Music Producer / Mixer
Tim Palmer has produced and mixed albums for a huge selection of classic and alternative artists, from Robert Plant, David Bowie and Tears For Fears to Ozzy Osbourne, Goo Goo Dolls and U2. In 1989 Tim mixed 'TEN' for Pearl Jam, which is now in the top 50 best album sellers in US history. In 2001 Palmer was nominated for a Grammy for his mixing work on U2's All That You Can't Leave Behind. Now living in Austin, Texas, he has built his own mix room and continued producing and mixing for Jason Mraz, Blue October, David Cook and many others. Tim has been moderator for 2 years at SXSW, and a guest speaker for the Recording Academy.
Tim Palmer started his career at Utopia Studios in London during the early 80's where he mixed the number
one single 'Died in your arms tonight' for Cutting Crew. In the latter half of the '80s, Palmer became a producer, and his keen ears and technical knowledge contributed to groups such as the Mighty Lemon Drops, the Mission, Texas, and Tears for Fears.
Tim produced 'Now and Zen' for rock icon Robert Plant, a US top10 album, and David Bowie's debut LP with Tin Machine. To close the 80's Palmer mixed 'TEN' for Pearl Jam which went on to sell over 14 million albums. Latest News
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I recently got the opportunity to be interviewed on Dave’s ‘Pensado’s Place’ show. It was a lot of fun. You can watch it here
At this time 20 years ago I was working away from home in the city of BATH on the new Tears For Fears album.
I did an interview for time out recently talking about the new Indus Creed album..You can read it HERE
Founding Pearl Jam members Jeff Ament and Stone Gossard recall recruiting Eddie Vedder, the recording of their masterpiece, Ten, and the fallout from the album's huge success
JEFF AMENT (bassist, songwriter): We were trying to talk [former Red Hot Chili Peppers drummer]Jack Irons into playing with us. He couldn't do it, but we asked him to pass along our tape to any other drummers, or anyone who might be a singer. He gave it to Ed [Vedder], and within a couple of weeks, we got a tape back. And within 10 days of that Ed was up here, we were writing more songs together, and we played a show at the end of that. It was kind of on at that point.
STONE GOSSARD (rhythm guitar, songwriter): My first instinct was to say, This is insane, we can't play a show after a week! I remember that at the end of the night [Soundgarden guitarist] Kim Thayil said that he loved that song Evening Flow [Even Flow']. That's what he thought it was called, like, Oh, I thought it was about how the evening just sort of flows along when everybody's having a good time.
AMENT: Ed went home and within two weeks he had moved back up to Seattle. We were then in the mode of Well, we've got to write a bunch of songs. It wasn't long after that we got a tour with Alice In Chains. It was kind of how we wanted it to be, we didn't want to fuck around. I think Stone and I both knew the potential that he and I had together but we needed to get out and play, and get better. Ed was couch surfing between the practice place and my apartment and Kelly, our manager's house.
GOSSARD: We would fly [Vedder] up here, and on plane trips he would make little art projects on the plane, and he would give them to you. I was used to hanging out with drunk, fucking, guys. You don't give each other a gift of a poem and a picture you drew. That sweetness, I don't even think I understood. Now I think, thank god for somebody as thoughtful and humble as that. They reach out to people in a way that I was just not expecting.
AMENT: We went to Michael Goldstone at Sony and said, We don't want to spend a lot of money making this record, we want to get out and play, do it the way we're comfortable, doing it with somebody local. There were two sessions at London Bridge in Seattle, probably of a day or two each, and after that we went in to record the record proper, because we had four or five new songs Deep, Jeremy and Porch were probably the last three. I think we went in March or April . Ed had moved up here in November. It happened pretty quick. I remember there being a lot of snow on the ground, which is pretty rare for Seattle. We were stuck in the city, stuck in our basement.
GOSSARD: With Ten we couldn't finish it with the guy we started it with, and we went with Tim Palmer [who mixed the record], and he was fantastic, and ultimately did a job that was great, and a lot of people responded to the record. If you listen to Ten, it's a strange combination of influences. Nirvana was so in tune with this sort of blues and their connection to Seattle music, that it was a much more immediate. It was easy for people to say, This is the shit, and Pearl Jam sucks. I understand why that happened.
AMENT: I think that any of our comments [in the press at the time], or any of Nirvana's comments, were probably based on being asked over and over about each other. I wasn't going to feel bad about any of that stuff, because I was in a hardcore band when Kurt [Cobain] and Krist [Novoselic] and those guys were 11 or 12. I certainly didn't want to be in a punk rock band, because I had already been in a punk rock band. I wanted to be in a band that could do anything like Led Zeppelin.
GOSSARD: I think he [Kurt Cobain] raised our bar. By him being critical of us, I think we said, Well, that's what he says about us what are we going to do? I think we made tougher records, and I think we thought about everything in the light of Are we doing this because we like it? Or are we doing it because we're sellouts? So in a sense, he kept us on our best behavior. I think Ed and Kurt became friends. But I think it was all about a fight between [Mudhoney's] Mark Arm and Steve [Turner] and Jeff and I [over the demise of a previous band, Green River]. And Kurt Cobain was just a pawn in the whole thing.
AMENT: Success was both a bonding experience, and it also tore us apart a little bit, too. Everything was coming towards us so fast, and there were so many offers. Initially your response is, Of course I'm going to go and do this MTV special, and of course I'm going to go and do this show with Neil Young, go play this New Year's Eve show with Keith Richards. Then all of a sudden, it was like, I don't even remember what we did in the last month there was a point where we had to say stop, where we had to stop talking about all this stuff. Stop making mini-movie videos, and stop doing press.
GOSSARD: That's all of us having to trust Ed it's Ed saying, this is what I've got to do, and we're either going to trust him or not. So that was an opportunity for us to break up, or follow his lead and see where he takes us. It's a series of things where you think things are going to fall apart, in particular where we followed Ed's lead, where in the long run, we've said, It's so great that we actually did that.
AMENT: We needed to just go back to the basement and make music. There was a point where we were like, We're forgetting about what our initial plan was, which was to be a really good rock band. And in order to do that, we need to write songs, we need to go down to the basement, and we need to work. We kind of shut it down and we've been like that ever since. And that's probably 90 per cent of the reason that we're still a band.
Producer/Mixer Tim Palmer joined us for HIM Night last night and it was a great interview. Tim has produce and/or mixed numerous HIM works including Dark Light and Venus Doom, as well as worked with such greats as Bowie, Ozzy, and U2. We appreciate all of our listeners, thanks again to Tim for joining us!
Ville Vallo's art has always taken him to the brink of sanity, but during the making of the new Venus Doom, the singer almost fell headfirst into the abyss.
The car pulls away from L.A.'s Paramount Studios, heading west towards the Chateau Marmont, the legendary Sunset Strip hotel/den of iniquity where John Belushi took his fatal speedball back in 1982. HIM frontman Ville Valo has been staying at the Marmont for the first half of May, putting the finishing touches on his band's monumental new album, Venus Doom (Sire/Warner Bros); apparently, the establishment's self-destructive juju is beginning to rub off on him.
'Do you want a good story? Valo inquires, with all the nonchalance of someone announcing an upcoming haircut appointment. I'm going into rehab at the end of the week”some place in Malibu, I think. No one knows about it yet, so please don't print anything until I'm done. Before Revolver can even begin to digest this unexpected confidence, Valo directs us into the parking lot of a nearby liquor store. 'Do you mind if we stop here for a minute? he asks. I want to pick up some beer before we get to the hotel.
Truth be told, Valo wasn't exactly looking the picture of perfect health earlier this afternoon, when he and producer Tim Palmer treated Revolver to a full-length preview of the new record. Then again, finishing an album on a tight deadline rarely brings out a person's rosy-cheeked best, and at first glance Valo's grey-green visage simply seemed like the inevitable result of pale Finnish skin subjected to what the late, great Frank Zappa used to refer to as a studio tan.
But upon closer inspection, Finland's most famous rock import appears to be in pretty hurtin shape. Aside from the sickly pallor and the large black rings around his eyes, Valo's face is inordinately puffy, and his long, greasy hair looks as if it was recently used to mop up a leaky cellar. And even though he's currently wrapped in an unseasonably bulky wool garment that's like a cross between a bathrobe and a Starsky and Hutchstyle belted sweater, his physical presence seems worryingly ethereal, as if he might simply dissolve into the ether at any second. Er, Ville, have you been eating much lately?
Oh, I never eat, he laughs, as he unlocks the guest gate at the Marmont, and leads us down a narrow garden path towards his bungalow. Eating's for cunts! I'm, well, what's further away from vegetarian? Air-atarian? Plants have feelings, you know As it turns out, a steady diet of air might be a bit of an improvement over Valo's current intake. Mired in a deep depression, Valo reveals that he has essentially been living for the last few weeks off a winning combination of Marlboro Lights, asthma medication, and assorted antidepressants”and about two cases of beer a day. I went to a doctor today, he chuckles, and she was like, What the fuck is wrong with you? I told her that I was from Finland, and she said, OK, fine, thanks”that explains it all! I got a blood test done, and she was on the verge of getting me into the emergency room, but I said, No, I can't, I've got interviews to do.
Though he tries to downplay the situation with his usual self-deprecating wit, it's clear that this shaky, scraggly figure pulling on a rapid succession of cigarettes and beer bottles is in a great deal of psychic pain. Valo has a long history of crippling panic attacks and depressive meltdowns during HIM recording sessions, something he's ascribed to the deep emotional investment he has in his songs. I always get depressed, because I'll work on a particular song for many years, he explains. You write and write and it still doesn't feel right, it's not quite there. And then, like kids, you finally have to let them go, and hope they find a good home.
In the past, however, the dark moods and panic attacks have always lifted upon the completion of the record. When Revolver interviewed Valo around the release of 2005's Dark Light ”HIM's U.S. major-label debut, which became the first album by a Finnish band to go gold in the States”he seemed relaxed and happy, as if the demons populating such morbidly romantic songs as Rip Off the Wings of a Butterfly and Killing Loneliness had been purged forever. In reality, though, he'd merely escorted them back to their dungeon; this time, when he let them loose on behalf of Venus Doom, they turned out to be too unruly to be easily returned underground. In other words, the man who's made a career out of bathing in cosmic despair has suddenly found it very difficult to turn off the tap.
This album almost fucking destroyed me, Valo says of Venus Doom. The record's beautiful, I'm really happy about it, and everybody's proud of it. But it's just a tough process. Usually, making an album is like a cathartic thing”you open the door for the demons, and everything just fucking comes out. But now the meltdowns are getting worse, and the depression won't go away; it's like being haunted by the most vile creatures ever created by H.P. Lovecraft, and I don't know how it's gonna end.
I'm not complaining. I'm not fucking whining about it, he continues, while Jethro Tull's melancholy Skating Away (On the Thin Ice of the New Day) spins quietly on the stereo in his Marmont bungalow. I'm not the first [to suffer from depression], and I'm not the last, and it's not a competition when it comes to mental issues. I've had depression before, but when you're so overwhelmed that it's taking you over I just don't know if I'm prepared emotionally or mentally to write another song.
Perhaps this was bound to happen. While the rest of HIM (guitarist Mikko Linde LindstrÃm, bassist Mikko 'MigÃ© Paananen, keyboardist Janne Burton Puurtinen, and drummer Mika Gas Lipstick Karppinen) have always done a fine job of shouldering the musical load, everything else lyrics, artwork, press interviews, and label meetings, not to mention overseeing the final mix and mastering of each album has always fallen to Valo. And while he plainly revels in the enormous responsibility (It's not a dirty job”it's exactly what I've always wanted!), he's essentially been in overdrive for the past decade without any real break. One has to ask: If the guy is already this burned out at the beginning of the Venus Doom promotional cycle, how fried will he be by the time the band comes off another world tour?
The label apparently asked that question as well, which is why Valo is booked into a month-long stint at Promises, a $40,000 a month rehab facility in Malibu that's been dubbed The Ritz of Rehab by ABC News, and has famously hosted the likes of Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan in recent months.
It's not about booze and drugs, in that sense, Valo says of his decision to check himself in. It's about stress stress, and caring more about other people than I do about myself. Unfortunately, there is a breaking point, and I'm very close to it, so I'm glad to be going into a situation where people can help me. And I need to do that for myself. I need to read books and calm down and be myself and you know, just get rid of all the stress. Because I want to feel better, and I do feel the need to feel better, because of all the people around me who love me. I've got the greatest parents in the world, and I don't want to disappoint them.
I don't like life, he says, finally. I like music. And music is my life which I don't like, he laughs. It's complex, man. It's a marriage made in full-blown hell.
'Making Venus Doom was a real adventure, says Tim Palmer. 'It has been a creative, rewarding, revealing, and sometimes scary journey. A longtime HIM collaborator, Palmer (whos also worked with everyone from Ozzy and U2 to Eighties pop icons Duran Duran and Tears for Fears) is justifiably proud of the new album, whose highlights include the love metal heart-punches of The Kiss of Dawn, Passion's Killing Floor, and the title track, as well as a couple of epic, quasi-psychedelic excursions into the deserted cities of the soul (Sleepwalking Past Hope, Cyanide Sun). Ville's vocal performances are more impressive than ever, encompassing everything from fluttery falsetto notes to doomy sub-sonic growls, and the guitar-heavy instrumental mix really brings Linde's nasty riffs and searing solos to the fore. It's only a question of time before people realize Linde as the guitar hero he truly is, says Palmer.
When Revolver speaks to Palmer, it's been two weeks since Valo entered Promises; the producer visited him recently, and says he's doing remarkably well, considering how badly his mental and physical state deteriorated during the making of the album. Ville would always have a beer or six at the studio, and he would smoke like a chimney, Palmer explains, but that was the norm and had been for quite some time. It was when he started to arrive already drunk or not arrive at all that I began to get concerned.
Things finally came to a head when Valo first attempted to record the vocals for The Kiss of Dawn. Recognizing that the singer was too inebriated for the task, Palmer called his friend aside for a heart-to-heart talk. I told Ville that I had to be honest, and that I felt he would sing the song better if he was not so drunk, he recalls. Instead of fighting, he just apologized and told me that he had been going through a really tough time. I tried to encourage him to talk about it, as he seemed really sad and was close to tears. He told me how life had become a struggle, but I was still not aware of how extreme his feelings were. I learned that he had been feeling low for many years now.
I encouraged him to get some sleep and try to cut down on the booze, but over the next few days he didn't seem to be getting better. All I got was the stock answer again of I'll be fine. Now he was needing at least three beers to just leave the house, and was really not eating well at all.
Once the tracking sessions at Helsinki's Finnvox Studios were completed, Palmer and Valo headed to Los Angeles to mix the record. Palmer hoped that a little Southern California sunshine would do Valo some good. Unfortunately, the same black dog that plagued Valo in Helsinki simply got on the plane and followed him to L.A.
I figured that he would be alone and have time to eat, relax and recuperate, says Palmer. But that never happened, and he got worse. He was not eating at all, [he was] drinking very heavily and just smoking all day. It all became extremely serious when I learned from Ville that he had been waking up and feeling like he didn't want to carry on with his life. He told me that his wrists felt like they were burning.
Having already lost his brother-in-law to suicide just a year earlier, Palmer strongly encouraged Valo to get help. One of the [biggest misconceptions] about a suicidal mind is that people need to have good reasons to want to die, the producer says. On the surface of it, why would a talented, good-looking, successful singer of a globetrotting rock band be feeling low enough to take his life? But that's the point suicide, in many cases, can have nothing to do with having good reasons to do it.
When somebody gets that low, it is so important to find a friend or doctor or family member and just get help. Ville took a massive step by coming clean to me and just admitting to these feelings. I really hope that others can learn at least this one small thing, from his experience. I am so happy that he is now getting the help he needs.
It's remarkable how fast you can sort yourself out, Valo laughs. I'm 30, and I've been getting fucked up on a regular basis for half my life, so five weeks is nothing. It's now mid-June, and he and Revolver are sitting by the pool at the Sunset Marquis hotel, where Valo and the rest of the band are staying while preparing to shoot the video for The Kiss of Dawn. Valo checked out of Promises a few days earlier, and the physical transformation is astounding; the sickly, homeless-looking guy from last month now looks like the sharp-cheekboned romantic poet from HIM's album covers and videos only stronger and healthier. I should have done it 10 years ago, he says. Not the rehab, but just taking some time off.
Which isn't to say that Valo didn't need to dry out, as well the day he arrived at rehab, his blood test came back from the doctor, with disturbing results. She said my potassium level was so low, it was either rehab or heart failure, he says. I was stupid enough to put myself in a position where those were my two choices, but wise enough to pick the right one.
The detox process, he says, was fairly simple if not exactly fun. Those first couple of days were fucking horrendous, he recalls. You feel like shit, and you're nauseous all the time but I did that to myself, so who am I to complain? They gave me a drug called Librium for a couple of days, which stops the shakes and helps you sleep and stuff like that. I was eating my own vitamins, and eating food, which I hadn't done for ages. A lot of coffee and a lot of water, and after two weeks, all the puffiness started to go away, and I could fucking see my bones again.
More difficult, for Valo. was the adjustment to the facility's daily routine. It was kind of mellow, but I would have liked it to be more mellow, he says. The days started at 7 o'clock with a meditation or prayer, and ended at around 9 or 10, so they were actually pretty long. There was a lot of talking to counselors, going to AA meetings, stuff like that. They had equine therapy, where you go on a walk with a fucking horse, and that's supposed to sort out your stuff. I didn't go, because I'm allergic! he laughs. You had 45 minutes off here and there, but that's not enough time to watch a movie, or really read, or anything. I spent a lot of time sitting by the pool, smoking and exchanging war stories with the rest of the inmates.
While many folks come out of rehab swearing that they'll never drink again, and praising the lord for their deliverance from the demon alcohol, Valo makes neither claim. I'm not touching alcohol or drugs until the end of this tour, he says. That's my plan. We'll see how it works; I'm not promising anybody anything. Touring's a lot easier when you're sober; you have more energy, and you can get up early and see some museums. And when you're sober, you've got a lot more time to read and get yourself educated in the matters of the utter darkness, he laughs.
Perhaps predictably, Valo's affinity for all things dark turned out to be somewhat at odds with the standard AA philosophy. God grant me the serenity' if I hear those fucking words again, I'll kill myself, he laughs. AA works for some people, and that's fine. There's really good meetings and a lot of class people out there, and it's a way you can meet people with the same problems, and share your stories
The problem is that basically all the rehab shit is based on AA, and all of that is either based on religious belief or agnostic belief. But I'm a full-blown fucking atheist. I don't like churches; I don't like what religion has done to the world. The first step of the 12 steps is that you've gotta turn your will over to a higher power, and the second step is that no human power can take this disease off of you. Which is bullshit! I believe in people; I believe in my friends, and I believe in fucking Black Sabbath.
When Revolver jokes about naming Black Sabbath as his higher power, Valo's face bursts into a mischievous grin. Oh, I actually did that, he chuckles. Somebody has to lead the prayer at the meetings, and when it was my turn I would say, Ozzy grant me the serenity, or Black Sabbath grant me the serenity. People were kind of pissed off at first, but they got it eventually. I was thinking about maybe starting a rehab in Scandinavia for atheists you know, with inverted crosses!
While Valo is understandably happy to have his health back, the root of his earlier depression is a riddle that remains willfully unsolved. I don't want to sort it out that's how I make my living, he snorts. The staff [at Promises] were really understanding, and we had a couple of really good chats, but they were trying to fix a lot of things I don't want to get fixed. You've got to shed some tears every now and then, you know and I'd rather analyze it through music.
For me, life and love have to be chaos, he continues. There's got to be surprises around every fucking corner; you've gotta be in doubt, and then lifted up again, by somebody else or by yourself. Otherwise, it would be fucking boring
It's so funny, Valo laughs. I'm in a rock band, I write songs about getting my heart broken, I go to rehab I'm turning into a fucking clichÃ©. I have an agreement with MigÃ© that on the next record I have to go to an insane asylum, following in the footsteps of Iggy Pop. I'm not sure what happens after that I probably have to die under mysterious circumstances, or something, where they never find my body. Trust me, I'm working on that already.
Producer/engineer Tim Palmer”well-known for his work with Robert Plant, Bowie's Tin Machine, Tears for Fears, Pearl Jam, H.I.M. and many others”recently relocated from L.A. to Austin. Looking for the right balance of music town and family life, he found his new home base in the Texas countryside; included on the property was a three-car garage, which Palmer and Mark Genfan of Acoustic Spaces turned into a mix/overdub studio.
He said, My needs are modest, but I really want to work at home, Genfan recalls. The new 62 Studios is approximately 750 square feet, with 20-foot ceilings, custom-built acoustical treatments and a picture window that lets in natural light and looks out onto green hills. As it was in L.A., Palmer's workflow is centered around Pro Tools and racks of Tonelux modules. Tim Palmer's new home in Austin includes a mix/overdub studio designed by Mark Genfan of Acoustic Spaces.
Tim Palmer's new home in Austin includes a mix/overdub studio designed by Mark Genfan of Acoustic Spaces.
I wanted the best of the analog and the digital worlds, Palmer explains. I had a demo of the Tonelux modular system, and it was exactly what I was looking for. I wanted to embrace the old sound and have the flexibility of the new. The Tonelux system lets me keep a traditional analog signal path but with the control of the digital world. Palmer's monitors of choice are Genelec 1031As.
Now, Palmer can visit larger rooms in Austin or L.A. to track his clients if needed, but mixing and overdubs happen on his own terms. I basically wanted a mix room, but I added an extra overdub room that I knew would be useful further down the line, Palmer says. At the moment, I use that space as a prep room for my assistant to set up sessions [and get them] ready to mix. It is all wired up and ready to go to use for vocals and basic guitar overdubs.
Palmer says he thoroughly enjoyed the process of working with Genfan to design and construct his new workspace. Mark was very easy to work with, and the team he assembled to build the room was amazing, Palmer says. Believe it or not, we were sad when the crew actually was not part of our world anymore.
Of late, Palmer has been mixing projects for a number of international clients”the Internet being another great facilitator of his new setup. So far, fingers crossed, it has been going really well, he says. I just finished mixing tracks for the new album from Tarja from Finland, Midnight Youth from New Zealand and a great new band from Washington, D.C., called the Dance Party. I am going to produce a local band next that I am very excited about: Blue October.
Blue Rock, founded by songwriter/guitarist Billy Crockett and his wife Dodee, is a destination studio dedicated to audio excellence situated on 19 pristine acres in the Texas Hill Country outside of Austin. At "Retreat at the Rock," 100 guests were treated to a full day of presentations by recording luminaries, professional development workshops, networking, and a special musical performance from GRAMMY®-nominated singer-songwriter Ruthie Foster. Presenters included Steve Lamm, owner of Cryptic Globe Recording (CGR); legendary producer/engineer/designer George Massenburg; platinum producer/mixer Tim Palmer; Shadow Hills Industries president and founder Peter Reardon; and keynote speaker Rupert Neve, founder of Rupert Neve Designs Incorporated.
The day opened with Massenburg's presentation, which explored the evolution of quality standards in recorded music since 1992 from technical, artistic and business points of view. Demonstrations showcased an eye-and ear-opening look at what MP3s really sound like and the audible effects of over-compression. The conversation detailed how a generation of listeners has grown accustomed to the destructive artifacts inherent to inferior forms of digital coding and the resulting loss of emotional impact in music that has dynamics curtailed by over-compression.
Also covered were various theories related to how sound affects the perception of a music recording's value, as well as the marketplace evolution from label-driven to artist-driven incentives and revenue concentration. Audio excerpts of classic and modern artists were compared and contrasted as Massenburg explored the phenomenon of the 20-year de-evolution of the modern record business and the resulting abandonment of substantive quality criteria.
Lamm, a GRAMMY® Award winner for engineering rap gospel album Alive And Transported by TobyMac, discussed how producers and engineers currently work with digital and analog gear and how to get the best productivity out of the combination.
Palmer's hit list of topics ranged across the expanse of his career as he delighted the audience with "The Song is King," "Don't Trust the A&R Guy," "Letting Things Go," and "Don't Bring Your Analog Multi-tracks Home." One of alternative rock's unsung heroes and a GRAMMY nominee for his work on U2's All That You Can't Leave Behind, he has produced artists such as David Bowie, Robert Plant, Switchfoot and Tears for Fears, written songs with Ozzy Osbourne and the Goo Goo Dolls, and mixed albums for artists including Pearl Jam and The Cure.
Reardon's segment, "Beyond Fidelity: The Studio as an Engine of Inspiration," discussed the challenges of facilitating exceptional performances in the studio. The president and founder of Shadow Hills Industries and the former president of Waxploitation Records, Reardon is a producer/engineer/remixer with credits including Choclair, Ol' Dirty Bastard, Chris Vrenna, Barenaked Ladies, Coolio, The Cult, Fear Factory, The Geto Boys, Scarface, and Josh Wink.
Keynote Speaker Neve, who was awarded a Technical GRAMMY Award in 1997, provided both inspiration and basic technical knowledge in his presentation. He discussed how the sound created by vacuum tubes, integrated circuits, the medium of the CD, and many other sonic anomalies, all affect the perception of music and how the resulting effects on a listener can range from frustration ” and even anger ” to satisfaction and relaxation. Since founding NEVE Companies in 1961, Neve has designed and manufactured professional equipment for the recording, TV, film and broadcast Industries worldwide, including the legendary Neve 8078, 8068 consoles and 1073 and 1081 modules. In 1985, he founded Rupert Neve Designs Incorporated, based in Wimberley, Texas, with a new range of high performance audio equipment that retain his original transformer and EQ traditions but incorporate circuitry to take account of recent discoveries about the way we hear music.
"Our Texas Chapter always thinks big, but they've outdone even themselves this time," said Maureen Droney, Senior Executive Director of the P&E Wing. "To be able to spend a day with some of the recording industry's finest talent in this beautiful, relaxed, and creative environment has been a remarkable experience. 'Retreat at the Rock' was, simply, an extraordinarily special event."
Photo File 1: PE_Texas10_Photo1_RupertNeve.JPG Photo Caption 1: Rupert Neve shows off his Technical GRAMMY® Award at The Recording Academy® Texas Chapter event P&E Wing: Retreat at the Rock. Photo by Gary Miller/WireImage.com. Photo Courtesy of The Recording Academy®/WireImage.com. © 2010.
Photo File 2: PE_Texas10_Photo2_RuthieFoster.JPG Photo Caption 2: GRAMMY®-nominated artist Ruthie Foster performs at P&E Wing: Retreat at the Rock in Wimberly, Texas. Photo by Gary Miller/WireImage.com. Photo Courtesy of The Recording Academy®/WireImage.com. © 2010.
Photo File 3: PE_Texas10_Photo3_NeveMassenburg.JPG Photo Caption 3: Pictured L-R: Rupert Neve and George Massenburg at The Recording Academy® Texas Chapter event P&E Wing: Retreat at the Rock. Photo Courtesy of The Recording Academy®. © 2010.
Photo File 4: PE_Texas10_Photo4_MassenburgJenkinsNeve.JPG Photo Caption 4: Pictured L-R: George Massenburg, The Recording Academy® Texas Chapter Executive Director Theresa Jenkins and Rupert Neve at P&E Wing: Retreat at the Rock. Photo Courtesy of The Recording Academy®. © 2010.
Established in 1957, The Recording Academy is an organization of musicians, producers, engineers and recording professionals that is dedicated to improving the cultural condition and quality of life for music and its makers. Internationally known for the GRAMMY Awards ” the preeminent peer-recognized award for musical excellence and the most credible brand in music ” The Recording Academy is responsible for groundbreaking professional development, cultural enrichment, advocacy, education and human services programs. The Academy continues to focus on its mission of recognizing musical excellence, advocating for the well-being of music makers and ensuring music remains an indelible part of our culture. For more information about The Academy, please visit www.grammy.com. For breaking news and exclusive content, join the organization's social networks as a Facebook fan at www.facebook.com/thegrammys, MySpace (www.myspace.com/thegrammys), a Twitter follower at www.twitter.com/thegrammys, and a YouTube channel subscriber at www.youtube.com/thegrammys.
Currently more than 6,000 professionals comprise The Recording Academy Producers & Engineers Wing, which was established for producers, engineers, remixers, manufacturers, technologists, and other related creative and technical professionals in the recording field. This organized voice for the recording community addresses issues that affect the craft of recorded music, including the development and implementation of new technologies, technical guidelines and recommendations, and archiving and preservation initiatives. For more information, please visit www.producersandengineers.com.