VK Icons: Sylvia Massy

Sylvia Massy’s career and creative life go way beyond her credits (which include Tool, System of a Down, Tom Petty, Johnny Cash, and tons of indie artists). Over a 40-year musical journey, she’s built and operated three totally unique studios, authored and illustrated a book about creative recording, acquired the largest microphone collection in the world, and is currently writing a new book about microphones with her partner, Chris Johnson. She’s also an avid painter, expressing her boundless creativity on the canvas—often in the middle of mix sessions. 

Massy’s current home base is a former auto repair shop that she has radically transformed into a world-class studio and gear shrine called the Oddio Shop. All of Massy’s studios have been unique, inspiring spaces, but Oddio Shop is the ultimate expression of her one-of-a-kind style. The large, well-furnished one-room studio is equipped with a 9.1.4 immersive monitor system, multiple analog consoles, racks of outboard gear, and an incredible assortment of vintage microphones (albeit only a fraction of the complete collection).

We connected with Massy for a virtual tour of the “Shop” and a conversation about her history in the industry, the methods behind her famously unconventional production techniques, her newfound interest in immersive mixing, and the story of how she came into possession of nearly 3,000 historic microphones.

Perhaps more than any other engineer, you’re known for your love of experimenting with unorthodox techniques. Do you think attitudes have changed between the days of big budgets and studio lockouts and today’s leaner but more accessible recording industry?

People used to wear lab coats in the recording studio, so it has become more casual, but there are things about The Beatles’ songs that you wouldn't imagine. Even when you're listening to a sound on a contemporary song, it might be someone hitting a garbage can or something. Whenever I hear a distinctive, unique sound; I’m like, “How did they do that? What is that sound?” I’ll try to figure it out and then recreate it with something different.

In the ‘90s, it was still kind of an exclusive club and you had to have a lot of money to get into the studio—or someone with money who had a lot of faith in you. But now that recording is more accessible, it's easier and funner for people to record, so they spend more time experimenting. And I encourage that, of course. The only restrictions before were money and time, and now that's really loosened up and we can all have more fun. I have my own rig in Oregon and I can do whatever I want up here, so I'm still being creative and trying new things. I'll always be experimenting, I think.

A lot of the time, it has to do with the availability of the instruments and sounds you want to use. Just recently, I was trying to figure out how to get a Mellotron flute sound on a track. I used to have a Mellotron and it was perfect, but I don't have it anymore—but I do have a flute! I haven't played since high school, but I happen to have one in the house. So I just grabbed the flute, played a couple notes, and did a harmony to that. I filtered the tracks to give it an old-time feel and I kind of chopped 'em up a little bit, and it sounds just like a Mellotron. In fact, I played it to a client and they said, “Hey, you got a Mellotron?” I'm like, “Yeah, right here.” [Holds up an imaginary flute]

You had the chance to work with some really far-out artists like Tool and System of A Down, as well as producers like Rick Rubin, relatively early in your career. What kind of impact did those experiences have on you?

When I first started in Los Angeles in the ‘90s, I had already worked in studios for about eight years in San Francisco. I had a lot of experience in the studio, but not in big studios. My L.A. experience was stepping into Larrabee Sound, which had all-new SSL consoles and a lot of equipment that I'd never seen before, and I had to just jump in and go. At the same time, I was connecting with the musicians that I could meet locally, and I did that initially by working at Tower Records. 

When I first arrived in L.A., I got a job at Tower and connected with a bunch of musicians there, including Green Jellö [now Green Jellÿ], which was this comedy rock band. We produced a record at Larrabee, just kind of in the downtime, and it hit! There was a song called “Three Little Pigs” that charted at number 24 or something. It was crazy; I was very new for that to happen so quickly. My boss at Larrabee was like, “That's a big deal when you get a number 24 on the singles chart.” And I was like, “Really?”

The drummer for that band was also the drummer for Tool, so when we set up for a Green Jellÿ session at Sound City, I was like, “Oh, let's just cut this Tool EP,” since I loved the band. Those recordings turned into Opiate.

In a previous interview, you talked about making musicians either as comfortable or as uncomfortable as possible. How do you know which of those extremes is going to get the best performance out of someone?

I suppose it depends on the song. If you want sadness because it’s a sad song, then put some thoughts in their head that make them sad. I'll ask a singer, “What really makes you depressed? Put that in your head when you're singing these lyrics.” If the lyrics are about heartbreak, tell me the story that's in those lyrics and bring that right into your head while you're singing.

But in the case of some rock bands, the blood-curdling scream sound they get onstage is very hard to get in the studio, so you have to give them the tools to give you a great performance. In Tool’s case, it was a special handheld mic instead of a suspended mic. Maynard [James Keenan] kind of sings into the floor, so you can’t really suspend a mic. I gave him a handheld condenser—I think it was an AKG C1000 with a battery in it—and it worked great because we could knock it around. We put foam all over it so he could just do his thing. 

On the song “Crawl Away” on Undertow, Maynard was just not getting that scream. I'd heard him do it onstage, but he wasn't getting it, so I was like, “I don't want you to ruin your voice and lose the day. Let's just get this over with you. Stop singing, take five minutes, run around the block, and come back in here.” He's like, “I don't want to do that,” and I'm like, “No, no, no, no. You can't sing anymore. Just go outside. I don't care how pissed you are.” And then he came in and he just—[imitates Tool-style screaming]. He was so pissed. [Laughs]

That’s interesting. I've heard that story, but I thought running around the block was supposed to exhaust him. It was actually just to get some space?

It was mostly to get space.

There are some infamous stories about producers pushing musicians to their limits psychologically and sometimes even physically. In your opinion, what is the line between doing your job as a producer to elicit emotion from an artist versus crossing a boundary?

Well, there is a boundary, and it's if you get them hurt. Overusing their voice is one way of hurting your singer.

Singers live with their instrument every day, so to get them out of their head, I'll try to do things to keep them from thinking about it. For instance, I might have them stand on one foot or use their hands to really tell the story. Suddenly, they're thinking about their feet or their hands, and they're not thinking about this problem with their voice, which they really don't have. 

Sometimes, I’ll have a singer stand on a chair so they're terrified of falling off and they're not thinking about their throat. Sometimes you'll get a good performance out of that and sometimes you'll get nothing, but there's different ways of doing it.

On the other hand, there was a boundary crossed when I was working with System of a Down and I had Serge [Tankian] hang upside-down because I had read something about The Beatles doing that. I can't remember what song it was, but there was a screaming part that wasn't really sounding great. We were working at Rick Rubin's home studio and he had a bunch of exercise equipment, including one of those pull-up bars with the little hooks that you can hang on, so we had Serge hang upside-down and I gave him a handheld mic. 

I thought maybe something different would happen; that there'd be like a resonance in his sinuses or something. And then, all of a sudden as he was screaming, his eyes started bugging out, and I was like, “Oh God, oh God, oh God. Stop!” We didn't finish that track. That was going too far. You don't need to hang the singer upside-down.

You've had the opportunity to learn from a few different mentors, and you've also mentored a lot of interns at your own studios. Having been on both sides of that relationship, what do you think are the qualities that make a good mentor? 

Their willingness to share. Some of the producers that I worked with at Larrabee did not want to share. I’m not going to name them, but I’d go into a session and they wouldn’t want any tape on the console so you couldn't see which mics or what processing they were using, and nothing could be labeled in the rack. Typically, a good assistant in a mix session will label all the pieces of gear so you know the vocal has this compressor on it and that EQ, but this one didn't want to share. 

A good mentor should trust their mentee to make some mistakes, and maybe even push them into situations where they’re going to make mistakes. That gives you the flavor of what the studio is about and makes you experience that first feeling of panic you get when something's not working and your client's sitting there looking at you like, “Why isn't it working?” Troubleshooting is a great way to learn by the seat of your pants. Just get in there and start recording and make mistakes. 

In my old studio in Weed, California, we would have interns come and stay in these apartments we had. There were five rotating studios, so there was a lot of opportunity for engineers to learn, and I would throw them right in. I would start a session and say, “Okay, I want this and this and this. Use this equipment and show me the sound before you begin.” Then, I would jet off to another session around the corner and come back later to listen to their work. Sometimes, I would give an intern the job of handling the whole session and see what they do. That was always revealing. 

What are some of the main things you try to instill in beginner engineers?

Listening is the number one thing, I think. And that goes for not only music, but talking, too. For a second engineer or an intern sitting in the back of the room, just pay attention, watch and learn—and no ideas please, until you're part of the primary team. 

Another thing I would do, to see what an intern’s ears were like, is give them the session files from a finished song. I would put ‘em in a room with an analog console and just say, “Match this mix with what you've got here.” I knew exactly what was on it, but they didn't, so it was an exercise in listening. You have to really pick apart the mix, figure out what effect is on this and that, and recreate it. I had maybe 30 different engineers take that test, and out of that, I found six brilliant engineers. One of them is still working for me today, after 20 years.

Sylvia Massy and her engineer Ian Rickard recently received Grammys for their work on Jason Isbell’s Weathervanes.

What’s the story of your current studio, Oddio Shop? It looks like part recording studio and part vintage gear museum.

The story of the Oddio Shop starts with the writing of a book. I know a lot about microphones, and I had a nice collection of about 500 at the time, so my husband Chris and I were contracted to write a microphone book. We started researching, and I realized there was still so much I didn't know about mics, so I went to this museum in Milwaukee.

There was a company called Select Sound Service in Milwaukee, and there was a guy named Bob Paquette who had his own microphone museum. He'd been collecting since the ‘30s or ‘40s—he was an old guy. I spent some time with him and we got to talk a little bit, but I didn't have enough time to stay and I didn't have my camera equipment. I really regretted that because he passed away after I left. 

After that, Chris started talking with the family. We were trying to find a buyer for the entire collection because it would've been a shame to break it up. There's 2,500 to 3,000 mics, a bunch of vintage radio equipment, and so much more. It’s an outrageous, historic collection. 

Eventually, we wound up buying the collection ourselves. We brought it all here and put it in a warehouse and we’ve been selling off the broadcast stuff little by little but keeping the mic collection intact. So that’s the “Shop” part.

You recently upgraded your studio for Dolby Atmos mixing. What inspired you to make the switch and what new possibilities does it present for you? 

New technology is always fascinating to me. Atmos is exciting because it's actually redesigning the whole experience of listening. This one file holds all of this information, so depending on the room you’re in and equipment you have, it can play on two speakers, on seven speakers, in headphones, or in your car. Plus, being able to move out of this really restrictive stereo space into a three-dimensional space with height is very exciting as a producer and engineer. 

If you have a jazz quartet and you can put them in a circular space, the empty space in between them is just as much a part of the picture. But with rock music, it's much harder to get the impact you need. When I approach a rock mix, I'll generally place the drums and bass in the left, center, and right speakers, then I'll bring the heavy stuff like the kicks and the bass out into where the listener is seated. So most of that punch is going to come from the front wall, and then different colors like piano or vocal parts will come from behind or above.

What have you been working on lately?

We just finished the Atmos mix of Jason Isbell's Southeastern, which is a fantastic record. It’s about 10 years old, so for the Atmos version, we just tried to match the original as honestly as we could. That's one way of doing Atmos, but the other way is to start from scratch and record with Atmos in mind. If you never have to mix it in stereo, you have the freedom of an entirely new canvas. But it'll take time for the world to embrace that, so we're going through catalogs right now.

Want to learn more about Sylvia Massy? Check out our 20 Questions interview!

If you’re interested in purchasing any of the gear mentioned in this blog, contact a Vintage King Audio Consultant via email or by phone at 866.644.0160.