studio with Therapy? is that you will get roped into singing, playing or hitting something sooner or later.
The Murder City Devils are brilliant tonight. Singer Spencer Moody opens the show and his lip by hitting himself with the microphone and his blood smeared face is small indication of the carnage that is to ensue. The crowd goes mad, people begin to throw ice, a fight breaks out, someone gets taken out unconscious, and another very conscious guy is removed, struggling from the show. I’m at the front with Graham, most of my drink is down my shirt or down the neck of the person in front of me. It’s our first night out since we arrived. Seems like we’ve been lifted from the mental hospital and dropped into the Lions Den! Quiet night!
The day after the Murder City Devils show we are a bit quiet—must be tired I guess!!
Everything Is Just Funny!
We’ve hit a good pace for recording now. It takes a while to get to know the new people we’re working with but we are well and truly settled in now. It’s a really good vibe at the studio. The two assistants Bria and Eric are great and we’ve already got them singing on a couple of songs—well shouty style vocals but angelic all the same. The danger of coming into the studio with Therapy? is that you will get roped into singing, playing or hitting something sooner or later.
We’ve been friendly with the people at Seattle’s Sub-Pop label for a while and are doing a split single with The Black Halos that will be released by them sometime in 2001. We meet up with Rich (guitarist) and Rob (drummer) from The Black Halos in a bar on Capitol Hill called Cha-Cha, an infamous rock establishment that has seen some of Seattle’s finest fall foul to the demon alcohol. Rob and Rich are really cool and we hit it off like old friends immediately. Plans to tour together get talked about which should be something to look forward to for 2001. The Black Halos records—The Black Halos and The Violent Years are available on Sub-Pop.
I’m driving tonight and after leaving our new buddies we get hopelessly lost in the dodgy areas of Seattle. A thick fog has descended just to add to our unease. Clue-less In Seattle (Sorry—couldn’t resist it)
If we play something he doesn’t like he just says “Do it again” …. If it’s a little better he’ll say “Mmmmm, I’ve heard better” and if you do the take of your life and are truly amazing he’ll say “That didn’t suck”.
Jack isn’t the sort of producer who enthuses too easily! If we play something he doesn’t like he just says “Do it again” kind of deadpan so you don’t know if what you just did was OK or really awful. If it’s a little better he’ll say “Mmmmm, I’ve heard better” and if you do the take of your life and are truly amazing he’ll say “That didn’t suck”. Luckily we’re not the type of people who suffer from bruised egos, so it’s all really funny. It’s so surreal being here. Everything is just funny!
We have this open-log fire at the apartment and each night we throw on a pile of logs and watch it blaze away while listening to our days work or watching videos. We run out of logs one day and Jack says “Hey! I’ve got a bunch of logs sitting in my basement, you can have them” So we stick them in our truck and take them home. At first they don’t seem to light properly so we assume they may be a bit damp but slowly and surely one of the logs starts to catch a little flame. We throw on another log, then another until the fire is blazing when suddenly the logs start to literally explode, showering the floor with red hot embers. We try to get things under control but it’s erupting like a volcano. This is the first but not last time that Jack will try to kill us. Andy sleeps in the living room tonight just in case fire breaks out and we have to call the emergency services.
Sailors, Vampires And Jedi Knights
Sunday afternoon and I’m sitting in the truck, parked outside Prossers waiting for a blue car to arrive that should contain some of The Black Halos. We’ve almost finished recording now so after meeting up with the mad Canadians our first stop is to buy beer. They (Rich, Rob and Jay) think they’ve come down from Canada for a relaxing day out in Seattle but truth be known—we need their help with some recording. We’ve hit a blank on a song called This One’s For You and we want Rich to play a guitar solo, we need handclaps on one song, a cowbell on another and some massed backing vocals, so within half an hour of their arrival we’ve got The Halos working their butts off while we sit back drinking beers and shouting direction. Meanwhile I take some Polaroid’s of them that get doctored so they end up looking like sailors, vampires or Jedi Knights. How we love those guys.
We go to see Mudhoney tonight at Graceland. They are just awesome. One of the best things we’ve ever seen. Here Comes Sickness and Touch Me I’m Sick see the place heaving. What can I say—it is literally awesome!! There’s this guy—tall, curly light coloured hair who’s drunk and acting like a dick! We start calling him Sammy Hagar (from Van Halen) and before long the whole bar is singing “…there’s only one Sammy Hagar…”. It’s hilarious until we’re introduced to the same guy—Bob Whittaker a couple of days later. He’s Mudhoney’s manager! Ooops! You’re a great guy Bob!
For these recording sessions Graham has been largely using a drum kit that belongs to one Tony Coleman—B.B.Kings’ ex-drummer, now solo artist in his own right! He turns up at the studio one night for a few minutes, stays about four hours and is a truly wonderful person and entertainer. He holds court all the time that he’s in the room and has us close to death with laughter. His impersonations of Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder alone, have to be heard to be believed and if Tony ever decides to hang up his sticks for good—he has a great career ahead of him as a comedian. We’ve had a lot of help from other musicians with this record and we’ve made a lot of friends—love and big thanks especially to Ben Shepherd, Matt Cameron, Tony Coleman, Barrett Martin, The Black Halos, Clutch, Danny McCormack, Dana Simms, The Seattle Choir of Angels (Pat, Dave, Eric, Brian, everyone who lent support) and of course the legend himself—The Godfather of Grunge—Mr. Jack Endino.
But it’s not over! That’s just the recording. Now we move to Hanzsek studios to mix this Epic!
Let’s Get Naked
After the luxury of Bob Lang’s—Hanzsek is a little clinical—but perfect for mixing, and there is a little recording still to do. Today is an exiting day because Clutch is in town. Anyone who saw Clutch supporting us on our European tour will know just how amazing this band is. Unable to wait till the show we kidnap them from the venue, shove them into the trusty red truck and speed them to our studio. Tim (guitarist) is immediately presented with a guitar—well—to tell the truth, the instrument is thrust into his hand, the tape is rolled and we shout “Play a solo” at him, which he does, brilliantly and, as ever, effortlessly. Then it’s Neil’s turn to contribute—the voice you’ll hear at the beginning of Joey from our new album is his, I’ll say no more.
Picture the scene: It’s 1am. Graham and I are driving the truck up and down the street by the studio with music blaring out of the open windows. A man dressed in a long coat is shouting at the side of the road “LET’S GET NAKED!” ….
Their show that night is amazing and we end up on their bus, in a bar, on the street, on another bus that belongs to Corrosion Of Conformity (touring with Clutch) then finally back on the Clutch bus, once we find it. Clutch play us their brilliant new album Pure Rock Fury (out now) and the night gets horribly messy. We finally jump in a taxi at about 6am. The night will be forever ingrained upon my soul as a truly beautiful experience!
Picture the scene: It’s 1am. Graham and I are driving the truck up and down the street by the studio with music blaring out of the open windows. A man dressed in a long coat is shouting at the side of the road “LET’S GET NAKED!” whilst reading a newspaper and whirling his free arm about. Graham is blaring the car horn at him and shouting while I turn up the music even louder. At ear-splitting volume we pull up to guy who screams something about ‘lonely hearts’ into the open passenger window. Other cars speed by—we’re not in a good area, we’ve been warned—we’re by the docks, where burly drunks and winos get thrown out of tiny back-room bars on a regular basis.
A lone guy stands further up the street with a mop and a bucket presumably to wash the windows of cars as they sit innocently at the stop light but there are no cars stopping at this time of night and even he stays away from us, and the scene that is developing before him that we are in the middle of. We have to stop. We know the cops are always just around the corner around here and a door opens throwing a spear of light onto the sidewalk as a man waves his arms at us and we kill the engine. It’s Valentines Day 2001 but there are no flowers here.
The Shows Are Off
Mixing is in progress and Jack is in his element, pushing faders, hitting buttons and looking more like a mad professor by the minute. With Dave Rodgers as his trusty assistant there are some Killer sounds being emitted from the studio. We’ve still got some recording to do but we’re on schedule… for now!
Percussionist extraordinaire Barrett Martin who has worked with the likes of REM and Queens Of The Stone Age—was in the studio yesterday adding some percussion to a couple of tracks and he’s back today holding two gongs! Yes… GONGS! We’re a bit scared of them to be honest, the Progressive Rock connotations have destroyed the image of these beautiful instruments and Prog is a big NO—NO in the camp other than the odd bit of King Crimson, but when we here the sound we just can’t help using it on a new song I Am The Money. The outro of the songs has blazing guitars and strings, and the gongs sounds brilliant—like a James Bond Theme—I still smile every time I hear those gongs. Prog Rock however is still, and always will be RUBBISH!!!
We’ve got two shows coming up while we’re here. Seattle and Portland and it’s a while since we’ve played in the US so we’re really looking forward to it. Sean Brady has flown back over to help us repair the guitars we’ve broken during recording and our rehearsal goes well. Later that night Graham damages his finger—it doesn’t seem too bad so he rests it till morning.
The next morning Graham’s hand is extremely swollen and he is unable to move his fingers. A trip to he hospital confirms that he has a small fracture to one of his knuckles and the doctor straps up the hand and bans him from playing drums for at least two weeks. So that’s it! The shows are off. It’s hard to hide the disappointment, but the main thing is for Graham’s hand to heal correctly.
A Celebratory Wrestle
Hattie’s Hat is a bar/restaurant that we were introduced to by our concert booker Julianne Anderson. Our first night there with her was such a blast that we’ve been regulars for dinner and the odd drink ever since.
Tonight the album is finished—all mixes complete and we are elated with the way it sounds so we are at Hattie’s for a celebratory drink. We’ve made a lot of friends here in Seattle and most of them are here tonight. But nothing ever seems to go as planned when we all go out together so it’s no surprise when Sean Brady announces that he’s going to have a wrestling match in the back room of Hattie’s. The surprise is his opponent—a well built but fairly short woman of about 25 is challenging the biggest guy (who happens to be Senor Brady) to Wrestle! They are thrown out of the back room so end up on the street.
The next morning I drive Sean to the airport. He has a scabby lip, is limping badly and to be honest I’ve a feeling he definitely came off the worse of the pair. Maybe she won after all!
It’s an interesting scene. The girl lunges for Sean and manages to knock him down but he flips her over and has her pinned against the ground quite effortlessly, but she’s wriggling like a stuck pig and putting up quite a fight, shouting “Nobody beats me” although she’s far from winning yet. Suddenly her friend joins in with kick after kick to Sean’s butt and still, he proves immoveable. Finally the girl relents and as Sean lets her go she leans in to give him a friendly kiss and duly sinks her teeth into his lower lip. The whole scene is being watched by about 20 people. WWF it’s not—but it’s entertaining all the same.
The next morning I drive Sean to the airport. He has a scabby lip, is limping badly and to be honest I’ve a feeling he definitely came off the worse of the pair. Maybe she won after all!
Inspiration
It’s early morning. Everyone is dashing about trying to find lost socks and CD’s and packing bags for the return home. All except me—I’m staying in the good ol’ USA for a two week vacation. We’ve been here six weeks but it seems like six months—a good six months because we’ve had a great time, but it’s definitely time to go home. We miss people back home. At the studio all the equipment is back in flight cases ready to go. It’s sad.
We’ve spent six solid weeks with Jack, in each others faces, under each others skin and it’s impossible not to fashion a bond when you’re that close to each other, and you never know what it’s going to be like or whether you’re going to get along, but working with Jack Endino has been such an inspiration for all of us. Seattle has been an inspiration and all the people we have met here have been an inspiration, and it’s this that spurs us on.
The new record should be available in the Autumn of 2001. It’s the best yet!
Ta-ra for now—Martin.