The Mapleshade Method
Low Tech/High-Fidelity Recordings
by Bill Shoemaker
"Ah, Edison's lab," the late
pianist Walter Davis, Jr. remarked upon first entering
Pierre Sprey's Mapleshade Studio, where he would arguably
make his greatest recording, In Walked Thelonious (Mapleshade
56312). Mapleshade's seemingly makeshift appearance is the
antithesis of high-tech, big bucks recording studios. Sprey
practices a maverick minimalism in what used to be the front
parlor of his 100-year-old mansion in the Maryland countryside,
upending the conventional wisdom by using just two or three
microphones, forgoing a mixer for battery-powered preamps
weighed down with lead, and recording onto an out-of-production
1/4-inch two-track deck. According to orthodoxy and given
that Sprey gets his reverb by sliding open the doors to the
entrance hall, moves musicians around to balance instruments,
and rolls the tape practically on the lap of the musicians,
monitoring only with earphones, he's lucky to get anything
that resembles decent sound.
But Sprey's Mapleshade recordings
are excellent, featuring a crisp, live sound that bursts from
the 0s and 1s encoded on CDs; Live At Ethell's (Mapleshade
56292) by tenor titan Clifford Jordan won the 1991 Crown
Microphone Award for Best Professional Sound. Sprey, who gained
much inside-the-Beltway notoriety during the 1980s as a defense
analyst arguing against the more-sophisticated-is-better
mindset of the military-industrial complex, bucks the establishment
when it comes to recording music.
"In general, I don't
care about measurements at all," Sprey said during a break in
a recent session for pioneering third-stream pianist Ran
Blake's Ellington's Attic. "I could care less about
frequency response, signal-to-noise ratios, and so on. What
I care about is how it sounds."
Sprey's microphone of choice
is Crown's extremely responsive PZM, a palm-sized, plate-mounted
unit. He centers one on each outside face of a V-shaped plexiglass
baffle to approximate the pickup pattern of the human ear. The
PZM's stock power supply/transformer box is replaced by two
nine-volt batteries and a passive response-shaping network,
which are spliced into the mic line to the preamps to prevent
distortion. He keeps cable lengths in his system under 25 feet
to minimize signal loss. The baffle is attached to a modified
mic stand, which, for the Blake session - a quartet rounded
out by electric guitar, acoustic bass, and drums - is placed
in the curve of Sprey's restored 1911 Steinway Model O, whose
soundboard is positioned in the middle of the 15x20x10-foot
studio. (Sprey removed the Steinway's lid and casters for a
better sound.)
The musicians are then placed
about the studio for the best balance. Guitarist David Fiuczynski
is seated at the end of the piano, but the house's tube amp
is placed about 10 feet from the mic baffle. The amp's also
weighed down with lead, Sprey's cure-all for absorbing vibrations.
Bassist Ben Allison is placed in the reverb-rich hall
with a PZM Sprey has modified by removing the tiny diaphragm
from the stock enclosure, resulting in an evan faster response
that better conveys the attack of the strings and the bass'
woody tone. An adjustable plywood reflector fastened to a rod
running between two boom stands is placed over drummer Paul
Murphy. A small circular mirror mounted on the reflector
allows Sprey, using a flashlight, to determine the best angle
for direct reflection of the drum kit to the PZMs; the reflector
was designed to give drums increased presence, but is also gives
them unexpected warmth, and the cymbals extra definition.
Sprey runs his system completely
unbalanced, contrary to standard engineering practice, convinced
that the transformers involved with balanced lines degrade sound
quality. For this same reason, he doesn't use a mixing-board,
bypassing the many amplification stages the signal has to snake
through to accomplish all the receives, sends, pans, and EQs
contained in each channel. Instead, he uses the absolute minimum
of amplification - battery-powered preamps armed with only gain
controls.
Sprey uses an almost-unknown
Sony professional tape recorder - the model number is his only
trade secret. Unlike most machines, Sprey's machine doesn't
cut off the upper-band limit at the usual 20,000 to 25,000 hz.
This machine has very high limits - 42,000 hz; subsequently,
the signal-to-noise ratio isn't as hot as other professional
machines, but Sprey swears by it. His tape machine is far from
stock, however. Several rolling elements were removed from the
tape path; the resonating tape-path cover also went. Major motor
and capstan mounts were laminated in lead to eliminate resonances,
heavy castings ring like a bell, and the vibration feeds down
the capstan and onto the tape. Sprey has also replaced passive
components with audiophile-quality condensers and resistors.
He's aiming for totally battery-powered electronics in his tape
machine; the noise of normal A/C power audibly impacts master
tapes.
"I record as hot as
I can get without distortion in order to avoid having to use
any noise reduction. This technique is so important because
there's such a loss of quality, particularly transient impact,
when you use noise reduction. You lose so much pluck in the
bass, and so much of the percussive sound of a piano hammer,
that I'd rather take the risk of recording very hot and avoiding
noise reduction. So far, it's worked: even on CDs, where tape
hiss is very evident, I've had no complaints about tape hiss
on my recordings."
Sprey's standard post-production
procedure begins with rough editing and trial sequencing to
save digital studio time, as well as test changes in level and
left/right balance. Then, it's off with his tapes and machine
to Digital Domain in New York, which has a custom-designed,
128-times oversampling analog-to-digital machine. Sprey thinks
their machine best preserves the warmth and the room ambiance
of an analog recording for CDs.
"Separate from this
technical perfectionism is a vastly more important set of qualities
at Mapleshade - that's how people feel in the studio," explains
Sprey. "The first and most important thing about the room is
that musicians are able to see and hear each other. It's not
a dead room lined with Sonex and isolation booths. The second
most important thing in the room is the windows. It's amazing
how many musicians like to look out the windows, because a black,
foam-like room without windows can be an extremely hostile environment.
The third most important thing here is that musicians set the
schedule here. There's no producer watching the clock, muttering
about "time is money" and asking for three more takes before
midnight."