A rare picture of Jack in the studio provided by his son Nick.
Sometimes recording history arrives in carefully catalogued boxes from an auction house. Sometimes it comes through the door of your studio because of a conversation you had in a boxing class nearly ten years ago.
My connection to Jack Clegg, a British recording engineer whose career stretched through some of the most interesting years of the recording industry, began in exactly that unlikely fashion. Almost a decade ago in 2016, I met Jack’s son, Nick Clegg, when we were paired as sparring partners at a boxing class. As you do when attempting to punch a relative stranger without causing them any actual harm, we got talking. At some point Nick casually mentioned that his father had been a sound engineer.
Being a recording-studio owner, this immediately interested me. When somebody tells you their father worked in recording studios during the 1960s, there is an obvious question to ask. Well, obvious to me, anyway.
“Does that mean you’ve got a collection of vintage microphones somewhere?”
Nick said that, actually, he did. And that was about it. We went back to hitting each other. Life moved on. Then, almost a decade later, completely out of the blue, I received a message from Nick. He still had some of his father’s microphones. Would I be interested in keeping them at my recording studio for safekeeping? There are certain requests that require careful consideration.
And so, nearly ten years after that throwaway conversation between two sparring partners, two vintage Neumann KM86i condenser microphones that had belonged to Jack Clegg arrived at my studio. Suddenly I wanted to know much more about the man who had owned them.
Jack Clegg — John Philip Clegg — belonged to a generation of recording engineers whose work we have all heard, but whose names most of us have not. We tend to remember the artists and sometimes remember the producers and the studios. The engineer, meanwhile, is often reduced to a line in the small print — assuming they received a credit at all. Yet in the 1950s and ’60s, the recording engineer occupied an extraordinary position. This was before digital recording, before plug-ins, before virtually unlimited tracks, before instant recall and before the ability to repair almost every decision afterwards. Recording was a physical process. There was a room. microphones, a mixing console, magnetic tape. And there was an engineer making decisions. Jack Clegg was one of those engineers.
His career took him through an extraordinary collection of British studios: IBC, Decca, CTS and eventually AIR Studios, the recording complex established by George Martin and his partners. It was a career that placed him directly in the path of the enormous technological and musical changes taking place in British recording during the 1960s. Clegg appears to have begun his career at IBC Studios, before moving to Decca, where he worked for approximately three years. Decca was one of the great institutions of British recording, with its West Hampstead studios handling everything from popular music to classical sessions.
How his legacy unfolded
One particularly interesting Jack Clegg credit comes from 1962. On 8 June that year, Alexis Korner’s Blues Incorporated entered Decca’s West Hampstead studio to record what became R&B from the Marquee. Despite the title, the album wasn’t actually recorded at the Marquee Club. It was a studio recording, and the recording engineer was Jack Clegg. That places him at a fascinating little junction in British musical history. Alexis Korner’s circle became one of the breeding grounds for the British blues boom. Musicians passing through or around that scene would go on to populate some of the most important British bands of the following decade. Clegg was sitting on the other side of the glass, capturing some of that movement as it began to gather momentum.
His abilities were noticed. Producer Jack Good, writing in Disc in July 1962, discussed the importance of engineers to his records and singled out Clegg, whom he used for his Karl Denver sessions, alongside engineer Terry Johnson. Good described the pair simply as “superb.” It’s a tiny fragment of contemporary evidence, but an illuminating one. Jack Clegg wasn’t merely somebody assigned to operate the equipment. Producers actively wanted him on their sessions.
In 1963, Clegg moved to CTS — Cine-Tele Sound Studios — in Bayswater. This opened another chapter of his career. CTS became particularly associated with orchestral recording, film scores and television work. Recording a large orchestra for a film is a rather different proposition from putting a pop group onto tape. Dozens of musicians might be playing simultaneously, and the engineer had to understand not only microphones and electronics but orchestral balance, the acoustics of the room and the complicated relationship between all three. There was no screen full of waveforms waiting afterwards. The sound had to be created there and then.
By the early 1970s, a profile of Clegg described him as having recorded music for hundreds of films and television commercials. Among his film work were productions including Eye of the Devil and Goodbye, Mr. Chips. But one soundtrack in particular has become associated with Jack Clegg, and it is a rather appropriate one for an engineer, because people are still talking about how good it sounds. The 1967 spoof Bond film Casino Royale was chaotic, extravagant and famously peculiar. Its soundtrack was something else entirely. The music was composed by Burt Bacharach, with sessions taking place at CTS in January 1967. The orchestra was enormous — accounts put it at somewhere around 50 to 60 musicians — and more than 100 musical cues reportedly had to be recorded. THat’s a lot of time and a lot of magnetic tape.
American engineer and producer Phil Ramone was involved with the project, but British union rules prevented him from engineering the London sessions himself. So the man actually sitting at the controls was Jack Clegg. And Clegg apparently pushed the equipment hard. The score was recorded onto three-track tape, and accounts of the sessions describe Clegg recording at unusually high levels to obtain the sound he wanted. It worked. The Casino Royale soundtrack subsequently acquired something of a cult reputation among audiophiles and hi-fi enthusiasts because of the extraordinary quality, dynamics and immediacy of the recording.
There is something I particularly like about this story. Modern recording gives us an enormous safety net. We can record conservatively, preserve vast amounts of headroom, capture countless takes and make decisions later. Clegg was working in an environment where the engineer needed to know the equipment intimately enough to understand how far it could be pushed. The meters might say one thing. Experience might say another. And sometimes the engineer was right. That is perhaps difficult to appreciate now. A recording engineer of Jack Clegg’s generation wasn’t simply documenting a performance. The entire recording chain became part of the instrument. The choice of microphone mattered. Where it was placed mattered. The console mattered. The tape machine mattered. The tape formulation mattered. The level hitting the tape mattered. And the room mattered enormously. A tiny change made at the beginning of that chain could affect everything that followed.
Which brings me back to the two microphones.
The microphones Nick entrusted to me are a pair of Neumann KM88i condenser microphones. For anyone without the peculiar affliction that causes recording engineers to become excited about old German microphones, some explanation is probably necessary. Neumann is one of the great names in microphone manufacturing, and its microphones have been fixtures of professional recording studios for generations. The KM88i was part of the company’s small-diaphragm condenser family and, importantly, was a transistorised microphone with three selectable polar patterns. Rather than having a single fixed pickup pattern, the engineer could select between omnidirectional, cardioid and figure-of-eight operation. In practical terms, that gave an experienced engineer a remarkably adaptable microphone.
And experienced is certainly the word that applies to Jack Clegg. I don’t yet know precisely where these particular microphones travelled with him, what they recorded or which sessions they may have been used on. That distinction matters. It would be tempting to put two and two together and announce that these microphones recorded some famous session simply because Jack owned them. That isn’t how historical provenance works. Unless evidence emerges connecting a particular microphone to a particular recording, the responsible thing is to leave the question open. But we do know something much more tangible. They were his. They were part of the working life — or at the very least the later equipment collection — of a recording engineer who spent decades making records and film scores. And now they have another home in a working recording studio.
By the end of the 1960s, the recording industry Jack had entered was changing almost beyond recognition. Three- and four-track recording was giving way to eight-track and then sixteen-track machines. The studio itself was becoming increasingly creative. Engineers weren’t merely capturing performances; records were being constructed inside the control room. In 1970, Clegg moved into precisely that world when he joined AIR Studios. AIR had been established by George Martin and his partners, and its new Oxford Circus facility represented the emerging generation of independent British recording studios. Clegg arrived from CTS with enormous experience of orchestral and film recording. A 1971 AIR advertisement listed the studio’s engineering team: Bill Price. Jack Clegg. John Punter. Alan Harris. It’s quite a list.
Clegg continued working through this new era and was involved with Johnny Nash’s “I Can See Clearly Now” in 1972. Alan Harris later recalled Clegg in particularly glowing terms, regarding him as the finest engineer he had worked with and remembering the remarkable clarity and depth he could achieve in his recordings. Again, there is that same recurring theme. Among the people who actually worked alongside Jack Clegg, his abilities seem to have made an impression. Outside that world, his name largely disappeared.
There are markings and signs of use on Jack’s microphones. I intend to document them carefully — serial numbers, cases, clips, labels and all — because those details may eventually tell us more about where they came from and when Jack acquired them. Perhaps more of their history will emerge. Perhaps it won’t. But there is another source of history considerably more valuable than a serial-number database: Jack’s son. Nick has already very kindly entrusted the microphones to my care. He has also given me something that makes this story considerably more personal: a rare photograph of Jack himself in the studio.
For me, that photograph changes things. Until now, I had been piecing together Jack’s professional life through credits, old trade publications, a recorded interview, studio histories and the recollections of people who worked with him. Suddenly there is the man himself, photographed in the environment where he spent so much of his working life. The photograph and the microphones belong together. One captures Jack behind the scenes in an industry where engineers were rarely the people being photographed. The other consists of the physical tools of that trade, still here decades later.
Jack is stlll alive at this present day at 93 in aged care Bletchley UK. Perhaps this article might find it’s way to Clegg, and I’m rather hoping it might warm the heart and impress his carers. If you worked with Jack at IBC, Decca, CTS or AIR — or remember a session he engineered — I’d love to hear from you. Recording history isn’t only contained in famous photographs, master tapes and gold records. Sometimes it survives in people’s memories. Sometimes it survives in the equipment. And sometimes, quite unexpectedly, it walks through the door of your studio in the form of two old Neumann microphones.
As I continue to share my journey through the music and pro-audio industry—from Melbourne to London, back to Melbourne, and now on to Bristol—I’ve met many colleagues with great stories who provide excellent service.
When I needed the studio bass guitar serviced, I came across Eltham Jones while he was still based at Mickleburge in Stoke Croft. I was pleasantly surprised to receive such a warm welcome—both personally and in his genuine interest in my Fender Jazz Bass (in Fiesta red, I might add).
Eltham suggested a change the pickups and on a gut instinct followed his recommendation. The result was outstanding. Although now semi retired he is still very, passionate, knowledgeable and connected. Take a read through our quick-fire interview it’s a great read!
Hey Eltham thanks for joining in my quick-fire interviews series. Can you tell readers what first got you into working on guitars, and how did that turn into a full-time business?
I’d been studying Psychology at University when my parents marriage broke up. I couldn’t continue studying so I ended up in the library looking for alternative careers. On my way out there was a notice up looking for students for a full time course in Viol making at something called the “Musical Instrument Technology Centre” located about a mile from my house. I’d always been fascinated by early instruments since seeing a Lute maker interviewed on a Welsh TV programme, “Hamdden” (translation: hobbies or leisure activities) and I’d followed all of the late David Munrow’s programmes like “Ancestral Voices”. So it seemed like an opportunity to good to miss.
I was too late to enrol for the course, but I was offered a place on a government job creation scheme based at the school which solved my immediate financial problems and studied guitar making at evening course during the first year while working full time on all sorts of other instruments during the day. At the end of the first year I transferred to the full time course as a student. By this time the finances had stabilised and I was able to scratch a living by employing my skills as a commercial sculptor and pattern maker, which I continued to do after I’d left the college, which had now been rebranded “The Welsh School of Stringed Instrument Making and Repair”.
I continued as a sculptor/pattern maker for a couple of years until about 1982, when Hohner bought British Music Strings in Bedwas and I was inveigled by a friend into becoming their on-site guitar tech for about six years before getting into the retail side of things with Cranes Musical Instruments in Cardiff; so I kind of tripped and accidentally fell into the business. There was never anything like a plan…
Eltham, what’s something most guitar players don’t realise about keeping their instrument in good shape?
The importance of regular maintenance and attention to detail. I spend my life fixing connections that have broken because pots and sockets have been allowed to work loose and chew up wiring inside. Tuners that break because the threaded ferrules have been left loose. Guitars that don’t stay in tune because the player has wrapped a yard of string on the spindle so the first time you tug it the tuning just collapses. For pity’s sake, get a spanner and learn how to use it.
You’ve worked on a lot of different guitars over the years—do any memorable or unusual repairs stand out.
There are several. The first one that comes to mind was a bass guitar – I think it was a Warwick, or a Spector – and the neck had broken, but it wasn’t a regular crack; there was a vertical rift running through the headstock and about eighteen inches down the line of the neck, in addition to a complex hinge fracture. “I’ve taken it to three people and they’ve all said that it can’t be fixed, but they’ve all said to take it to you”. My first response was “I’m very flattered but what makes them think I have any magic in my fingers that they don’t have” but I never like to concede defeat and it was a slow period, so I agreed to take a look.
One of my favourite tools is the Spanish Windlass. It’s basically like a tourniquet; a loop of cord twisted with a rod, which allows you to apply vectored tensile force to a joint, and it’s the sort of thing that works where compressive clamps don’t. It’s main use is to keep a hinge fracture closed or open while glue is applied before applying compression clamps, but in this case I was able to contrive a network of these that applied torque and pressure to the complex fractal break that allowed the whole thing to come back together rather neatly. The oil finish of the bass helped, because high gloss finishes are much hard to repair then low gloss oil ones. I’ve got a photo somewhere of it on my bench, with all the clamps and cordage attached, looking like the rigging of Renaissance era galleon.
For someone bringing their guitar in for the first time, what can they expect from a proper setup or service?
I’ve had people come to me expecting – even wanting – a level of service that they don’t need; sometimes because they’ve misdiagnosed the problem, sometimes because they’ve been led to believe – often by online ‘experts’ who haven’t seen the guitar – that this is what they need.
I lost one customer who insisted that I should just do what the customer wants rather than
second-guess their requirements. I take the view that if what they want isn’t going to fix the problem, but something else would, then it’s my job to advise accordingly. In this case he wanted to spend over £200 on a refret he didn’t need, when the only problem was that his guitar hadn’t been properly set up. There are sound reasons for wanting a refret, but this wasn’t one of them and, if I’d been unethical, I could have just taken his money, delivered a refretted guitar, included the set up that is standard with all refrets anyway and sent him away happy but with a guitar that was substantially no different than if I’d just done the set up for a quarter of the price; but I would have felt like a fraud.
My motto is “Don’t tell me the solution; tell me the problem. The solution is my department”.
If you could give every guitarist one simple piece of advice to improve their instrument or sound, what would it be?
Forget about trying to be someone else. Buying those strings that Tommy Emmanuel uses won’t make you into Tommy Emmanuel. A friend wrote a song called “Sounds like me”. The lyrics listed all the gear and devices he’d bought over the years in an attempt to emulate his heroes but lamented that in the end he “just sounds like me”.
One single, simple piece of advice though? Pay attention to your strings. I don’t mean just the condition or the gauge. The string is the interface between you and the guitar. It takes what you do, and translates it into a form of energy that the guitar can use. This is a huge subject, so I’ll try to condense it as much as possible.
Most people are accustomed to the idea of the scale length and the tension of the string being related, but it’s so much more complex than that. If you have a guitar with a trapeze tailpiece, for example, like an Epiphone Casino, the same strings you put on a stop tailpiece 335 will feel softer on a Casino because the tailpiece “harp” will absorb some of the stretch when you press the string down and the string will also vibrate with a wider excursion arc because this increase in what we engineers call “compliance” allows the string to move further before the increase in tension hits that point of dynamic equilibrium that allows resonance to occur. This will affect things like how much arc relief you need in the fingerboard and how low you can get the action.
The same top E string on a Les Paul will require less bending than on a Strat because of two things: the position of the tuner is closer to the nut on a Les Paul and the LP has a stop tailpiece while the strat has a floating tremolo bridge as well.
Make sure tuners are tight and stable and that your string wrap is neat. If your string wrap is sloppy and untidy this will pull top end sustain from your string, making them sound wooly as well as lacking pitch stability. Tone is subjective, but an unruly string wrap will always make it worse.
In 2009, when I moved back to Melbourne – the city where I was raised – I was reunited, by an incredible coincidence, with old friend Sebastian from my university days. Over the years, Seb had built himself into a high-end designer, producer, and international seller of Class A valve recording equipment.
We recently caught up at one of our favourite coffee spots in Northcote. We talk for hours from music to life and back to music. He agreed to answer five key questions for my blog readers – offering insight into what has made his gear and business the independent success it is today. T-Bone Tunes studio houses his dual valve preamplifiers from 2009 that gets used on a regular basis for that clean yet warm characterful tone.
Seb, your gear is often described as having a strong sonic character—when artists plug into a Sebatron unit, what kind of emotional or creative response are you hoping to inspire in their performances?
Naturally the aim is to get the artist to feel as comfortable and confident as possible so that the performance that is captured is closest to what the artist has envisioned. Once this is established the channels of creativity should be unobstructed so that the flow of ideas is unhindered. At no point should the sonics of the performance be a concern to the artist as that should all be taken care of with the gear.
When you’re developing a new piece of gear, how much do you think about the artist’s experience in the moment of recording, as opposed to the engineer shaping the sound afterward?
During product development it is important for me to maintain an objective approach with design so that the product can have a wide application. In regard to the artist we try to make the layout of the designs as user friendly and straightforward as possible to minimise any decision making that could slow down their work.
Our preamps have direct inputs on the front panel and all parameters easily accessible for quick adjustments. With the preamps the primary idea is to apply some mild colouration during tracking so that less processing is required in the mixdown and mastering stages.
By careful design and trimming the parameters so that the most musical settings are set closest to ‘default’ when the unit is used we get close. By this I mean adjusting the ranges of the relevant parameters so that it is difficult to make things sound ‘bad’…
Many artists talk about chasing a feeling in a single take. How do Sebatron designs aim to help capture something authentic and immediate, rather than something overly polished?
As mentioned, applying some mild colouration during the tracking process is part of the key. The average digital recording system has a dynamic range of around 90 to 120 db yet after real world adjustments and ambient noise the listening environment only facilitates around 60 to 80 db. That means that subtleties and sounds of articulation often get lost because of masking or simply drop out.
In earlier days when recording to tape one could rely on tape compression to knock down peaks so that the dynamic range could fit. Nowadays the tendency with digital recording is to squash it in mastering. By applying some mild colouration during tracking we can mitigate the amount of compression used during mastering which makes the sound more natural and authentic.
Seb, tell us do you involve musicians or producers during your development process? If so, can you share an example where artist feedback directly changed the direction of a product?
Where appropriate we try to include as much external feedback and input as possible. That involves getting prototypes out to various producers or engineers and making adjustments if necessary to suit their requirements. It also involves deep conversation about details in sound and sound manipulation.
In one example a producer mentioned the requirement of separate side-chain inputs for the compressors so that he could ‘duck’ vocal tracks when certain instruments were active. That made sense so we included them.
Some artists want gear that disappears, while others want it to add colour. How do you approach designing equipment that can support different artistic identities without getting in the way of the performance?
Moderation is important and a set of aesthetics that define the sonic strategy of the design have to be established early on. Generally speaking the two main categories that the artists usually fall into are experimental and non-experimental.
If we are designing for the experimental then something that can overly manipulate the sounds is encouraged. Rules can be broken in design and what passes through may have little resemblance to what was sent in. On the other hand , a non-experimental approach means sticking to the rules and referring to classic formats. By evaluating all these perspectives and approaches we get the Sebatron design.
Solid State Logic SSL 18 Interface Enters The Studio
Pleased to announce the addition of the latest interface by Solid State Logic has been added to the studio.
This brings the total number of analogue inputs my studio offers to 32!! Why so many you ask?
With the advent and resurgence of hands-on analogue synthesisers, groove boxes and drum machines we can now set while productions up and record in one go!
Guitars, microphones, synth, effects and other new gear all ready to rock!
Today I’m going to discuss whether or not we should audio transformers for signal colouration in the recording signal chain. Whether you’re new to recording or a seasoned professional remind yourself what is going on behind the metal plates of the wonderfully made outboard gear we record through. Should I use audio transformers or transformerless for a certain microphone or a certain voice is a regular question in the recording studio. I can’t cover all the combinations so in this article I’m focussing of vocal recording.
Bear in mind if you’re not using outboard gear there are many software emulations of audio transformers. Some are good but in my opinion many are not. Note that most of them have exceptional graphics of vintage equipment – because that’s the easy part! Do your research and AB testing of plug-ins can help.
Using or avoiding audio transformers in the signal path when recording voices depends on your desired sound character, the equipment you’re using, and the recording environment. Here’s a breakdown of considerations:
Why You Might Use Audio Transformers
Enhanced Warmth and Color:
Transformers can add harmonic richness and a pleasant coloration to the sound. This is often described as “warmth,” “body,” or “character.”
Many classic microphones and preamps (like Neve or API units) include transformers that contribute to their sought-after sound.
Signal Isolation:
Transformers provide galvanic isolation, which can help reduce ground loops and electrical noise, ensuring a cleaner signal.
Handling High Impedance Signals:
Transformers can assist in impedance matching, optimizing the transfer of audio signals between devices and maintaining signal integrity.
Vintage Vibe:
If you’re aiming for a retro or vintage tone, using transformers might help achieve that sound signature.
Why You Might Avoid Audio Transformers
Transparency:
Transformers inherently color the sound. If you need a clean, transparent recording, such as for modern pop, classical, or audiobook recording, transformerless designs are often preferred.
Many modern preamps and interfaces use high-quality transformerless circuits for a neutral, uncolored sound.
Signal Path Complexity:
Every additional component in the signal chain introduces potential distortion, noise, or signal degradation. Simplicity in the signal path can lead to more accurate recordings.
Cost and Weight:
High-quality transformers are expensive and can add bulk to your equipment.
Potential Overload:
Transformers can saturate when handling high-level signals, creating distortion. While some find this desirable, it may be unwanted in certain contexts.
Best Practices
Evaluate Your Goals: If you want a polished, modern, and transparent sound, transformerless paths might be better. For rich, classic tones, transformers could enhance your recording.
Test and Compare: If you have access to equipment with and without transformers, record tests to hear the differences. Trust your ears and choose what serves the music best.
Use Quality Equipment: If using transformers, ensure they are of high quality to avoid excessive coloration or undesirable distortion.
Consider the Genre and Application: For example:
Jazz, rock, or vocal ballads: Transformers might be a great choice for their tonal characteristics.
Podcasts or voiceovers: Transparency might take precedence.
Conclusion
Neither approach is inherently better—it’s all about the sound you’re aiming for. If you’re unsure, experimenting with both styles in your setup can provide clarity and insight into what best suits your recording needs.
I recently dove back into the theory behind studio equalisers (EQ) and stumbled upon a fascinating question: who actually invented the parametric equaliser? If you’ve ever worked in a high-end recording studio, chances are you’ve encountered the sonic magic of George Massenburg’s 8200 Parametric EQ. And if you haven’t, trust me, it’s a thrilling sonic adventure waiting to happen!
To my surprise, I discovered that George Massenburg is not just a brilliant audio engineer but one of the pioneers behind the parametric EQ itself. I always knew he was a genius, but this revelation takes his legacy to another level. Intrigued, I dug deeper and found his open letter detailing his insights on the topic. You can check it out here: George Massenburg’s Open Letter.
And let’s talk about that magical feeling our ears experience when using the Massenburg EQ. It’s like bathing one’s ears in the sounds golden. Part of the secret lies in his use of frequency phase shifting, which does delicate adjustments to the overall audio. If you want to elevate your sound experience, understanding these nuances is key. So, let’s celebrate the genius behind this technology and explore how it can transform our audio creations!
