Within the grooves of a record, some producers announce their presence loud and clear. Daniel Lanois sounds like Daniel Lanois. George Martin sounded like George Martin. Eno is Eno is Eno. Other leading lights, like Rick Rubin, practice a sort of willful transparency and backseat-ness to let the artist be their most authentic selves.
Then consider Leanne Ungar, who's produced and engineered some of the preeminent artists of the 20th century. Where does she fit within that spectrum? "I think different types of music call for different types of sound," Ungar tells GRAMMY.com. "Some have buried vocals; some have the biggest vocal you've ever heard. I wanted to be able to do both."
Having it both ways in the engineer's chair doesn't mean Ungar somehow lacks a distinct identity; actually, it means the opposite. By serving the song first and foremost, Ungar fulfills the highest calling of a producer and/or engineer: Getting the music into a listener's consciousness via the purest, most unfettered route.
Where does this philosophy come from? "What goes with my personality is that I've always tried to be as invisible as I can," Ungar continues. "So, when I go back and listen to records I've done over periods of time, it's pretty changeable. It's pretty much at the service of the artist and the song."
Read on for an in-depth interview with Ungar about what inspired her to become a producer and engineer, how she honed her particular approach and what she wants to bring out of any artist — no matter the genre, style or intent.
This interview has been edited for clarity.
I'm such a fan of those Leonard Cohen albums you co-engineered. What was it like working on I'm Your Man?
I was just talking to a student the other day who said he's working on a song called "I'm Your Man." I said, "I recorded a song called 'I'm Your Man!'" He'd never heard of it, of course.
It was fun because the sense of humor seemed to come more to the front of that record than some of the others. I took over in the middle; I didn't record all the basics. It was being produced by Roscoe Beck in the beginning, and at a certain point, he wanted to leave the project. I never really talked to him about why.
I was traveling between working in New York and working in L.A., and Leonard was in L.A. It was just terrific, meeting [oudist] John Bilezikjian and recording [vocalist] Jennifer Warnes. There was some amazing talent on that record.
Leonard's always been hilarious, so I never fully grasped how it came to the forefront on that album.
Just looking at him with a wilted banana on the cover is so funny!
When did you first realize you were into the sounds of records — the architecture of them more so than what they contained?
There were a couple of things that happened to me after I walked into the studio and was bowled over by what was going on in there, and wanted to be part of it. A couple of things that pushed me into engineering.
One was a sound company that worked with the Grateful Dead, called Alembic. At that point in time, which was the late '60s, people weren't even really using stacks of speakers and monitor speakers. The fact they were putting that much into the concert sound told me that sound was really important.
Then, there was a record called Something/Anything by Todd Rundgren.
Such a fan!
Such a fantastic record. I noticed he did everything on it. He wrote; he sang; he produced; and he also recorded and mixed, which put that on the same level as the others. That meant a lot to me, too.
One other key moment didn't happen until '76, when Stevie Wonder's Songs in the Key of Life came out. Amazing record, and a lot of those horns were synth horns, and they didn't have reverb on them.
I was listening to that record, sitting there with a fellow assistant engineer, and we were just marveling that it could sound like that without having any reverb. I didn't know how they did that, and it was wonderful.
I'm also a big fan of dry production.
I am too! Reverb is hard. It clouds up records and it puts a distance between you and the subject. It also can imply impact, so I think there are times when it has to be there.
But records on the dry side — especially those that have depth, with something in the front of your face but also in the back of the soundscape that's [dictating] the front or back of the room — are really satisfying.
How did you meld your various influences into a signature approach?
What goes with my personality is that I've always tried to be as invisible as I can. I don't think that sound is about the mixer that much. If you're serving the song and it's getting across, I think that's the important thing.
So, when I go back and listen to records I've done over periods of time, it's pretty changeable. It's pretty much at the service of the artist and the song.
I love producers on both sides of the equation — those who are super-transparent and those who put an unequivocal stamp on everything.
I think different types of music call for different types of sound. Some have buried vocals; some have the biggest vocal you've ever heard. I wanted to be able to do both.
And being transparent involves far more than just flicking on the recorder and walking away. I'm sure seeming invisible requires a lot of subtle brushstrokes behind the scenes.
[Chuckles] I think you're right about that.
The way Leonard and [producer] John [Lissauer] worked on "Hallelujah" in the studio — there wasn't a big budget for the record, and they had some big ideas. One of the things they were doing a lot was using samples from the Synclavier [synthesizer]. We were having to simulate a church space, a choir — different things that weren't what they seemed.
So, to serve that particular song, there had to be a great amount of dynamics and depth to the "choir" that was going on. So, I was working hard, sweating, trying to make that happen.
Leonard kept asking for more and more and more reverb in his voice. He wanted to sound like God on that particular [song]. And I don't think I did that good a job of simulating God, but there's certainly a lot of reverb on it!
Listening to early Leonard Cohen is interesting. They added bells and whistles that didn't really need to be there — but I kind of like them!
He really did not like those!
When we went to do that Sony Legacy album [2022's Hallelujah & Songs From His Albums], the first thing we thought is we'd make the early stuff sound like the later stuff, as some of the later stuff sounded fabulous.
So, when we put that EQ up on the early stuff, it brought up all those tambourines and bells and things that were all [Gestures, suggests a ceiling] up here. Leonard said, "I fought the producer. I didn't want it to be on the album. And now, I don't want it louder on the album. Make it dull!
His idea was very much centered around the voice. And I think he always thought because he was not a quote-unquote great singer — I think he was a great singer in his own style — he always thought that if there was too much embellishment, people wouldn't listen to him.
Give me a record you worked on that you feel sums up your vision.
Well, there is that Holly Cole record I like a lot — [1993's] Don't Smoke in Bed. It's a jazz trio in Toronto — just piano, bass and voice. It's very, very simple, but it sounds pretty good and goes into different style machinations. It's emotional, but not overdone. I like it a lot.
I rented Shelley Yakus' Telefunken 251 for the voice and it sounded fantastic! We also rented a Neve sidecar so we could get some 1073 [channel amplifier/equalizer modules] on some of the inputs.
We ended up not liking it very much on the piano because the piano player [Aaron Davis] had a way of touching the piano that sucked all the highs out of the sound. It was the most velvety, quiet piano sound I'd ever heard, and he could make any piano sound like that.
Having that piano sound go through the Neve pre[amp]s put too much fuzz and softness into the sound, so I ended up not using Neves on the piano.
It's crazy how recording processes that would have cost a fortune 40 years ago are now accessible to almost anyone. What advice would you give a young music-maker just starting to mess around with sounds at home?
I think it's wonderful that the sounds are there and they can be had that universally. It's absolutely great that you don't have to go into some million-dollar studio. Although if you are searching for certain orchestral or drum sounds, it is good to have an acoustic environment that's been treated.
For me, the thing that's most important is the way you listen — what you hear. So, to me, mixing is mostly about hearing. Because hearing is so universal — we can't stop sounds coming in — we all think we're hearing everything, but we're not.
One of the courses I've been teaching for 19 years now is critical listening. It's about, "What do I listen for? How do I go into a dense recording and listen for things that were done that made it sound like that? What are the tools, and how can you tell them apart when you can't solo something?"
I think mixing is a lot about the relationships between this sound and that sound. I was talking about "front and back" earlier. The ways textures sound next to each other. Not how they sound on their own or solo, but how something bright can make something sound darker than it would on its own.
That's the stuff you have to be paying attention to, and listen hard for. Mixing is hard, whether you're doing it in a million-dollar studio or in your bedroom. I don't think either one is really harder if you know what you're going for.