In a world that is increasingly influenced by Artificial Intelligence, to some folks the Do-It-Yourself philosophy remains a sensible alternative to getting things done. Tom Wanderer releases music under his own name and as part of the Milwaukee band Red Stuff (with Kelly Buros and Steve Tiber). He records the original music on (some might say archaic) four and eight track cassette machines; he maintains these rigs to keep them working. When the time comes, Wanderer designs artwork then screen prints the record covers by hand.
He is not a luddite. “I’m not opposed to digital recording,” Wanderer says, “but I’m very familiar with this equipment and I can set it up to get good results quickly. So, I’ll keep using it and repairing it myself until I can’t anymore.”
As magical and inspired as Wanderer and Red Stuff’s music can be he is quick to demystify his way of working on music. He is smart enough to provide a situation where inspiration is welcome and even offers his guidelines.
Tom Wanderer’s Rules for Recording
“This was mainly an exercise to identify what tends to work for me and where I tend to get bogged down and lose the feeling,” he says. “I wanted to have fun, make the most of my time, get somewhere interesting as fast as possible and not ruin it by trying to ‘fix’ some little thing I’m hung up on. They weren’t written in stone.”
- Exercise first. Do something to loosen up and clear your head. It takes the pressure off of getting started.
- Mise en place. Have things ready to go so you don’t have to spend time setting up when you’re ready to work.
- Get right to it. Even if you don’t know exactly what you’re going to do, jump right in and start working.
- Keep it focused. Don’t spend more than an hour on a song. A productive hour is better than a frustrating day.
- Limit yourself. To a number of takes, tracks, etc. Find the essence. Don’t add anything unnecessary.
- Mistakes are original. Don’t assume something is bad because it wasn’t intended. It might be interesting.
- Quit while you’re ahead. Stop working before you start to doubt or second guess what you’ve just put down.
- Mix right away but don’t go back and listen for at least a month. You’ll be more forgiving and open minded to what the song IS, less hung up on what you WANTED it to be.
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Heaven is Dangerous
Photo via Bandcap
Heaven is Dangerous by Tom Wanderer
'Heaven is Dangerous' by Tom Wanderer
Not unlike Wanderer’s Thursday afternoon WMSE radio show, Heaven is Dangerous offers a mashup of genres and influences to create something that comes best into focus when the listener simply rides along.
The distressed sound “Divine Right to Crawl” point to San Francisco wierdo duo Chrome. The strident persona of “Not Alone” hints at Krautrock turning into a vintage British R&B rave-up. “Fuzz Petals” subtle, crude drum machine and fuzz guitar solo set the late-night aura squarely into headphone music territory.
“Falling Asleep on the Train” unfolds like the soundtrack to a foreign film, “Help Me Make It Through the Dirt” could have been a pop song, yet the tune is content to rest on a few lines that might be the unadorned babble of one-take stream of consciousness. “The Reflection in the Water” uses the sound of an Indian tamboura and ominous keyboard as foundation.
Wanderer recently offered insights how the self-written, played and recorded Heaven is Dangerous took shape.
Did these songs accrue over time or was this a group of songs written with an album in mind—what is your writing process like—do you have a set time and place or rely on letting inspiration strike where it might?
I started a new job in spring of 2024 that had me working Saturdays with Mondays off—which was a major shift in my normal schedule. I had been thinking about a song I’d come up with about 17 or 18 years ago that I’d never gotten a good recording of and on one of my first Mondays off I made a quick demo of it.
It wasn’t amazing, but it was fun. A day or two after that I was getting clothes together to donate to the thrift store and found a piece of paper in an old coat that had a list of 15 songs on it from roughly the same time period.
There were others on there that I’d never recorded, and it seemed like a good project, so I recorded another one.
The next day Steve Albini died. He had been a big influence on me since I first met him and saw him play when I was 12 years old. I didn’t just like the way he played or his music or the music he recorded for other people, but also the idea that there’s no wrong way to do music.
And by that I just mean that if something works for you, if you feel good about something, then that’s as valid as anything else. That, ultimately, it’s for you and there’s no standard of criteria that it has to rise to in order to be legitimate.
His death was a shock. And I wouldn’t say that my project of getting these old songs out of my head took on an urgency after that, but it gave me a clear perspective that if I didn’t get them out of my head, they just wouldn’t exist.
I think I did spend more than an hour on a couple songs, but others went from start to finish in more like 20 minutes. All in all, it worked well. I started with the old songs that I’d never gotten down, and soon I was coming up with new ones, too.
I recorded regularly from spring to early summer, then again from early fall to January. I ended up with somewhere between 25 and 30 songs and didn’t start listening to them until March of 2025 Once I did, the album took shape immediately. It felt like the songs selected themselves.
What is your writing process like? Do you have a set time and place or rely on letting inspiration strike where it might? Is there such a thing as a “demo” for you or is anything potentially part of a finished song?
I still often use the term demo, but there is nothing in my mind that prevents a demo from being a finished song. Anything can be a finished song.
It’s all about capturing that elusive quality that makes a song something more—something we identify with. That stirs something in us or moves us or gives us a glimpse of something. Or relates to us or articulates a feeling we couldn’t describe.
I’m at the point where I’ll take that wherever I can get it. I have no pretense about medium anymore. If you captured a performance that gives you goosebumps on a phone, then that should be the album.
No matter how many takes you do, you can’t instill magic into something. You have to identify it and hold onto it wherever you find it, even if you do so grudgingly.
Similarly, equipment has been demystified to me. I’ll play a cool amp or guitar or whatever because I like it and because I think it’s cool, but it’s absolutely not making me a better player or making what I’m doing more legitimate or special.
What gear are you using to record with these days?
Heaven Is Dangerous used essentially the exact same recording setup as the first few Red Stuff albums, an Aria Studiotrack IIII cassette four track. I also have a couple Tascam 488 cassette eight track decks, but I stuck with the four track for this because I like working within those limitations.
I sometimes capture live stuff on an old Panasonic cassette dictation machine that has a built-in limiter and has a very distinct, kinda shaky sound that I’m partial to. I’m not opposed to digital recording, but I’m very familiar with this equipment and I can set it up to get good results quickly. So I’ll keep using it and repairing it myself until I can’t anymore.
Are you still printing the covers yourself? How much time does that take?
Yes, I’m still designing and printing the covers myself. I enjoy the tactile aspect of the printed covers, and I just like putting the time and care into it. Having something printed by hand makes it feel a little more special.
I don’t mind the time it takes at all, I enjoy doing the test printing and color mixing and getting everything set and then doing the production run. The time that takes varies a lot depending on how many colors are involved. These went very quickly, having just two colors on both the front and back. I can usually get a layer printed in a few hours. Scaling the run of records down has helped too. With our 7” we did 500, which proved to be totally unrealistic.
For a long time I was doing 300, but even that is too many. Neither the band nor my solo stuff garners enough interest to justify making that many records—150 copies is good and more realistic.
Economy is a big part of why I work the way I do. That extends to the screen printing and all other aspects as well.
I’m essentially running a vanity record label, and I’ve pared down what it costs for me to make a record to the point that it’s realistic for me, even knowing I won’t break even.
By handling so many aspects of the process myself I only have to pay for the parts that I really want to pay a professional to handle. And I enjoy that. I’ve been working with the same mastering engineers for a long time and I’m more than happy to pay them for their expertise. I value those relationships.
As far as home recording goes, I love a professional studio setting and I feel I can be productive in that environment, but I don’t feel that it would necessarily make my songs better.
My ideas come through alright in a low-fi, amateur studio and I don’t have to pay to use it. It’s the same when we’re doing something with the band, we’ve got mics and a tape machine and everything right here in the practice space. It just makes sense to turn it on and hit record.
Some of my solo material is more experimental in nature—what ends up being a finished song often starts out as something else. You can’t really work that way in a studio that you’re paying for by the hour, and I like having time to revisit something and take it through a number of changes.
There are other aspects to home recording. Of course I hear all the mistakes and of course I agonize over them to a degree, but I’m getting better at letting those things go. I fight the urge to try and “fix” everything that I think needs fixing. If you’ve captured something good, that tends to rise to the top and all the other things fall away. Especially over time.
This interview has been edited and condensed.
