Finn Land: Roundhead Studios Discovered

Built inside an old three-storey art-deco-inspired building on a busy inner-city Auckland side street, Roundhead is the result of fi ve years work, 10 if you include how long Neil looked around for the space. When you walk through the door, the phrase ‘rockstar money’ quickly springs to mind. But by the time you leave you realise first impressions are misleading. What Neil Finn has put into Roundhead that can’t be bought with cash, no matter how large the pile, is an eye and an ear for acoustic space and an understanding of what makes a musician feel comfortable inside this hermetic environment. Perhaps even more crucially, none of this lavishness ever comes across as the vulgar indulgence of a rampant ego.

IT’S THE VIBE

Most people recognise by now that one of the important litmus tests of a studio space – apart from its sound – is its ability to embrace, inspire and protect those who work within it. Regardless of whether you’re engineering, performing, or twiddling your thumbs in the lounge room, a recording studio must be a space where you can relax and get the job done, otherwise you might as well not be there. All the gear in the world can’t compensate for an uncomfortable physical environment.

The difficulty is that bad Feng Shui, bad ‘vibes’, or bad ergonomics – call it what you will – can’t be easily quantified like the mathematics of a standing wave. Yet intangible ingredients like these can be just as detrimental to the results of a session as bad phase. Ironically, most studio designers, owners and managers can only measure the latter, and therefore don’t address (or sometimes even acknowledge) these other influences. Neil Finn, meanwhile, has clearly made it his business to avoid these ‘corruptions’ at Roundhead: “I’ve been in plenty of studios where you feel like the spaces have been built for engineers, not musicians. I didn’t want this place to feel like that.”

So was this the reason Neil undertook such a massive project?

Neil Finn: It kind of happened through a sequence of events really. Despite how all this now looks, I never had the dream to build my own studio back in the day. I’d had a place in my basement at home for some time, but I never saw this coming, certainly not to this extent. It’s appealing to have a place of your own to work in – where you don’t have the pressure of the clock – but I never envisaged this. 

Andy Stewart: Can you describe this ‘sequence of events’ as you recall them?

NF: Aft er having the home studio for a while, I started to appreciate and finally understand what people had oft en said about them: that they’re great in many respects but after a while it becomes hard to separate ‘church and state’. I’d oft en find myself at home in the studio basement thinking: ‘the kids are home from school; I should be hanging with them’, and when I was hanging with them I’d be thinking: ‘I should be finishing off that job!’ There’s something healthy about going to work in a separate space I think. Recording at home is a blessing and a curse at times. I actually became quite hermit-like in our house whereas here there are always things going on. It’s good for me in that regard.

The upshot of the home studio setup was that I collected quite a bit of gear, so once I decided to move it out of the house, it had to go somewhere. I had a tape machine and lots of other stuff so in many ways it inadvertently acted as a stepping-stone to this place.

AS: When did you make the mental leap to set up a space as expansive as Roundhead?

NF: I looked around for ages – five years at least. I really wanted a space where I could set up my gear permanently and make a bit of noise. But for ages I just couldn’t find anything I really loved. I looked at several places but they always came up short, never satisfying my image of what it should be. I guess I was always hoping to have an instinctive reaction to the space, and immediately go: ‘Wow, imagine what it would be like to play in here!’ But it just never happened like that… until we found the room we’re in here.

AS: How did you discover the building?

NF: About five years ago my guitar tech, John Walsh, saw the building for sale and encouraged me to check it out. Initially I just walked past it, and from the outside at least, it looked pretty amazing: big windows, art deco, west facing… actually, facing the west like this has turned out to be one of the greatest assets of the place. When the sun goes down in here you get this gorgeous light coming through, it’s pretty special…

At that stage I still didn’t think we’d be making it into a studio complex though. I just thought it would be a great place to set up all my stuff and make some noise. So that’s what we did. Aft er we’d bought the place, I started using it as a recording space. From there we just occupied the building for a while and inevitably started thinking about what we might do, and how far we could take it. The building itself had an influence over that decision too; it’s such a great space that we were quickly able to imagine it as a world-class recording studio – something that Auckland didn’t really have at that stage. So I thought, ‘Oh well, I’ve got some gear, let’s just buy some more and go to town!’

AS: There’s obviously been a lot more thought put into it since that decision was made. Can you tell me a bit about how you leapt from that relatively simple pronouncement to this amazing result?

NF: Well, my brother Tim and I had been working at Allaire Studios in upstate New York around that time – an amazing facility – and I was thinking ‘who could I get to design the place?’ As it turned out, Allaire was the work of well-known studio designer, George Augspurger, whom the studio couldn’t recommend highly enough. So I got in touch with him and quickly decided he was the man for the job. He’s a lovely old-school guy with lots of studio design experience. [See Issue 48 for Andy’s interview with George.]

I sent him plans of the building and photos to see what he could come up with and after a little bit of backwards and forwards he came up with a design for the main studio. Although, I must admit, it wasn’t a case of design it, build it, and immediately love it. We had to make a few tweaks here and there before the rooms were perfected – with George in charge of the adjustments – but now it sounds amazing.

We also bought a lot of gear, most of it from New York as well. I bought the old Bearsville Neve, partly because it was a console that most of us agreed would make a great centrepiece for the studio, and also because of it’s amazing recording history. The board was originally commissioned by The Who for their Ramport Studio in London, and I think it’s the only black Neve of this type ever made. We also got a lot of the outboard gear and monitoring from the Hit Factory in New York: some of the compressors and EQs, that sort of thing.

We then built another studio downstairs aft er much debate. Some friends who run record companies said, “Let us move in. We can make records on one floor and market them on the next.” But eventually we decided the best thing to do would be to simply build a second, more cost-effective recording studio. In the end I figured the building would be happier just doing the one thing, music. That way each space might inform the next. I love that aspect of studios – a little bit of cross-pollination is always nice.

AS: Is that the main reason why you ended up with two commercial spaces?

NF: I know from being in other studios overseas that when other bands are playing, and especially if it’s good stuff , you get inspired by their work and it really gets you going. It helps sometimes to feel like you’re part of a fraternity too. When you know other people are working hard in the next room, you know you’d better keep it coming. There are also those odd times where you meet at the water-cooler or whatever and have a chin-wag – that’s a nice feeling. So yeah, I think having multiple studios here has already proved the benefits of that sort of camaraderie.

TRY BUILDING THIS

AS: How hard was it to bring together a team capable of pulling this off ?

NF: Finding the team was a difficult thing. We went through three Project Managers over the course of the construction phase. What I was initially searching for were people with great skills who would take pride in getting the details of the studio right.

AS: A difficult combination to find in most builders.

NF: Indeed, and especially because, as you know, once you’re into the arena of trying to get it just right – the isolation, the design, the resonances and all the other issues that inevitably come up – to a regular builder these all seem like very pedantic issues. But a miss is as good as a mile in that regard. If you spend $100,000 trying to get a room isolated properly and then have just one beam touching another where it shouldn’t, it totally compromises the whole structure, in which case you might as well have saved your money.

So we were confronted with all those types of issues, and I was oft en scratching my head, thinking; ‘Are you sure we have to go to this much trouble?’ But of course, to get it right, you do, and eventually you’re rewarded for it, because now we have fantastic-sounding, completely isolated rooms.

AS: Did George Augspurger come back for final adjustments and tweaks towards the end of the construction phase?

NF: He did. We really needed him to stand in all the rooms and listen to the subtle issues we had. George – to give him his due – always said that you don’t ever really know what a space is going to sound like until it’s built. You just have to give it your best instincts and tweak things a little at the end.

He made a few suggestions upon his return that made all the difference. Something this project has taught me is that the overall balance of a room is a subtle thing. The shape is important of course – you’ve got to get that right – but aft er that it’s the balance of the room treatments that really make or break it.

LEAP OF FAITH

AS: Was it a big emotional leap going from having a relatively modest setup at home to building the biggest studio in Auckland?

NF: Oh yeah, it was huge. I knew that I was embarking on something pretty epic, not having done it before. But in hindsight I don’t think I really knew what I was getting myself into, to be honest. There was definitely a learning curve involved, and a lot of following my nose, as well as other people’s advice. But I had a lot of help from some really good people. We had a really great design team and friends that contributed hugely to the project. My wife of course also had a big impact on the place, as did Bob Gillies from Split Enz, who’s a great art designer and David Scofield who designed the lighting. They all contributed to the momentum of the project. Once it got rolling we couldn’t turn back.

There were definitely a few hair-curling moments and some challenges fitting the design into an old building. But it all came together in the end. We didn’t set a budget at any stage so I can’t say that we ever extended it – I just wanted to make sure it was done properly.

AS: So there never was a cap on what you wanted to spend?

NF: I’m sure we could have cut corners in certain places, much like we did downstairs, but I’m glad we didn’t in the end. Building a studio is a bit like making a record… people might regard certain aspects of the process as pedantic, but cutting corners doesn’t really get you anywhere I find. I subscribe to the theory that a studio needs to be built with performance in mind the whole time. Roundhead is primarily about musicians; it’s not a technical space. It’s been designed to feel good playing music in, and that’s been the overriding concern. Nothing else is as important as that.

THE WORLD WHERE YOU LIVE

AS: Has any part of this project been about ‘giving something back’ to your hometown?

NF: A little bit. I knew that if I built it properly it might be a resource that sticks around for 50 or 100 years, who knows. I just thought, I’ve got all these resources, I might as well just go for it. I’m generally okay with people using my gear, that’s why, as you can see here, everything’s laid out. None of the instruments are in cases or cupboards. They’re

all setup ready to be used, and I enjoy the fact that other people get to play them.

It’s definitely a resource for Auckland one way or another, and good things have happened here already. We’ve recorded several albums, done radio broadcasts, and various projects that utilised the whole building. It’s been absolutely brilliant in that regard.

INTO TEMPTATION

Being seduced by the equipment and all its complexity is one of the greatest dangers any recording musician can face over time. As the collection of recording devices, effects and instruments grows, there’s a risk in learning how it all works. Before you know it you’re engineering rather than performing. So has building a commercial studio affected Neil Finn’s approach to recording or songwriting?

NF: I don’t think so, no. I’ve never felt seduced by the equipment itself. I never was very good with the technology anyway. I don’t know model numbers… hell, I don’t even know what years my guitars hail from.

Since I bought a four-track cassette recorder years ago, I’ve always essentially worked the same way. I still sit down and try and record everything while an idea’s there, though the process is never the same each time.

Sometimes when you’re writing, the initial idea is all that comes out, and anything you add aft er that just takes you further away from it. At other times there’s a little breakthrough along the way where you suddenly find some phrasing that transforms an ordinary idea into a great one and you want to remember exactly what that was. Th at’s why I try and record all the steps along the way so I can find my way back if I need to. On the other hand, a great idea usually remembers itself anyway, so…

And ever since I got my first four-track I’ve really enjoyed making a rough sketch of something, even if it’s only a very preliminary demo – before it’s even a song. I’ll always bang an idea down, sing nonsense lyrics and sort of will it into being. If it’s a two-minute rendition of something – even if it’s a very loose idea – I’ll always bang a few overdubs on it straight away, whether that be an extra guitar part or a harmony, and in the process of that try and sell myself on it. Occasionally I’ll manage to render most of a song in those little demos, but that rarely happens.

AS: What are you recording your demos with these days?

NF: I’m using ProTools mainly, and sometimes the 16-track [tape machine] upstairs, but in the end I’m still trying to do basically the same thing I always did. ProTools enables me to experiment a little more by allowing me to cut, paste and copy etc… it’s great for testing ideas out. But nothing can fix a bad song, and nothing can destroy a good song, ever.

AS: Have you been recording your new demos in the new studio or is it ironically always booked out now?

NF: Well, I have another space upstairs, which is a private space just for me to use – for writing mostly, not really recording. When things are busy I’ve still always got that place to retreat to. And essentially what happens in there is what’s always happened. But sure, sometimes the studio is booked out and I can’t use the space. There’s a hidden benefit in that though – I’m quickly learning about Roundhead’s acoustic spaces from hearing other people’s interpretation of them.

SEVEN WORLDS WILL COLLIDE

AS: Is this partly why you did the 7 Worlds Collide recording over the summer, to experiment with the rooms?

NF: I did have a fantasy the whole time we were building Roundhead that this might happen; it had been brewing as an idea for some time – to use the whole studio for one project and have people interacting and moving from studio to studio. In the end the 7 Worlds Collide project actually exceeded all my expectations in terms of what could be done, but at the same time it was somehow exactly what I was hoping for.

AS: How would you describe the 7 Worlds Collide project in a nutshell?

NF: The original 7 Worlds project began about eight years ago now. The idea was to form a band with a bunch of people – some that I knew reasonably well, others that I didn’t – just for the hell of it really, which would culminate in several performances at St James Theatre in Auckland. I always thought it would be fun to get people together for a one-off project where you get to become a band for a week or two, play some gigs and just enjoy one another’s company.

The project really arose out of a conversation I had one night with Ed O’Brien from Radiohead. We were both bemoaning the fact that you always run into people and say; ‘We must do something together someday,’ but of course you never do. It’s very insular being in a band. So we thought maybe inventing a one-off project would give us a better excuse to hang out and do something interesting. So we threw a few names around like Johnny Marr from The Smiths – he’s one of Ed’s heroes – Ed Vedder from Pearl Jam and others, and after that I just got on the phone. Everyone I called was really positive about the idea and eventually the ‘band’ formed: Ed O’Brien and Phil Selway from Radiohead, Johnny Marr, Ed Vedder, Lisa Germano, Sebastian Steinberger, my brother Tim and son Liam, and Betchadupa, Liam’s band at the time. We played five shows at the St James Theatre, filmed all the performances and released it on DVD. It was an absolute blast from beginning to end – really, really intense having to learn a whole set in three day’s rehearsal.

A lot of really good vibes and friendship came of that project. And in the back of all our minds I guess we thought we’d do it again sometime. So the recording project was the thing that got us back together this time around, and this building really focused my attention on that idea.

So once Roundhead was ready to roll, I rang everybody who’d been involved the first time, and unanimously the response was; ‘yeah, it sounds great’. But as things turned out, Eddie Vedder and his wife got pregnant so he respectfully pulled out. And then, because I’d just seen them play in Wellington, I asked Wilco if they’d be interested in joining us, and they were completely into the idea.

AS: How long did the project run for this time?

NF: Everyone came down with their families and we nailed an album from scratch in three weeks. We tracked 25 songs, using everything from the stairs to both studios. There was music being played in every room in the place at some point. Half of the songs were written during the project so it was a pretty spectacular outpouring of music. Funnily enough, Bob Ludwig is mastering it today at Gateway.

AS: How did you manage to pull such an ambitious project together in three weeks? I assume you had a producer helping you?

NF: We did. Jim Scott [Red Hot Chili Peppers] came down from LA for the recording sessions to act as the producer. He was working with Wilco at the time, that’s how his name came up. He was really great to work with. We’re probably going to do the next Crowded House stuff with him actually. And because Wilco were already here, they ended up doing most of the tracking for their next album at Roundhead before they left . So that was a really lovely spinoff of the whole thing.

NEIL ON PRODUCTION

AS: You’ve had a lot of experience making music over a long period of time, and you obviously enjoyed working with Jim Scott recently. From your point of view, what makes a good producer do you reckon?

NF: It’s a pretty broad term, ‘producer’, and I don’t think there’s any one definitive answer to the question really, other than to say that a good producer is primarily someone who keeps a project moving forward, who doesn’t allow things to get bogged down. I’ve worked with a few producers and the only thing I think that’s common to all of them is their ability to keep things moving. I s’pose it helps to have a bit of musicality too but I don’t think it’s absolutely essential. Good ears are important, but being able to get a good performance out of people is the single most important thing when making a good record, and the easiest thing to forget.

When people start to focus on getting the part right, getting the accuracy and getting it perfect, sometimes the overall intensity of a performance is lost. I’ve been guilty of that myself. You can scrub the life out of something sometimes, and the more you listen to a piece of music the more detail you can absorb. You can forget that other people are just listening to the song; they’re not listening to every minute aspect of each performance. A good producer reminds you to put your performance across with as much spirit as you can. It’s just somebody to share the burden with in the end – someone who has an opinion you respect. You don’t have to agree with everything a producer says. In fact, it’s good not to. But having someone with a strong opinion at least forces you to go: ‘Well, he thinks that… what do I think?’

AS: One final question… now that Roundhead is built and you can go back to doing what you do best – come in here and sing – have you ever found yourself drift ing off into thought patterns like: “Hey, that panel looks a bit off-centre”?

NF: No I don’t think of anything like that really. I’m not even good at noticing if Sharon’s had a haircut! I’m one of those guys who’s pretty much walking around in a dream most of the time.