Stanton said we had to go to his studio.

I would have passed but I’d gotten this e-mail from Stephen Budd saying his band Dry The River was recording there and what a coincidence!

Not that I knew who Dry The River was, or Peter Katis, or even Stephen Budd.  But I do know Stanton, my whole life.  He stayed in Fairfield when so many leave.  He’d been regaling me forever about this hockey band the Zambonis he does work for and he was testifying about Peter and I got caught up in the enthusiasm and said LET’S GO!

Because I love the studio.  That’s where records are made.

But now a studio is a Mac Pro with Pro Tools, the records are made in one’s head and laid down in a bedroom and only the rich can afford to record in the big rooms of yore, those that are still standing anyway.

So I didn’t expect much.

But I was wrong.  

IN BRIDGEPORT!

Nothing cool ever happened in Bridgeport.  And in my mind, still never does.  But Peter Katis has got his studio there in an old Victorian and he makes National records there.

Now that’s quite a calling card.  Because they don’t come any hipper, nor more critically lauded, than the National.

But Peter’s first breakthrough was Interpol.

And he made that solo album with the guy from Sigur Ros and he told me he’s got so many offers he’d need to clone himself six times to do all the work.

IN BRIDGEPORT!

He started off in his parents’ basement.

Actually, after graduating from UVM he took classes at SUNY Purchase to learn recording.  And then he wrangled a paid internship in the city, at a place where they cut high end karaoke.  And then he realized he could do it himself, and moved to his parents’ basement in Greenwich.

And then Schneider, from the Zambonis, convinced Katis he had to move to Bridgeport.  And about ten years ago he did.

The edifice is staggering.

Built in 1895, in Los Angeles it would be worth 8 mil.

On the ground floor is the kitchen and the band lounge and Peter’s personal living quarters.

On the second floor is the rest of his house and the band bedrooms.  That’s the deal.  You make a record and you live in the house, although he insists you leave on the weekend, to get some perspective, so Dry The River was not there.

And on the third floor was the studio.

I was not prepared.

This was real.

There was a separate control room.  With a Neve board, used mostly for patching, and a Studer A 827 and a Studer half inch machine too.

It was fascinating.  Peter cuts tracks to tape.  But what about the hard time getting tape?  He just uses the same reels over and over again.  Since he transfers the tracks off so soon, there’s no print-through.  Although Peter did tell me that the longer you let the tracks sit on the tape the more organic they become, they mellow, they get that analog sound.

And there’s tons of outboard gear and the requisite Mac Pro and on the other side of the glass…

Was a collection of amplifiers and instruments worthy of any "real" studio.  Old Silvertones and Voxes and fifties Gibsons and Marshalls and a bunch of manufacturers I’d never heard of.  Actually, Peter was raving about this tiny new Vox amp that when pushed yields amazing sounds.

And there were these amazing headphone rigs.  With faders and…  I’d never seen anything like it, state of the art, but if you’re a studio rat, you know what I mean.

And at first, Peter’s doing it for free in the basement.  Then someone says they like his drum sound and want to pay him. This is after playing in a band for ten years called the Philistines Jr.

And then he got lucky with Interpol.  Not that it was a matter of luck, but it’s about paying your dues, following an uncharted course, where inspiration meets perspiration and the public reacts.  And suddenly, after ten years with your head down, you’ve made it.

But you’ve always got further to go.

Peter charges a grand a day.  All-in.  At least for now.  He doesn’t want an open-ended album fund, then the band works forever.  That’s one of the biggest problems acts have, they can’t let go, they’re in the studio once every couple of years and they want to get it perfect.

But there’s no such thing.

And despite living in BRIDGEPORT Peter’s done some shoot-outs on household name acts, mixing tracks.

But mostly Peter’s operating in the indie world.  Working incessantly.  But claiming two nights for hockey.  You’ve got no perspective if you have no life.

And I’d like to tell you I knew every act Peter talked about.  His personal breakthrough was his recording with the Mommyheads.  I know the name, but that’s it.

But this is where the future lies.  At the intersection of the underground and the web surfer.  The company?  Not so important.

No amount of publicity and placement can break a stiff record.

And now, everything stiffs except a tiny sliver.  Sure, you can stay alive, as a journeyman, but if you want to be ubiquitous, if you want to play Glastonbury, like the National, you’ve got to be really damn good.

But what impressed me most about Peter was that he cared.  He took it seriously.  Despite being conversant in commerce, being represented by Sandy Roberton, it was all about the music.

IN BRIDGEPORT!

Tarquin Studios