By Jim Walsh
Many years ago, I was chatting with Run Westy Run’s Kirk Johnson of the notorious Johnson brothers of St. Louis Park (SLP) when I asked him why so many creative people hail from that very groovy western Minneapolis suburb. It’s a remarkable list that includes Jeff Victor, Peggy Orenstein, Pete Hautman, Dan Israel, Peter Himmelman, Paige Bueckers, Mary Lahammer, Joel and Ethan Coen, Thomas Friedman, Marc Perlman, Sharon Isbin, Dan, Matt, and Kit Wilson, Bobby “Z” Rivkin, and many more.
“The creosote,” Kirk replied, instantly and knowingly, about the creosote plant that contaminated the air and water in the area for decades until it was closed in 1972, and which might explain the “something in the water” theory behind the origins of the creative hotbed that is SLP.
Add to the list Rob Genedak, SLP High School class of 1979, whose production and engineering work boasts as impressive a resume as any of the school’s more famous alumni. Over the years, Genedak has been behind the board for many Minnesota records. These days, he’s never been busier, with a flurry of Genedak-produced projects coming out of his Uptown Sound Recording studio and hitting the airwaves, including new releases from the likes of John Gorka, Mary K. Stone, John Magnuson, and other local favorites. Genedak is also an in-demand live and studio drummer for local acts The D’Lindas, the Randy Casey Band, Doug Collins & The Receptionists, Rob The Carpenter and others. A multi-instrumentalist and Grammy-nominated producer, he’s well-versed in performance and all aspects of music-making. Above all, as this recording artist knows firsthand, he’s a good listener.
I sat down with Genedak over cheese curds and Diet Cokes at his preferred neighborhood pub, Bull’s Run, to talk about his life in music:
Jim Walsh: Tell me how this all started. You grew up in St. Louis Park and went to high school there, which is legendary for its arts programs and influential teachers, yes?
Rob Genedak: Yes. It was incredible, in that weird little golden window when all the people came out of St. Louis Park, like the Coen Brothers and Dan Wilson, Matt Wilson, Mark Olson, and Mark Perlman of the Jayhawks. You know, the list goes on and on. And I had Peter Himmelman and all those guys. I was friends with all those guys.
I think it was about a seven-year range where all these people graduated and [went on to do great things], and it all comes down to the teachers, the staff at the high school. They were just great teachers.
JW: Was there an especially impactful music teacher, or art teacher?
RG: All of those things. Great art teachers, a great photography guy, a great writing instructor. Everybody had mentors from the school back then. Public school, open campus. We could come and go as we please. I set my own schedule. I never took a class before 10 a.m. so I could sleep in.
JW: What was that St. Louis Park music scene like when you went to high school? I’m thinking Sussman Lawrence, The Panic and early Trip Shakespeare, all the Prince players, all those guys were involved in high school music.
RG: Well, I was doing that as well. I was a musician. Played in the jazz band and different things. I played vibes because none of the percussion players wanted to play the vibes, and I was willing to learn. For some reason, I was always the guy that was asked to set up the PA for whatever we were doing. I just seemed to have a knack. They had an actual 10-watt FM radio station, KDXL, and I was a DJ. I talked the program director into letting me have the afternoon progressive hour, so I got to basically play whatever I wanted.
JW: What did you do with all these chops after high school?
RG: I started working with Sussman Lawrence right out of high school, doing sound. I did that for a bunch of time, and then I decided that I wanted to go back to college. So I went to school, went down to [the University of Wisconsin at] Lacrosse. I was on the gymnastics team as a two-time All-American and a national champion on high bar down there.
So I did that, and then I kind of ran out of money because I didn’t have a scholarship. You know, Division III schools—you don’t really get scholarships. Dale Goulet became the sound guy for Sussman Lawrence. Limited Warranty was looking for a new singer, and Dale was a great singer, so he ended up leaving Sussman to join Limited Warranty, and I came back and took that job. I saved up enough money to go back to school for another semester, but I ended up moving to New York with Sussman Lawrence. We all lived in a house together out there in New York for two or three years and were really broke.
I took a job in New Jersey teaching gymnastics to make enough money because I just wasn’t making any money [doing sound]. At some point, I just had to move home, so that’s kind of when I started [my studio career]. I was in a band called Citizens Patrol with Mark Cameron, and went into [Lakesity] studio in St. Louis Park, owned by Les Walstein. I said, “Hey, can I get a better rate if I do the engineering?” He said, “Sure.” So we got a discounted rate, and we did this little demo cassette tape.
At the end of the [session], he said, “Well, that sounds pretty good. You want a job?” And I’m like, “I got nothing going on, yeah!” So that’s when I started working in the studio.
Photo: Jim Walsh.
JW: What sort of stuff did you engineer and produce?
RG: Lakesity started out as a little eight-track place, and I started booking clients and doing my thing. Pretty soon, we upgraded to a 16-track machine. Peter Himellman had signed a record deal on his own, away from Sussman Lawrence, but it was exactly the same band. They came back to St. Louis Park and we recorded what was to be a demo for his first record for Island Records, and the record label liked it so much they said, “Well, that’s the record.” So they came back and we did some overdubbing, and then the record label hired Don Smith to mix it down in Nashville. Don thought that the mixes I’d done were pretty cool, so he wanted me to go down there to be an assistant engineer on the project. That was awesome for me. I learned so much.
JW: When did you open your own studio?
RG: I stayed [at Lakesity] for eight years, and then Les ended up going through a divorce and he had to liquidate the studio. I bought a bunch of pieces to have and opened up my own place. I was going to Nashville and New York and L.A. working on major label stuff, and things were going great. I was making a lot of money, but I was out of town nine months out of the year. My folks were getting older and I wanted to be around here. I got to be around during my folks’ last years and I had a great little studio, but I took the independent producer engineer hat off and put on small business owner. That’s a whole different game. [After two previous locations], I’ve been at the Uptown location for ten years, and I love it.
JW: What do you love about what you do?
RG: A lot of stuff. People. I mean, all these creative people. It’s awesome to be around all the time. I love making music. I love playing music. I do more playing and singing now than I ever did before. Love that. I love and hate the fact that I’m in charge of it all; I love that I can set my schedule, but I hate that I’m the one responsible for getting everything done. Nobody tells me what to do. That’s the hard one; just being able to stay continuously motivated. And of course, the money part of it is not great, especially now. I mean, the industry has continued to [turn to digital and self-recorded projects] since 2000, probably.
JW: I’ve worked with you and I’ve watched you work. What strikes me is, in addition to your studio expertise, you’re a great listener. You have to be, especially doing what you do, but not everyone is. Talk about that a little bit, about how you came to be a good listener, why it matters, and why more people should be good listeners. And you really have a good ear that way—for arrangements, beats, harmonies, everything.
RG: I mean, none of what I do is because of my genius. If you listen to the music and you listen to the artist, you find out who the artist is, what they’re all about, and then you listen to the expression of that through their music. To me, it’s almost like the music is telling me what should happen next. It’s not my great idea. It’s just that the music is asking for it, and I try to stay in that spot of listening and hearing everything, and somewhat asking questions, but mostly listening [so] that you’ll find something that you would have never thought of.
That’s kind of the cool part about listening to me. It removes my ego from the situation, and then when I write background vocal parts for people, that’s more coming from me and my sort of tendencies. But when I’m working with somebody like Randy Casey, his project was really awesome because he’s an amazing player, and if I can get him to a place where he’s channeling his [thoughts] instead of thinking about it, to a point where he’s just purely emoting, that’s what you want. No one’s going to be great [in the studio] because of nerves and other things, that’s when you have to try to nudge somebody to that spot.
JW: Do you have favorite projects you’ve done that you’re been particularly proud of being part of?
RG: There’s a lot of lot of stuff comes to mind. [A] project that no one has ever heard [is] called REN. She’s hard to find, but she finished this record and then did nothing with it. And no one’s ever heard it, and it’s amazing, and she’s amazing. The Peter Himmelman records and John Gorka, we’re doing another one right now and that man just does not slow down. The New York Times called him the leader in the modern folk movement and you would think that he would…just sort of peter out and start repeating himself, but his stuff today is just as fresh as the stuff from a long time ago. The first record I did with him was in like ’98, and we’ve done every record since then together.
Hindu Rodeo is a band you never hear of anymore, but that was great. Before he died, I worked with Michael Johnson, who did “Bluer Than Blue,” and those tracks are just waiting to be put out.
I did [the recordings for the] Compass [label] here in Minneapolis. They had a series called Lifescapes and were available at Target stores. I recorded 32 records for that series and I mastered all of them, and I got to work on a huge variety of stuff. Just with Jeff Victor alone, we did a ragtime record, several classical records, Latin stuff, Irish, Celtic, and Scottish stuff. So the job became to learn about each one of those genres and [present] it in a fairly authentic way.
JW: How do you think your personality fits with what you do? You’re a very calm presence. How do you make the studio a safe place to create in?
RG: It goes back to that first thing you were saying, to people being heard. You hear a person, and not just what they’re saying, but their vibe and their needs and what they need out of the situation to feel good. You accommodate them. I’ve always said that when I’m doing a good job at the studio, nobody even thinks about me because it’s just great music. It’s just the best when all of that energy is turning into something bigger than the individual parts, and I try to facilitate that. Make sure that everyone is heard and calm, so that they don’t have stuff that’s anchoring them down.
JW: Do you hear your records out there? On the radio or anywhere?
RG: I used to. God, there was one year where of the 18 cuts on the Cities 97 sampler, I had like 12. But that was when [local music radio airplay] was more of a thing, so not so much now, but it’s really great when I do.
JW: You’ve made a ton of great music. What else do you tell people about what you do?
RG: Well, it’s a service industry. That’s what most people forget. I’m there to serve you and to serve your vision. When things are going great, nobody knows I’m there. They just notice the great music. And when things are going bad, that’s when people start looking at me. That’s when I know that I have to sort of rise to the occasion and make it right. That’s a barometer. When people are looking at me, wondering what I’m doing, I must not be doing it very well.
JW: Fine line between being a fly on the wall and being checked out, I bet; in some ways I suppose it requires a certain detachment to make it happen.
RG: True, and then there are times when I’m sitting behind the glass [separating the control room from the recording studio] and I’ll just be thinking, “I can’t believe I’m here for this, listening to this incredible music being made.”
JW: And recorded!
RG: And recorded. All of that.
Jim Walsh is a veteran singer, songwriter, columnist, journalist, author, and historian from Minneapolis.
He can be reached at jim@demomn.org