Artist, producer and remixer Arthur Baker must surely be one of the seminal figures in electronic music history, with a career that initially took off with the production of Afrika Bambaata's hugely influential 'Planet Rock'. Now he's taking a new direction, as boss and A&R executive of his own record label. Richard Buskin goes all starry‑eyed...
"The fact that you can do editing in Pro Tools and filter sweeps in the samplers is pretty cool, but I'm still more into finding a good song and a good groove," says Arthur Baker, a remixer and producer from the 'old school' of the early '80s, when technology was still only used as a means of enhancing a song rather than as its raison d'être. "All technology does is give you more control. At the same time, it cuts down on innovation: everyone has the same tools now, whereas years ago, if someone had a new piece of equipment it was novel and people didn't necessarily know about it. Everything was more secretive and you had to discover things for yourself, but now it's just a case of 'Here are your sample CDs, here's everything handed on a platter'."
From Afrika Bambaataa and Soulsonic Force's 'Planet Rock' to Freez's 'IOU', from mainstream remixes of Cyndi Lauper's 'Girls Just Want To Have Fun' to Bruce Springsteen's 'Born In The USA' and 'Dancing In The Dark', and from projects with artists such as Hall & Oates and Bob Dylan to the Sun City anti‑apartheid album, Arthur Baker certainly made a name for himself on the New York music scene of the early‑to‑mid‑'80s.
In its day, 'Planet Rock' made waves with its sampling, its innovative use of the Roland TR808 drum machine, the Fairlight orchestral hit sample and Lexicon's PCM41 delay on the vocal. This was heady techno stuff back then, yet Baker now finds himself looking at modern dance remixes from the standpoint that there's often complete over‑use of the equipment now that it's so easily to hand.
For me, discovering a new act and taking it all the way is what it's really all about — and that's probably what's kept me poor.
"I'm not saying that there aren't people who are making cool, innovative music," he stresses, "but I don't know if technology really helps the whole process. It just makes it simpler. Electronic records have always been enriched by real instruments, because a purely electronic record is, for the most part, boring. There are definitely exceptions to that rule, but in my case, I would always have live piano, live bass and live percussion, even if we were using drum machines."
When I ask Arthur Baker if the available technology can truly replace the sound of, say, live brass or strings, he responds with an emphatic "No". Yet when I ask him the same question with regard to real drummers, I get a different answer: "They are completely replaceable. You can put feel into drum programming," he explains; "but, while some drummers are great players, they can be difficult people to work with. I don't know what it is about drummers. I know I'm making a generalisation, but especially now, they're all so insecure about what they have to offer — and I spend more time working with them than with anyone else!"
Changing Gear
Still, aside from this little matter of touchy artistic attitude, Baker acknowledges that another benefit of certain modern technology is its cost‑effectiveness: people without the means that was once necessary to make a record can now take their chances. Conversely, on the strength of his own early successes, Baker has, for the past 12 years, been the owner of a 48‑track SSL home studio in New York named Shakedown. A blessed man indeed. So, what does he do? Well, he records and remixes in a variety of locations on either side of the Atlantic, and the result is that his wonderful SSL room now sits in the dark for months on end while he makes use of somebody else's Pro Tools and Performer.
"About half of the stuff that I do now isn't on tape," says Baker. "I think tape will become obsolete very shortly. I myself don't own any digital gear, but I have two different programmers and one of them has a full Pro Tools setup. I've really been getting into Pro Tools, and so I'm now thinking of going out and buying a system. It just makes things so much easier, it's ridiculous!
Drummers are completely replaceable.
"I've never been a major equipment person, and so I always have someone with me who keeps up on the stuff. Merv De Peyer is my main programmer, and we've been doing lots of jazzy, house‑type tracks together. That stuff isn't even like work, it's like having fun. Doing an album with a band is work, but going into the studio and doing tracks isn't work at all."
Fair enough, but even though studio gear isn't exactly Baker's main topic of discussion, there must be some items that take his fancy right now...
"Well, I have a Roland JV1080 which I really like; the JV2080 is really cool and I just got one of those, and I've also been getting back into old synths..."
Such as?
"Um... a Minimoog... I know that's sort of passé and everyone's doing it, but it's kind of nice to be able to go back to old analogue gear. It's good to have it available right there.
"You know, things go in cycles. Something that was totally naff five years ago may now be in, and when people get bored and look for something new the things that can seem new are sometimes old. At the moment there's the resurgence of electronic music — 'electronica' — and I just love it. It's the genre of the day! Nothing ever went away, but it's just a name for white people making electronic dance music. Electronica — white home boys doing their thing!"
Label, With Love
Shakedown is currently located inside a home that, since he separated from his wife, Baker no longer lives in. He is now, therefore, in the process of moving the studio elsewhere and transforming it into a programming suite. "As things stand, it's a waste of money," he says, "but if it's installed elsewhere, then my label's acts can have access to it."
The label that he's referring to is Minimal Records, an old underground venture of his which he re‑launched in 1996; it's now enjoying a string of big club hits in the UK. Grand Master Flash is among the recent signings and next on Baker's production agenda, yet he emphasises that the label is in no way being limited to dance music or hip‑hop. "I've signed a rock group named Kreed," he points out. "For me, discovering a new act and taking it all the way is what it's really all about — and that's probably what's kept me poor. I've always chased new acts and, unfortunately, the percentages haven't been great, but it's still the most exciting thing. In any event, whenever people now see a Minimal record they know that it's worth checking out.
"Personally, I love the idea of doing A&R, even though, when it's your own label, it's also your own money that you're dealing with. The main thing that I'm looking for when I'm considering an artist is the material. Kreed, for example, are not doing anything revolutionary, but they just have really great commercial songs. You see, I've passed on working with bands because I didn't like the material — I passed on doing the first Happy Mondays record because I just thought the songs were crap. Sitting in the studio listening to something for three months and not liking the song... it's not worth the effort."
Sitting in the studio listening to something for three months and not liking the song... it's not worth the effort.
Born and raised in Boston, Massachusetts, Baker actually started out as a DJ during his years as a college student during the mid‑'70s, yet the kinds of disco records he was playing weren't really in line with his own musical roots. These lay among rock bands such as the Allman Brothers and Jefferson Airplane, as well as folk artists Tom Rush and James Taylor; gradually, though, Baker became more interested in 'Philly Sound'‑style black dance music, and developed an ambition to become a record producer.
In 1978 Baker undertook an engineering course at the 24‑track Intermedia Studios facility in Boston, and the following year he relocated to New York. There he took jobs at a record wholesaler, as a salesman, and as a music reviewer, before becoming involved in the flourishing local rap scene and graduating to work behind the console on a number of classic electro tracks. The next few years would see Baker's studio career really take off, only to be grounded during the mid‑'80s by virtue of his steady relationship with cocaine.
Thereafter, having kicked the habit, Baker returned to what he did best with house remixes of non‑house acts such as Fleetwood Mac, Fine Young Cannibals and Living In A Box, not to mention the Gypsy Kings, Roberta Flack and Deborah Harry. Then, towards the end of the decade, he even gave vent to his talents as a songwriter and performer in the form of an album by Arthur Baker and the Backbeat Disciples, on which he collaborated with artists such as Al Green and Jimmy Sommerville.
Which almost brings us up to date. During the past few years this talented composer, producer and remixer has been involved with various projects, among them an Al Green album entitled Don't Look Back, a touring band named the Brooklyn Funk Essentials which he himself assembled, a record by the Punk Essentials, work on The Flintstones movie soundtrack with Big Audio Dynamite, Stereo MCs and Us Three, and the musical supervision of the film Fried Green Tomatoes At The Whistle‑Stop Café, as well as a big‑screen venture for Quincy Jones.
Atlantic Crossing
The Flintstones venture took place in England about three years ago, since when Baker has been making regular trips across the pond while re‑immersing himself in the dance music scene; he's recently added remix clients Babylon Zoo and New Order to his list.
"Record industry people in England have a little bit of a longer memory and it's definitely more of a club culture over there," he asserts. "The way things are now, I spend about half of my time in England, and the rest in New York or Miami. It's pretty comfortable that way. I really like England; it's a much mellower lifestyle than New York, but there's also a buzz about being in New York, and I have friends here who I like to work with. So I can't ever see myself living in one place or the other. I will always be going back and forth.
"Studios in England are a little more accommodating: they just seem more service‑oriented in terms of the way they're run. You'll have a restaurant in the studio, and you'll have people making you tea and coffee constantly — but as far as work habits go, I don't really see a difference: it's more down to the amenities. LA, on the other hand, is more relaxed than anywhere. It's actually a better way to work, really, compared with New York or London, because there are no late sessions there, and so it's definitely a more civilised approach to recording."
Meanwhile, Baker still abides by his philosophy that it's generally the material that counts, and in line with this he is now producing an album with a band named Sensor.
"There are five or six songs of theirs that I love, while the rest also get to me," he confirms. "It's sort of punk techno metal, it's very cool, and I've enjoyed making an album with a band as opposed to just programming. It's a whole other thing when you have to be responsible for — and to — six people. It's been an enjoyable experience for me, after spending the last few years working with a programmer and having to create things from scratch."
While Arthur Baker's current musical tastes run to acts such as A Tribe Called Quest, his dislikes manifest themselves largely in the area of gangsta rap, where he not only disapproves of much of the sentiment expressed, but also rues the promotion of violence, which has resulted in the recent murders of certain notable or notorious figureheads.
"Biggie Small dies and we hear, 'Oh, he was this, he was that', and everyone's giving him accolades, but the guy was a crack dealer and a gangster who beat up people with baseball bats. Now it's supposed to be society's fault, but the fact is that the guy made all of this money and he wasn't smart enough to just remove himself from that whole scene.
"Still, on the positive side I'm definitely influenced by drum and bass stuff. I like this guy Adam F — his stuff is really cool — and I've been checking out a French DJ producer named Laurent Garnier who had a record, 'Crispy Bacon', that I really liked. Then there's the Chemical Brothers, who always do good stuff; but for the most part I go to clubs and hear sounds and hear grooves that I like, and if I can find out what the record is, I'll go out and buy it. I also buy records to just try to stay in touch with what's going on, but nothing's really blown me away."
At the same time, if Baker happens to particularly like a sound that he hears on a record, then he may well also check out the engineer, with a view to making contact with a future behind‑the‑desk colleague.
"When we're mixing, I'm pretty involved with the technical side of things," he says. "I'll do the arranging and the mutes and all that. I mean, with the Sensor album they have it so well pre‑produced that it's more a case of just making sure that their live performances were right. Then, when we go into mix, we'll probably change some sounds and do some more programming."
Sample Till You Drop
As a pioneer in the creative use of samples as a means of embellishing an artist's ideas, Baker doesn't feel that he's necessarily in a position to criticise the current trend of utilising loops as the basis for a lot of compositions. Nevertheless, when gently prodded for an opinion, he is — characteristically — not all that reluctant to oblige.
"Black music has always had a history of cover versions and answer records," he says. "A jazz musician would take an old melody, incorporate it into a new song and do quotes. Well, when sampling started it was more like that — but now it's pretty much a case of stealing.
"I mean, I've had so many people sample my stuff — anything out of Miami has usually sampled the Soulsonic Force record — and the thing that I find bad about it is that a lot of people are just sampling and not learning their craft as musicians. That's the problem with hip‑hop... hip‑hop's killed the black band. Before hip‑hop there were hundreds of black bands, signed and having hit records, whereas now, in terms of funk bands, there are none. I can go to my collection and pull out a hundred records by bands that had hits and were well known, but now that whole scene is dead, really. It's been replaced by people sampling records, and that means the roots are going to be lost.
A purely electronic record is, for the most part, boring.
"It's absolutely killing music. Maybe in five years someone will say, 'Hey, let's get a really great black band together, use the hip‑hop element and we'll clean up,' but right now it's just so easy for someone to go in with a turntable, a sampler and rapper, and make a ton of money."
Well, isn't that always the way? Somebody innovates and other — perhaps lesser — talents then take that ball and run with it all the way in what usually turns out to be a downhill direction.
"Yeah, but in this case the whole thing is that it's not killing white bands. It's not killing rock bands. There are more rock bands than ever. In the '60s there were all of those vocal groups, and then the black bands came along in the '70s and killed them off. Now, with the rappers, we're back to the vocal groups again and no bands.
"I'm not going to say that there's no talent in some of the people who use samples to create — it's obviously a different type of talent. But it's a talent for making money, that's for damned sure! It's a talent for knowing what people want. The guys who make rap records are really in touch with what's going on. They know what people are going to like, what samples they're still into, and if you really know your market, then it's not brain surgery to do that. Like when I made 'Planet Rock', I knew my market back then. I knew that people were playing [Kraftwerk's] 'Trans‑Europe Express' in the park and I knew that 'Numbers' was a big record, so we decided to combine the two of them and come up with something new. Combining different elements to come up with something new is great, but if you just do the same old shit then it's just the same old shit and you don't get any innovation. Most of the stuff now is just pretty safe and standard."
Dub Downer
As for remixes that discard all of the original track and are just built around a vocal snippet, Baker has gone on record in the past stating that he himself prefers to retain a track's integrity, and this is a view that he still adheres to.
"I've never done a remix where I haven't at least attempted to maintain the actual song," he says. "Back when I started remixing, that's what the job was, but now record companies don't care if there's just one little yelp remaining, as long as it's a hit.
"It's funny, because right now I'm A&R‑ing an album for my label which is remixes of early Philly group stuff, and so I'm going after big‑name mixers. People have such reverence for these songs that they really want to maintain their integrity, but then you go to your promotions guy who's going to work it to the clubs and he's saying, 'Oh, there's too much of the song there. Give me a dub without any of that,' and I end up thinking, 'Then why do it?' So, in the case of this album, I'm trying to make sure that there's at least a bunch of the mixes where they maintain the integrity.
"Unfortunately, the DJs are more apt to play the dubs nowadays and so you don't hear the songs any more, which is totally different from when I started. When people like Larry Levine and Francois were DJing, the song was of major importance, and there really weren't that many dubs. People would relate to the lyrics and get off on them, whereas now you can go to a club and never hear a song. It's an endless beat and it's really boring. With this album, it's a case of really trying to strike a balance between keeping the integrity and also having some mixes that the knuckle‑heads will play in the clubs."