Shelly Yakus is one of the true legends of the engineering trade, and his storied career demonstrates the value of an early start. You might even say he was born to record. His father and uncle were co-owners of Ace Recording in Boston, and young Shelly was a studio “rugrat” as far back as he can remember. As a young man, dazzled by the excitement of the New York studio scene, in 1967 Yakus applied for a job as an assistant at Phil Ramone’s fabled A&R Recording. After cutting his teeth on sessions by The Band (Music from Big Pink) and Van Morrison (Moondance), Yakus moved on to another staff position at The Record Plant.

Shelly behind the legendary API (originally from Sunset Sound) at Tongue and Groove Studios, Philadelphia.

There he recorded and/or mixed records for everybody from John Lennon (Walls and Bridges) to Patti Smith (“Because the Night”), Blue Oyster Cult (Agents of Fortune), Alice Cooper (School’s Out), and the Raspberries (“All the Way.”) Among many others. While still holding his staff job at Record Plant, he started freelancing with producer Jimmy Iovine; one of their first efforts was Tom Petty’s breakthrough album, Damn the Torpedoes.

After that, as a freelancer and later as chief engineer at A&M, Yakus logged credits on hits by Don Henley, U2, Lone Justice, and Bob Seger.

In this first installment, Yakus touches on sessions by the Band, Van Morrison and John Lennon while reflecting on the essential elements—both immutable and ephemeral—of the music recording art. The interview took place in August at Yakus’ new recording home, Tongue and Groove Studios in downtown Philadelphia. Owned by vintage instrument and gear collector Michael Block and his partner Dave Johnson, Tongue and Groove is a place with the 1950’s analog gear intertwines with the 21st century digital reality—the starting point of our conversation.

This is amazing. I’ve been in dozens of studios, many that have lots of vintage gear, but I’ve never seen anything like this. Like those Presto tape recorder electronics out there.

Yeah, isn’t that amazing. You know, my dad had a studio in Boston, and we had those tape recorders. I remember when we bought them new, and those tape recorders could make a 71/2 copy that was so good that you would have to stop the machine to know whether you were listening to the master or the copy.

I’ve heard of them vaguely, but they must have gone out, what, by the late fifties?

I would say they went out in the sixties, but I’m just guessing. They didn’t make machines for very many years, they just couldn’t keep up with Ampex. But they were great machines, believe me. We used to use them every day at the studio.

Was this at Ace?

Yes, that was my dad’s studio.

I checked that out on the internet, and I found out that Freddy Cannon did his first hits there.

Right. A little trivia thing, here, do you know what his last name was?

It was in that story, but I can’t recall.

Freddy Picarello. He was a go-fer in the studio, when I was a kid. I used to go there on weekends and in the summer, and he would go for coffee. A lot of talent came out of Boston.

So you were a studio kid?

Yes. I remember being ten years old and asking my dad, “Can I learn how to cut a record?” We had these Presto lathes, thay were fixed pitch cutting lathes for lacquers, and we used to do a lot of that work, cutting lacquers for a 78 or a 45, for a local band project. They would use those for demos and something to take home. So I remember he said to me, “Shelly, when you can see over the top of the tables, you can start cutting records.” And that happened when I was about fourteen, when I started working there regularly on summers and weekends.

But the most important thing I learned there was how to listen. That’s what my dad gave me, that’s what that place gave me. I remember the moment when I finally got it, and that was my foundation for everything I did after that. And I got a feel for the business. But that business belonged to my dad and his brother. He wanted me to stay there and take it over from him, but the demand for quality in Boston wasn’t like it was in New York. We used to get four track tapes in from New York, and I would hear them and they would sound just remarkable to me. It had a lot to do with the producers in New York saying to the engineer, “No, I’m not happy with that drum sound, let’s keep working on it.” In Boston, they were happy with whatever you gave them. I didn’t see the chance for a whole lot of growth. So I left and went to New York and got a job there, at A&R.