Chapter Seven: Transmogrification

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

I get asked a lot of questions about working with Tony Cohen.

It's inevitable, I understand that and I really don't mind being asked the questions repeatedly. He has a history and a reputation which suggests - in fact demands - that anyone involved with him in any way comes back with at least one hair-raising story.

While the dire exploits of his youth are now behind him, what I found is that you can take the man out of the punk scene, but you can't take the punk scene out of the man. This is definitely true in the case of Tony.

So, sure, if you really want them, I've got stories - now considered fond memories, but at the time they occurred, experiences often tinged with a genuine anxiety.

But the stories, the myths, well ... as is often the case, they can never really compare to the truth.

His entrance to the studio each day was always infused with high drama and chaos. Perpetually running late, the actual day would begin at about 2pm when the doors to the studio would burst open, followed by a series of expletive laden verbal explosions relating to cyclists, traffic, the weather, his health, pop music, John Howard, the radio, The Veronicas, young people, old people, middle aged people ... the target and the ferocity of the attack all depended on whatever, or whoever, had managed to offend him during the trip from his accommodations to the studio that day.

Following this startling and unnerving tirade, the top would be ripped off a beer, the first in a long line of cigarettes would be ignited and Tony would throw himself into control room, take his seat in front of the console and start work.

There's a streak of dark and wild humour in Tony which I, for one reason or another, relate to in some way. But over time, I found him to be much more than a mere caricature. There was a real soul about him, there was uniqueness and an authenticity that I deeply admired and liked.

The band had a lot of other commitments after the initial tracking, so I spent most of my time alone with Tony, working on vocal takes, overdubs and mixing. And it was in these quieter moments that his brilliance, genius and sensitivity really started to shine through.

Watching Tony mix was akin to watching any of the finest musicians in the world perform. The lights in the studio were literally dimmed prior to the commencement of mixing. Most people not involved in the recording of music are unaware of the importance or the skill of perfecting a mix, but take it from me - Tony is a master.

What I really found fascinating was his aversion to technology. He hated Pro Tools with a dangerous passion. His primary source of frustration, it seemed, was the eternally glowing computer screen, which to him, represented just about everything that was wrong with modern music.

He's right, of course.

These days you can focus on a mix so deeply that you can actually have too much control. You can automate every single fader movement, you can add so many effects, so many intricate details that in the end, the whole point of the song gets lost in the technology of its reproduction. Manufactured pop music actually thrives on this methodology. In fact, in most cases, it actually requires it to sound any good.

But none of that junk was for Tony. Fader movements (the ever changing level of each individual instrument) were marked in pencil on the desk itself and performed manually, effects like reverb (a kind of echo) were brought in "as needed" during the mix, not simply switched on and left on the whole time. The whole process was intense and harrowing to watch, but when he got it right - it was sublime.

Given his wayward past, Tony's health isn't the best these days, but when he mixed, he physically transformed. I found this incredibly moving to watch. It was like seeing someone wrench this kind of weird, dark beast from their soul and hurl it at the mixing desk.

Inspirational, affecting and ultimately beautiful.

The final story I have about Tony is not really the most exciting or wild or dangerous one. It's about the last day of recording when I co-mixed the title track with him.

When you perform Tony's old fashioned brand of manual mixing, you sometimes don't have enough fingers or arms reach to get to all the faders you need. So you need to have someone else sit at one end of the mixing desk to handle one part of the mix, while the engineer/producer directs proceedings from his end of the desk.

Tony was never intrusive or instructive, either in recording or in mixing. He seemed to figure that my songs were my songs and he always took any suggestions I had seriously - something I appreciated greatly.

So, there I was, co-mixing the final track on the last day, sitting at one end of the mixing desk, adjusting levels to my own songs while this shambling, wiry, brilliant man sat at the other end, cigarette dangling out of his mouth, shooting sparks and smoke, pointing and cackling and laughing like a madman, whipping faders up and down, creating this astonishingly rich sound out of thin air, while outside, the burning red & gold sun set on the studio.

And then as we completed the final mix of the final track - in all honesty and in actuality - it started to rain.

It was one of the most remarkable days of my life.

It's hard to contact Tony at the best of times and although I've got several avenues, I've been largely unsuccessful in catching up with him since we finished. I hope that wherever he is, he's as happy and as healthy as he can be.

What I realised at the end of the recording process, and what that final day of mixing taught me, was that music is a shared experience and a collaborative effort.

There are no stars. There is no room for ego. There is no place for pride.

No one person can take total responsibility or credit for the end result. Everyone must be there simply because they want to be, not just because they're paid to be. And for this record, everyone, not only Tony, did the most remarkable job they could, with financial and time constraints imposed constantly upon them.

In so many ways, I am indebted to every single person who played a part in bringing this album to completion.