The EM Poll

Listen to the Music:
Producer Mitchell Froom lets the songs do the talking.

Nov 17, 2006 7:21 PM, By Michael Molenda

           

This article originally appeared in the April 1996 issue of Electronic Musician.

Producing some of pop music's most accomplished songwriters can be a tricky business. On one hand, it's the producer's responsibility to help enrich and document the artist's vision. But on the other hand, if the producer imposes too much control or offers musically inappropriate suggestions, he or she risks diminishing the individuality of the artist.

Mitchell Froom walks that creative tightrope like a master aerialist. His production style is often characterized by an uncluttered, almost intimate, soundscape. The sonic and musical arrangements are brilliantly subtle and spotlight the unique voice of the artist rather than the technical panache of the producer.

Froom's devotion to supporting the needs of the song brings to mind a story in movie producer Robert Evans's autobiography, The Kid Stays in the Picture. Evans said if anyone commented on how great his tie looked he immediately tossed it in the trash. The tie's job, he said, should be to make him look good, not to call attention to itself. Like Evans's ties, Froom may disappear into the fabric of his productions for artists such as Elvis Costello, Crowded House, Los Lobos, and Richard Thompson, but he sure makes the artist sound great.

I talked to Froom before he left for a recent session in France, and he offered to share some of his production concepts with EM readers.

What are the most valuable skills a producer should possess?
The main thing is having the ability to adapt to each situation. You have to find where you're needed and try to supply help. To do this effectively, you should have a lot of knowledge in different areas. For example, I really get involved in the musical arrangements, and I can also play — I often put down some keyboard tracks on the records I produce. My weakness is that I'm not a recording engineer, but I've solved that problem by forming a creative partnership with [engineer] Tchad Blake.

Also, being empathetic to the artist and the songs is critical. Producers who bring their signature sound to each project don't tend to hang around very long. After a while, their records all start to sound the same, as if they're always producing the same band but with different singers. These types of producers may become fashionable very quickly, but they often become unfashionable just as fast.

Arranging seems to be a lost art these days. I often think it's because young producers — especially in the alternative and rock genres — are intimidated by the classic perception of an arranger sitting at a piano writing out all these complex orchestrations.
Let's look at it another way, then. An arrangement can simply be referred to as the overall noise, and you want this noise to be an engaging one that pulls the listener into the track. The mistake people sometimes make is to separate sonics from the musical arrangement. Great-sounding records are invariably great arrangements, not just feats of brilliant engineering and mixing. I'm a fan of what George Martin did with the Beatles. The essence of his production was looking at guitars in an orchestral sense and putting the sounds together to make something really powerful.

To do this, a good arranger must respond to the music. I try to discover and develop something in a song that defines an overall theme. There are no rules, really, but it's important to know what you're trying to achieve musically, as opposed to just getting a decent drum sound and then doing a bunch of meaningless overdubs.

Can you describe how you might "discover" an overall theme?
Some of the stuff on Suzanne Vega's 99.9°F album has real R&B roots. Few people would notice that, but if you listen to the bass lines you'll hear it. The idea for that direction came about when we were running down the songs. You see, when you're in a room with the artists playing their material, you can often get a unique insight into their particular kind of groove. Working with Suzanne, I realized that the rhythm of her melodies came from this R&B, street-singing sort of place.

Do you find that a lot of preproduction time is required before the essence of an artist's work is revealed?
It varies. For me, preproduction typically involves a couple of weeks of sitting in a room with some guitars, keyboards, and a drum machine, just making noise and figuring things out. I usually work on one song per day. I've found that if you can just come up with one compelling idea, that idea rules the day. After that, your job is easy. You just have to take a critical look into the song to find clues about its internal rhythm.

In Dan Zanes's case [for the album Cool Down Time], we had the luxury of a huge amount of preproduction time, but that's because we were also writing songs together. On the other hand, when I work with Los Lobos, we simply walk into the studio and get going. They write a lot of songs on the fly, so the sessions have a real open feeling — it's almost a form of improvisation. With Richard Thompson, we may get together for a day before the sessions start. I tend to work with the same people over and over, so for these projects I don't need to do a lot of preproduction.

When I work with artists for the first time, however, I start the preproduction process with some very serious discussions. First, I ask them to send me some of their favorite records, because you can get some really cool ideas based on what someone grew up listening to. Then, I ask whether they had specific problems with their previous record and what they think I can do for them. In return, I try to be very specific about what I think we should try to do on the next record and why.

Ideally, the preproduction process should be used to develop an overall scheme for the record. You don't want to walk into the studio with a first-time artist without knowing what to do. Having said that, after I communicate my ideas to the musicians, the track often develops its own plans. Sometimes, the initial ideas I developed during pre-production prove to be completely wrong. But if I'm working with good players, we all realize immediately when an idea isn't happening and find something else to do. You have to be flexible and let the song guide you.

Working up one song a day is cooking by some standards. Do you try to maintain that level of immediacy during the actual studio sessions?
Things come together really quickly. My main concern is getting that "engaging noise" from the voice and track, so I like to get everything going right on the spot. If a part isn't recorded live with the band, it's often put on immediately afterward. In our situation, what most people call the basic track is pretty much the complete track. At the end of the day, the song usually sounds just about how it's going to sound when the record is released. 1 like to keep things moving and to mess around and have a bit of fun. If everything is too planned out, the track tends to go down real flat. If you want to generate any excitement on tape, you have to allow for spontaneous performances and be prepared to live with what may seem like imperfections.

What you don't want to do is cut a basic track and then try to make it sound interesting later. You'll just get yourself in trouble by putting on more and more overdubs. If that happens, you're trying to be interesting for interesting's sake, and those overdubs will probably have nothing to do with the real heart of the song.