Tucson Weekly: Soundbites (December 23

Sound Bites CATCHING THE WAVELAB: A tree falls in the forest and no one is there to record it. Drag. Here, in this particular neck of the woods, Wavelab Studio has stood as a reality check for all of us falling timbres.
Craig Schumacher, owner, engineer, producer, and builder of all things interior there in the giant warehouse the studio has called home for a decade, shaped Wavelab into something more than just another recording studio...something other than anything this town had going on for the last 10 years, in fact. It's a cultural base for any manner of musician to pontificate their myth.
And exactly because of the wonderful, displaced ambiance of such an impossible place, recordings would happen there that could never occur anywhere else. It was always a healthy omen then when the hourly freights would whip by across the street, blasting their high lonesome drone just in time to be caught on tape. There's nothing like the brilliant cacophony of a train's blare as it instantly slips inside the song you're harvesting--like a free horn section from the gods.
Places like this are rare. And with the recording assistance and full-on contributions of one Nick Luca, more records were released from sessions there, and distributed globally, than any other recording group I'm aware of in this city.
To the tens of thousands of foreign and domestic fans, it literally put Tucson on the map, sonically speaking. It's always bemusing to witness the musings of a band and/or songsmith from the outer limits, longing to one day make the trek to Tucson to record at the fabled Wavelab. Must be some kind of romantic notion for an out-of-towner to spend their nights writing at the Hotel Congress, and work by day at the studio where the trains play hide-and-seek with their aspiring arrangements.
It was back in 1989 when I first made contact with the studio. I was living outside of Joshua Tree, California, and the idea of driving eight hours back to Tucson to record in a warehouse seemed to make more sense than driving the two hours into Los Angeles to record in a regular studio. Back then, it was called 7 'n' 7 because of the intersection where it was located. Randy McReynolds was also at the controls then, and would help out rounding up whatever players were needed for exploring the sonic kingdom. Folks such as Neil Harry, Tommy Larkins, Ned Sutton, Cantrell Mariott, Bridget Keating and others would join in the happenstance. And I found the hanger-like garage door real handy: I'd just drive my old '66 Cuda right on in and have the vehicle, where a bulk of the songs had just been written, parked close to the amps.
Blacky Ranchette, as well as stuff by Giant Sand, Calexico, OP8, The Friends of Dean Martinez, Dan Stuart/Green on Red, Naked Prey, Al Perry, Rich Hopkins/Luminarios, Barbara Manning, Richard Buckner, Bill Janowitz/Buffalo Tom, and most exceptionally, the Inner Flame project with Rainer (and of course there were tons more, but these are only the records that I know for sure made their way beyond the perimeters of this town) had some real impact on folks out there in the furthest reaches. By that token, it's encouraging every now and then to hear a recording, by a band from beyond, that openly admits to such inspirational devices.
Wavelab allowed the brain to be free of the perilous trappings of the kind of standard studio esthetics that tend to lend a severe degree of nausea to the process. This place had its own sound as well as a sweet level of chaos to add to the mix.
So it is with tangy lament to note the end of an era. During the last week of October, Wavelab was finally evicted. The doors were actually padlocked at first, and after a brief meeting with the landlords' lawyers outside said padlock, Craig was given the rest of the week to get the hell out of there. Drag.
Things are supposed to change, for better or worse. That there is Newton's missing law of motion. Apparently, the once dismal shadowlands of the warehouse district are now in danger of becoming more liquid in the realm of art and realty.
After a majority of the unused warehouse space became occupied by Orts Theatre of Dance, Wavelab's days were numbered. The value of Wavelab as an important cultural by-product of an already long-established artist community made less and less sense to the landlords. What the hell is a sonic toggler anyway, and how could they attempt any real form of studio work nestled so close to the roaring tracks?
I don't know what they were thinking. But I knew from Craig's furrowed brow that they had long been growing disenchanted with the notion of his studio, as opposed to seeing what other trend of art workings they could attract there.
The final blow came after Craig refused to pay his rent for two months until the Bermans would meet with him. The basis of this gathering was so Craig could discuss with them why he now had to pay a much more massive electric bill. Since the entire warehouse was only on one meter, and the utility was in Craig's name, he was now paying for the combined use of electricity by Orts as well as his own. This request went ignored until they shut him down.
At the time of eviction, local band Creosote was in the middle of finishing their first record there. And besides the usual bevy of ordeals, Craig had offered to print out a large run of Rainer CDs in time for the first anniversary of his untimely death. The CD was to contain the last music Rainer made just prior to his passing, and at the request of his survivors, serve as a sacred memento for a gathering of loved ones to honor the occasion. Eviction and all, Craig made the time and found the space to keep stamping out those CDs in time for Rainer's family to deal with the delicate deadline. Per usual, he did this without compensation. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your politics, this has been his credo: Get the project done and figure out payment later.
Anyhow, it's been an amazingly long run for an impossible studio making impossible music for impossible people. Let this over-extended scatter of wordplay serve somewhat as a salute to the brave men of Wavelab Studio. May the texture of profitability stand side by side with their stubborn stance of profundity one day.
For more information on Wavelab's new whereabouts, you can still reach Craig at 622-3944. It's up and running at the old US West building downtown, with a landlord eager to welcome the vestiges of the steadfast sonic toggler. However, there you'll have to put up with a whole lot less train in your music. Drag.

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