What Is a Producer‑Engineer?
A personal journey through trust, tone, and the space between the notes
There’s a moment at the start of nearly every project where you’re just sitting in a room with strangers and silence. No red light yet. No headphones. Just a kettle on the boil and the soft buzz of unfamiliarity.
And then slowly, the space fills with stories. Musical references. Personal goals. Tastes. Insecurities. Excitement. That’s the start of the work - and it’s the point where being a producer-engineer begins to feel less like a job and more like a relationship.
Because to me, a producer-engineer isn’t just a technician. It’s a mix engineer with a creative conscience. Someone who can take the sprawling vision of an artist or band and quietly shape it into something that both feels right and sounds right. I learn the internal voice of the artist, the way they think, what they value - and then I apply every tool I’ve got: genre knowledge, technical skill, industry awareness, intuition, patience.
It’s not about taking control. It’s about helping something take shape.
Sounding Off: The Producer’s Role – Sound on Sound offers some great additional insight if you're curious how the role has traditionally evolved.
Producer-engineer: creative guide or technician?
It’s both. Always both. And the balance changes every time. Some artists arrive with a clear vision - all they need is someone to illuminate it. Others are sitting with a brilliant raw idea and no map. In those cases, I’ll help draw the lines around what the music is trying to become.
The best way I can describe it is like being a translator. I take the emotional core of the work and convert it into frequencies, textures, and structures that make sense to the listener.
But it has to make sense to the right listener.
At Vibrations, everything starts with people
At Vibrations Studios in Huddersfield, the very first thing we do is talk. Not about gain staging. Not about mics. We talk about them. The person. The group. The story behind the music. We don’t track a thing until we understand one another.
From there, we talk references. What music speaks to them? What kind of crowd do they want to move? I even ask them to picture a fan. Not just the “target audience” - but the kind of person who will sit with this music and feel seen by it. Once we know that, we know what kind of sound we’re building.
I don’t hover above the process like a producer archetype, and I don’t hang back behind the glass like a distant engineer. I get in it. I act like an extra band member. We collaborate. And we respect each other's vision enough to know when to take the lead and when to listen.
Groove, clarity, and the underrated power of upbeats
People often ask if I change my approach across genres like ska, dub, and psytrance. The short answer: yes. The longer answer? Yes but there’s a common groove philosophy interwoven throughout.
What that means isn’t always obvious.
Groove isn’t about louder drums or tighter kicks. It’s about what happens in the space between. The upbeat - that little whisper of time that tells you whether to move your hips or stand still. Get the upbeats wrong, and the whole thing loses life. Get them right, and the track moves like it’s breathing.
Berklee’s guide to groove offers a lovely breakdown of how we subconsciously follow those rhythmic cues, if you’re curious to dig in.
In ska - especially ska-punk - midrange clarity is key. Brass, guitars, vocals, and woodwind all live in a similar tonal space. That means I start fighting frequency masking before the first take is even finished.
In dub and psytrance, it’s all about the low end. Much like nu-metal or metalcore, if your bass isn’t clear, your dancefloor dies. A clean, defined sub range gives everything above it permission to play.
Katie Colbrook and the sound of trust
One of the most rewarding recent projects I’ve worked on has been with polymath vocalist Katie Colbrook. She has perfect pitch and arrives to sessions with fully arranged multi-part harmonies in her head. It's like sitting in a room with an orchestra that hasn't turned up yet.
On paper, I’m just there to capture it. But in reality, I’m part of the architecture.
For her lead vocals, I use a classic U47 FET microphone for that detailed presence. For her backing vocals, ribbon mics are my go-to (usually a Coles 4038, but recently I’ve been reaching for the Sontronics Sigma 2 for a different colour). Why? Because ribbons soften those delicate mids. When you’re stacking layer upon layer of harmonies, that softness helps avoid the “magnified midrange” effect that can start to sound boxy or harsh.
Shure’s mic selection guide outlines the strengths of each type and why tonal variety between lead and backing can make a real difference.
Then I run the leads through a Warm Audio Pultec EQ with a small 8kHz boost for intelligibility. For the backing vocals, I dial in a slight cut at the same frequency. This approach saves time later in the box - and avoids the phase issues that can build up when you EQ aggressively after tracking.
If you’re interested in how EQ and phase interact, iZotope’s guide is a solid explainer without being too dense.
That’s engineering.
But the real magic happens in the production. Together we dig into these dense, sprawling arrangements; exploring structure, texture, timbre; and find a collaborative endpoint which means her goals for the piece match her vision. She’s passionate. Detailed. Focused on complexity. I help make sure it all still connects with the people she wants to reach.
Misunderstandings and invisible problems
When I started out, I was encountering artists who thought hiring a producer meant hiring a technician. They’d expect me to follow their instructions to the letter, even when I knew those choices would let them down. That was a tricky line to tow and I didn’t always get it right.
I don’t argue. I explain. I try to show my thinking, and if we still disagree - we find a third option. Something that works for both of us.
There’s a difference between compromise and collaboration. One feels like giving in. The other feels like moving forward.
And sometimes the best thing I can do is something small and quiet. Like when a nervous artist just can’t seem to hit their best vocal take. I’ve had those moments. So I walk in, pull the blinds, turn off the lights - and let them sing in the dark. That little shift in atmosphere can turn tension into freedom. Suddenly they’re not performing for the room. They’re performing for the song.
Evolving roles, softening edges
I used to be more rigid. I wanted everything done a certain way. But music is messier than that - and people are much messier. These days I see every project as a holistic process. I’ve played in bands. I’ve mixed everything from psytrance to punk. I even manage social media for artists now, helping them build authentic brands and release strategies. This has completely overhauled the way I approach the production process. Now when I produce someone, I’m not just thinking about how it sounds. I’m thinking about how it fits. Where it sits in their catalogue. How it reflects their message. The sound becomes part of the artist’s world - not just part of a song.
Where to next?
If you’re curious about more of my production process, I’ve written in depth about:
Coming soon:
Reamping for texture: how to add grit and realism to sterile recordings
When not to mix in solo: why hearing things in context changes everything
Final thoughts
Being a producer-engineer isn’t about telling people what to do. It’s about listening with purpose. Shaping without overshadowing. Building something that feels right and sounds real.
It’s a quiet role. But it’s a powerful one. And it’s different every time.
If you’re a producer, engineer, or artist who works closely with both sides of the desk - I’d love to hear how you see your role. What’s changed for you? What’s stayed the same?
Let’s talk.