January 23–30, 1997

critical mass|stone's soul picnic

The Needle and the Damage Done

Adam Lasus speaks about the new Space Needle album and the end of Studio Red.

By Neil Gladstone

For several years, Adam "Red" Lasus was the indie rock producer in Philly. Beginning out of his basement in 1990, he was recording bands for next to nothing just for the thrill of making albums. In 1992, he decided to go "legit" and moved his facility, Studio Red, into a space on the corner of Third and Cherry Streets. During his tenure, he worked with several national names including Versus, Helium and Madder Rose. His reputation was strong enough to warrant a profile in the October '95 issue of Mix magazine. Last year, the Japanese band Sugar Plant traveled to Philly just to work with him — another sign of his growing stature.

But even though his name had cachet, he says he was hardly raking in the bucks. As the studio struggled, Lasus grew weary of owning his own business and his friendship with Studio Red co-owner Dave Frank strained. Late last summer, the studio closed for good, leaving a creative hole in the Philadelphia music scene.

With the final batch of albums recorded at Studio Red just about to be released, Lasus is speaking for the first time about the place he loved and hated and why he had to destroy it.

"It started as a fun hobby thing for me and I never expected it to be a commercial studio," he surmises on the phone from Rochester, NY, where he's recording the band Muler.

Early on, Lasus was only recording bands that aligned with his distinctive tastes. Space Needle's new album, The Moray Eels Eat the Space Needle (Zero Hour), is a perfect example. The tracks range from the 13-minute instrumental "Where the Fuck's My Wallet?" that wallows in the cacophony of drums and squalling guitar, to the bubble-gum melancholy of "Love Left Us Strangers," which sounds like a Beach Boys basement tape.

The production for The Moray Eels is quintessential Lasus. Recorded in just six days on eight tracks, it makes the most of limited resources, creating a mesmerizing, albeit lo-fi, soundscape.

"It's one of the craziest records I've ever made," he notes proudly.

The three-piece band set up their instruments in a teeny room in the basement of Studio Red because they liked the reflective tones created by the brick and cement. The sound was so loud, recalls Lasus, that he and co-producer Jason Cox were doing everything they could "to tame the beast."

Cox, who worked for a couple of years as a Studio Red engineer, says The Moray Eels is one of the best and most fun records he's ever made. During the recording of the album, the basement turned into a clubhouse, recalls Cox, with porno movies playing on the TV and everyone drinking way too much Coke. On top of Lasus' know-how, it's this kind of rumpus-room atmosphere that makes bands comfortable and helps to bring out their best, figures Space Needle's Jud Ehrbar.

Like many bands, Space Needle traveled down to Philly from New York to work at Studio Red. But Lasus says it was getting harder to convince bands to come down. Philadelphia has a handful of worthwhile bands with similar tastes as his, but not enough to sustain a business. As a result, he and Cox started recording any band willing to pay.

"There would be times I'd come into the studio and be bummed out at seeing this band that I'm not into using all of my gear," remembers Lasus. "In a way, I felt like I was whoring out my secrets." But even with the studio employed on a regular basis, all the parties involved were still scraping to get by. Lasus says Frank did a great job of booking bands, but wasn't a great business leader. He adds that there was probably a bit of jealousy from the attention Lasus was receiving. Around the spring of '96, things began to go sour between the two.

"Those guys weren't getting along and weren't communicating," recalls Cox.

Lasus says he told Frank in early August of his plans to leave the studio and move up to New York. Then the sour feelings turned woefully bitter. According to Lasus, Frank thought the two — being equal partners — should divide the equipment equally. Lasus figured that only equipment bought by the studio should be divided equally and was intent on leaving with what he bought before the two became partners.

The argument over who owned what equipment arose before, but was never settled. Frank thought he deserved something for the two years he worked for next to nothing at the studio, says Lasus.

"Dave basically said 'Well, I'm fucked. I worked all of these years and I'm not getting anything,'" recalls Lasus. "I said 'Yeah, you are fucked, but we should have dealt with this a while ago.'"

Frank declined to comment about the situation citing that the dispute may end up in court.

While Frank was in Europe last August vacationing, Lasus loaded the equipment he felt was rightfully his into a truck and moved it up to New York.

"It was kind of a pussy maneuver on my part," Lasus admits in retrospect. He adds that he left Frank enough gear and cash to get the studio going again.

That didn't happen and the absence of Studio Red has been felt on the scene. "There was nothing like it when it was around and now there's nothing here to replace it," says Bardo Pond's Michael Gibbons. His band's last album, Amanita, was recorded there and they'd hoped to return. "The place had loads of great amps and post-production equipment," he recalls, "plus plenty of rare effect pedals that we'd never seen before." Studio Red's connections to New York and its growing national recognition helped make Philadelphia a little better known across the country, he adds.

Lasus is happy to have moved on, but knows he left plenty of bitter feelings in his wake.

"I talk to my friends back in Philly and they tell me that people are talking shit about me, saying I 'sold out Philly' and 'ruined Dave's life,'" he confesses.

Cox, who wishes that things between Lasus and Frank could have ended more amicably, says he'll work with Lasus again in the future.

Lasus doesn't think he'll ever move back to Philly, but hopes he can come back and hang out with friends after the dust has settled.

Until then, you can look out for some of his and Cox's stellar production work on the new Sugar Plant album, After After Hours (World Domination). Its wistful and ethereal pop songs hearken back to the Velvet Underground's work with Nico. The last album recorded at Studio Red, Varnaline's second release, is due out in March from Zero Hour.

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Sugar Plant's label mates, Philly's own Latimer, have a new record out, Live From Sour City. Is the title a comment on the bitterness and in-fighting found on the local rock scene? That depends on which member of the band you ask, but Jeff Doring, who wrote the title track, says the song was originally called "Live From South Philly" and ruminated about an argumentative couple who lived across the street from him. Figuring that the original title was silly, he changed it. Regardless of any sociopolitical pontificating, the album rawks. Gone are the quirky atonal riffs of Latimer's earlier releases, replaced by turbo-charged, badass tunes that combine '77-punk chord progressions with sing-along, glam-rock melodies. Think the Clash, Sweet, the Stranglers and Bowie. This bitchin', balls-out escapade ought to be a chart-topper at many a high school auto shop this year.

After all of the hubbub, neo-mod band The Interpreters finally signed with Zoo Entertainment. Their A? representative? None other than former Vic Logic member Mike Rich. At the moment, they're laying down tracks in L.A. with producer Shel Talmy. Diehard Interpreters fans can find the magic touch of bassist/vocalist Herschel Gaer on Josh Wink's new single, "Are You There..." The original house track grooves to the beat of a drum machine high-hat and HAL 2000-style vocal snippet. Gaer's remix, "My Friend," is much more ambient, propelled by electronic chirps and drones.