Among the many artists producer Martin Bisi has worked with over the years is one Ginger Baker, who, of course, is known far and wide as the wonderfully talented drummer for Cream.

In this, the third and final installment of our conversation with Bisi, who recently released a strikingly original solo album titled Sirens of the Apocalypse, he talks about working with Baker on the legendary skins punisher's solo album, Middle Passage, and touches on his experience with Brian Eno, before taking us inside the studio that's been the site of so much groundbreaking experimental recording over the years.

Talk about your work with Ginger Baker on his solo album, Middle Passage.
Martin Bisi: Yeah, well that was an interesting concoction. I think that was at a time when ... that was my first reforming with [longtime collaborator Bill] Laswell, because we kind of had our falling out, and then we sort of reformed again a bit. And then, when we reformed, he was like balls-out world music, you know. It’s funny because early, early material with Bill... my early stuff was almost like New Wave pop-rock. And then he slowly, slowly started going more blatant into like world music.

Anyway, so that was part of that reforming the first time we got back together. He was being very prolific. At that time, he had a label deal with Island, and I remember, specifically, we were just kicking stuff out. It was almost just more about recording ideas, and it was all very Laswell oriented, and there was a lot of experimentation and weird sampling and stuff, and we would just get guests. And I think the problem with that was, it was hard to know what anything was. Like we would just record things, and we would go, “Well, what is this?”

I remember it was starting to be a little improvised as to what things were, like he would go, “Well, maybe this could be material?” And then there was some other songs where one of his collaborators, Nicky Scopalitis — who plays a lot of like, you know, near-Eastern stringed instruments, like Utes, and Bazukis and stuff — and if Nicky played a lot on that song, basically, Bill would be, “You know what, this could be a Nicky. This could be part of the Nicky record.” And then he’d go, “Well then, maybe Nicky should throw in another couple of songs.” So, then we have a Nicky record.
 
So, really, it wasn’t even clear what things were. Strangely enough, the Ginger Baker record was a little like that. It was like, “Oh, we’ll have Ginger Baker come in and play.” And he played, and then, suddenly, it was like, “You know what? Hey, this could be a Ginger Baker record.” So, I know that sounds a little odd, but that’s kind of how it went, and then we told... well, you know, we, I wasn’t at that conversation, but I guess Bill told Ginger, “Hey, you know what? We’d love to make a Ginger Baker record,” after it was half recorded, and he played the drums on everything.

So, that was actually really funny because they arrived, and it’s funny because I knew, and Bill was like, “Don’t say anything.” But, that’s what I’m thinking about. And I’m like, OK, and they arrived after having that lunch, and then Ginger was just like totally making fun of us, like (imitating Ginger), “OK, can I hear my record, then? Would that be OK? And if I have an idea for my record, would that be OK, too? And what’s the artwork going to be for my record?” He was totally like making fun of us. It was pretty hilarious.

So, I’m not trying to denigrate it at all, but you know, it is... I think it’s legitimate as a Ginger Baker record, but that’s kind of what happened.

A lot of work has been done over the years at BC Studio, the recording space you’ve owned since the early ’80s. How has the space evolved since the early days, and what kind of environment did you want to create with it?
MB: Yeah, it has physically changed quite a bit actually. Initially, it didn’t have the bottom floor. Initially, it was just two floors, and I guess the top floor doesn’t really count, because that’s kind of where I live, and that’s sort of the lounge area and stuff. But, initially, it was just the two floors.

So, I actually recorded everything in the control room. In other words, the board and the speakers were right there, and then there was like a large space in front of the board, and that’s where people recorded. Also, one thing that’s kind of significant is, with me, I didn’t really start envisioning a big career as an engineer or producer. It was literally something that I felt I could do and contribute, and I enjoyed it, but there was no big, long-term plan. I sort of started dabbling with it when I was 17, but that was more so, because there was like no place I felt I fit in musically. And I played drums at the time, and it didn’t seem like... I mean, for some reason, everything I played sounded very like funky, and it just didn’t seem like there was anywhere for me to fit in. Also, it seemed like drumming wasn’t really... I mean, even though I related to it as an instrument, it didn’t seem like it was involved enough in a way. I mean, drums, it’s just play the beat. It seemed like recording and being involved with producing, it was actually more creative in a bigger sense than actually drumming. I don’t want to put down drumming, but that’s how I was feeling.

Like it seemed like, unless I was going to be an unbelievable drummer, there was something more exciting that I could be doing. Also, what’s funny is, I just had a very strange, incredibly confident attitude. I can’t believe how confident I was. I actually believed that I was so the man that I could walk into any recording situation, without even knowing anything, and just do something just because I was me. I mean, it’s unbelievable when I think about it, because I don’t definitely don’t have those kinds of balls now, I think. I don’t ... I assume if I don’t know about how to do something, it’s not going to fly. Then I figured I don’t even need to know. I just go in, and I just start touching things and things are just going to happen. I totally believed that, and sometimes, it worked, and sometimes it didn’t.

In fact, when I worked with Eno, I think I had that kind of attitude, and it was fine for about a day, and then he soon realized I didn’t know anything. But, what’s so funny is, I completely presented myself like, “Yeah, I can do this.” So, I don’t know how you want to categorize that. I guess it’s just youthful folly, youthful overconfidence, maybe just ignorance. I really believed there was nothing more to know about it.

So, my point is, is that the studio was pretty bare knuckles. And, because I just thought I was doing this just at the moment, yeah we’re going to record next week, yeah, maybe we can get some stuff and record a few records, you know? I really wasn’t thinking... I wasn’t making plans for 10 years or anything like that. And, I wasn’t making any plans in terms of like great recordings. I wasn’t even thinking... that’s maybe why my attitude of recording was that way. I wasn’t really thinking along the lines of sessional recording. I wasn’t even suggesting that I was getting anyone a professional recording. In fact, I was almost against professional-sounding recording. I would hear them and go, "Yeah, you can just totally tell that’s some professional stuff." You know, and I would just be like ... in fact, the thing I really despised at the time was like fusion. There was a lot of very clean, very separated sounding recordings of like fusion of rock and jazz ... like Jeff Beck kind of stuff. And that’s the stuff I was like, “you can hear every single thing. How boring is that?” So, I had this attitude, I would just go in there, and it would just be right. So, anyway, with the studio being totally ... not a sort of, you know, well-honed situation ... you know, that’s just kind of how it was.

The board and the monitors were right in front in the same room, and eventually I acquired the space underneath. And that’s when I started getting a little more serious. I mean, the space underneath me was just available, and I thought, “Maybe I should get this.” And then it occurred to me, maybe I could be a little more serious and actually think about acoustics and stuff, and then that’s when I started really going into a different place. That took a little while.

What’s next for Martin Bisi?
MB: Honestly, I’m just trying to focus on me, as an artist. I must admit I’ve gotten a little disillusioned about ... a little disillusioned, I don’t want to make it out to be a very negative thing, but I’ve got a bit disillusioned about recording and engineering and producing. And basically, most of my creative output belongs to someone else. It has someone else’s name on it, and in a big way, it’s very hierarchical in a sense, you know? It’s like... and I know it’s hierarchical, but what’s been stunning to me is, how extremely hierarchical it is, not just that the artist’s name is at the front. It’s just that that’s all anyone really cares about. It’s a very tiny niche of people who really care who recorded a record, even though the whole process of recording, of anything really, is very collaberative, but really, it’s like this hierarchy.

It’s not just hierarchy. It’s like, winner takes all in a sense, you know. So, I guess I’ve just been feeling like engineering and producing is not exactly the best deal in a way. It’s almost like the more successful stuff becomes — I mean honestly, not to be too negative, because I’ve gotten a lot of good from all this — I’ve felt almost a little ripped off at times, you know, and it’s consistent. It’s not like one or two times. It’s like it’s just the way it works, so not to be too negative, but I’m trying to be me, me, me.