Making Records: The Scenes Behind the Music by Phil Ramone Page A

“It works” or “That’s great” after a performance reassures an artist—and speaks volumes about your sincerity. Most of the time the artist will know how excited (or tepid) I feel about a take from the tone of voice I use. Subtlety speaks volumes.
    Being at the helm and communicating effectively isn’t always easy. How do you tell someone like Paul McCartney, “It can be better—let’s do one more take!” I’m just as big a fan of Paul and the Beatles as the next guy. Working with a big-name artist—someone you respect as a songwriter, musician, and cultural icon—can be intimidating if you’re not well grounded.
    What if the performer is a fellow record producer?
    I’ve partnered with many musicians who’ve had experience in the control room—artists whose writing ability and production sensibilities I admire and respect. If I can stretch my brain, heart, and soul to bring them something new, I’m doing my job—as a producer and friend. If another producer is kind enough to say, “Will you work with me?” I’m there.
    The question I ask myself when producing a fellow producer is, “Can they be objective about their own work?”

    In the control room with Paul McCartney, 1986 Phil Ramone Collection
    Producing an artist is one thing; standing on the other side of the microphone and putting oneself in the hands of another producer like me, is another. In this situation I say, “You have the ability to produce yourself. But, you’ve got to trust that I can step back, look at the overall picture, and help you figure out where to go musically.”
    The years I spent with Paul Simon and Billy Joel taught me about how to work cooperatively with an artist who has the capability to produce, and where my own ego fits in. I might have a better idea, or come up with a more suitable chord or phrase than the artist I’m working with, but when the record’s done it’s the composite of all our input that makes it work.
    Whether it’s an especially gifted or famous artist or a fellow producer, taking a step back to remind yourself that all they want to do is make the best record possible is often helpful. Even the most celebrated musicians look to the producer for honest feedback, not false praise. The caveat is that if I tell Paul McCartney (or anyone else), “I think you can do a better take,” I’d better be right.
    Regardless of whom you’re working with, rudeness is neither acceptable nor tolerable. In my work domain the doorman, receptionist, the assistant who does the grunt work, and the kid who brings us coffee are as sacred to me as the artist. Music provides the relief in life, and there’s no reason why we can’t be kind to each other and have a good time while we’re making it.
    At every step, humbleness and discretion should guide what we do.
    Frank Sinatra, for instance, was able to walk into a recording studio anywhere in the world and command respect because of who he was as a musician. The public may have fawned over him because he was a star, but music people revered Sinatra for his professionalism and musical acumen. While fans might forgive celebrities who push their weight around, seasoned musicians aren’t inclined to make such concessions.
    Dealing with tantrums or other temperament issues—whether it involves an artist, musician, or member of my crew—isn’t pleasant, and handling them sensitively is the secret to turning them around. While there’s no specific technique I use to restore tranquility, speaking calmly and letting the other party know how I feel is always the starting point. Then, I probe to find out why they’re frustrated.
    If the issue concerns one of the assistants or engineers in the control room, I advise them to take a break, and not return until they feel they can maintain their composure and focus on the job at hand. I simply can’t allow anyone to disrupt a session or distract the artist while they’re working on the other side of the glass.
    If an