Column: “The Five Reasons I Record In My Bathroom” By Sarin McHugh

With the proliferation of gadgets and the constant upgrading of technology, making your own record is easier than ever. We’ve all heard rumors of people making records on planes, on their iPhones, during class… wherever basically. But as we know that wasn’t the case when we were coming up.

Most of us grew up without Garage Band or iTunes or Myspace. We grew up with boomboxes and 4 tracks and answering machines (Yes, I called my house and recorded a song into our answering machine once. And it’s a song I still play). We found solace in the hiss. We hid behind the tape heads and found little nooks that sounded good. And we ALL knew the best place in the world to record was the bathroom. The tiles. The ceramic. The sound bounced around the room like a Superball.

Of course, if I had 15 or 20 grand to make a record that sounded great, I would. I’d get some horns, some strings, a gospel chorus of black girls, maybe a nice cameo here and there. But I’d be hard pressed to make a record that makes me as happy and as excited as one that’s made in my dirty little bathroom.

So here you go. Other than the fact that I can’t afford 10 hours in a studio with some douchebag “engineer” who I’ve never met before, these are the top five reasons that I prefer making music in my tiny little bathroom.

Read them after the jump.

1. You’re not bombarded with an overabundance of cool stuff to tinker with.
… By default, we as musicians are all gearheads. We love to play with shit. We love to see what kind of noises those old dusty bells and whistles can produce and we can spend hours upon hours upon hours messing around with vintage amps and keyboards and drums that litter those studios, making noise that will probably never make it on to the record anyway. Give me my guitar, my drums, my throat and let’s see what I can do.

2. Four tracks is all you get.
… What easier way to force restraint than to limit yourself to four tracks. So often our tunes get lost in the haze of ambition… we throw thirty guitar tracks – 27 of which are playing pretttttty much the exact same thing – because we can; because those big studios have the capacity to make your one guitar sound like 60. But isn’t that the antithesis of rock and roll music? Isn’t rock and roll music about 1 guitar and a little bit of attitude? Isn’t rock and roll music about the song, not the sound?

3. It’s home. It’s me. It’s where the songs come from.
… If I wanted to write songs about being on a beach in Spain, I would. Would they be good? Probably not. Why? Because I’m not on a beach in Spain and I never have been. What the fuck do I know about anything but that which I know. I know about heartbreak and indecision and New Jersey and love and sadness and fun and fighting and waking up early and laying in bed with a pretty girl. So that’s what I write songs about. I write songs like a 27 year old kid from New Jersey would write songs because that’s what I know. And those things are all reflected at home. Those are the things I surround myself with. So why would I try and capture them in an environment that has nothing to do with who I am and what I know?

4. I’m not rushed. I can take my time.
… I didn’t pay anyone (except my landlord) for this time. I’m not on any type of schedule. If I want to go back in a week and re-do the bass part on a song, I can. I just tell my roommates to take their shits and their showers because I’m gonna be a little while, plug my four track in and press record. I can be all night. I can be all day. If I wanna pop out and watch Sportscenter, I can. If I wanna make a dish of macaroni, I can. I don’t have to block out time. I’m not on the clock (this, however, is often a hindrance. Sometimes – oftentimes – schedules and deadlines provide us with magnificent results).

5. It’s just me in there. No one else.
… It’s probably a funny thing to say but I have near-paralyzing stage fright. Weird considering I’ve played thousands of shows in my life but it’s something I’ve never gotten over. I sweat, I shake, I sometimes vomit, I urinate incessantly, I talk too much, I panic. And it’s not just when I’m on stage. It’s whenever I know someone is gonna watch me sing. So when I get up there in front of the professional microphone with that engineer standing in there on the other side of the glass watching me sing songs about girls he’s never met, I freak the fuck out a little bit. Leave me alone. Let me lock the door and wail away as if no one will ever hear me. That’s when I make something nice.

Be sure to pick up Sarin McHugh and the Everymen‘s new 7″ Rotocoma Pollution! over at Insound.